a tube within a tube
accelerating against time,
all the broad-eyed lives
of the mumbling world
We meander and are lost in the movement;
our lives, in a perpetual state of cracking.
The body bumps to the double-on double-time snare
and high-hat drumming from a third-rail Soul
and all those other possibilities of Being
Tap-a-tap-a-tap; lulled into a semi-conscious slouching,
and inside the dream I am swallowed, vivisected,
the beauty of the Now lumped into packages,
ready to be hauled away to the vague dump of memory
The subway jazz unsheathes the low aria of my verse
and smears it into the dirt and grit of old platform gum.
I was made for the following positions:
Novitiate, Observer, Notch-maker;
Over time, I become:
an afternoon’s drizzle before the storm a spent-ness of legs and quivering,
a waste of my own deposits made carelessly
into the soft flames of her wilting flesh.
ever since the falling out,
I am an amateur dripping in diffidence,
fruitlessly fawning over
an infinity’s murmuring,
–the sky and the mandala’s slow-roast and turning.
-dying and waltzing
that the one great
constancy is the long
lure of wide open spaces.