Adz, Blur and Om
"Things
are not always what they seem, nor are they otherwise."
-Well-known Zen Adage
The heat is palpable.
You can see it throbbing the air, waves of distortion rising up in tandem on
the horizon, the edge of every vista like bubbles of boiling batter, are we in
an oven?
Walking inside, into
the slough of AC. Soothe is the word. It wetlicks my skin,
like a balm I guess.
What is a balm?
A weird old word.
Where does that leave us then? Finger wading
stacks upon stacks in the office. An avalanche of rejection. A glare on
the wallclock’s number 3. Maybe it doesn’t say three… I am thinking about your cheek. A kiss on that tender
blush. Like an apple. The fleshy lines of your arms…
Where does that leave us then? Not where but when. A long time from when we started.
I did not walk here all the way from the airport to listen to myself talking.
I came here to watch you.
I came here to watch you all.
To see you listening.
Listening to me talk.
Talk without thinking…
Parking lot snowbank remnants beneath the springtime stars, “it's open mic night muthafuckas!”
Remember?
No,
you weren’t there. Maybe even I wasn’t there. My head was
elsewhere. Yes certainly. Was I walking home? Dusty boys playing by the
side of the road. I check online. Weather in GoogleMaps is always fixed. Is
that old home still there? Where was it exactly? Streetview.
I was leaving work. What was that job? Did I drive or take the
train? A plane, a boat?
I seem to recall
air fanned by a flock of hands,
the cats flanks flecked with burrs,
veiled windows, lit by sunset, or streetlights…
the smell of wood floors and coffee grounds,
the smell of lost causes, the taste of boredom
your Jacobean mouth…
Remember?
Am
I my own vision? Yes most certainly, but how am I stretched beyond
it?
And what is it beyond
my own vision? Heat, for sure, the lines all rubbing together but beyond
that, what name this stage, this set, a wind from other oceans we hadn’t known,
the codenames of lost continents.
What is this place
called? Not where but when. The camera clicks, flash a light.
What do I see? When did we enter? Let's give it a name to say when
it starts. How should we stay? The points aren’t fixed.
Like a starlit lake in the midst of San Francisco. Midst or mist?
The moon was late tonight.
Tonight I touched the dry warm skin
of the building
because the night is the cure
the cure is the beginning
Let me through.
The streetlight glare
on the digitalclock number 3.
Everywhere blurry hot and halogen.
My ideas no longer ideas
just two fine French doors you live inside
like I live inside this promise
like we live inside dreams
the best dreams where you did not yet exist
Yet not where but when
when inside I knew
knew you in the universe
the universe would create you eventually
and the universe would continue to burn,
A dream fire fueled by a heart’s promise.
Or youth.
I was the lithe flower then and now I am the fat fruit. I am
ready for a fall. I am ready to fall apart. I am ready for the seed
somewhere within me to spring.
Labels: az heat lines, dark blue is you, dr. pepper, not where but when, open mic night, the hearty girth of karma, the trinity of time, the universe
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