stolen lines courtesy of lenmana. you know what they are.

and what if

Except said -- dare
say -- a little

salvaged
Out of meaning by trhe desifire
for Cuncorretc///er/tecorect -ected, Ted, urth
Truht
Ruth tr --








i have a cell phone now. it's just a little one
to keep me company on a strange excursion
into islands made of drowned mountains
things time swallows and spits out for examination
in a vast mazy surge of all elements
but fire
which is hidden, which is buried heartstrong
and broodking. i read the map. look work
in the eye and remind it i should have been gone
long ago. in the mountains are gullies and caves
which carry a world of different monsters.
these quotidian ones lack the element
of surprise but should a bear become a serial
killer, a giant salmon the carp i ride
into the mermaid's lair, the brown seal become eyes
of a once upon a timer lover, lashes
the only cover available and if i throw
these memories into the caves of altimira into the snout
of mount olympus into the yesterday's briny deep, pulsed
apart by magma, well don't blame me.
i don't want to be your past, but i already am so why
not call forth the fifth element, ashes
to ashes and verge to the land.












See how on both sides
It’s like diamond colors inside of water drops on floors
Where
The Asheville sunlight ashes caramel above restaurants,
And, a red taxi cab turns left, signaling first, like
A little red or yellow slave of light



i have to concentrate on making the calls
cleaning the walls confirming all the semi plans
or it won't happen. credit only goes so far.
one foot into the chariot and the next step's
the tarmac out of here. the bay breakdances
under summer plumes, where sun scratches
a loop like dj trancejam on an e filled high.
i'm already on the plane but my bags ain't packed
i swim the toll from victoria but these things
might not even exist,
i might be reading
a map from ursula's earthsea
these may be myths
made up in some

writer's mind. i have to push the pen
over the page to be the one who is travelling.
all the cards point west, each divination
A barren
Nub of a seaside hometown, with its
White-painted pier sticks brown and
Crusty with barnacles. . .















the one who is becoming
a traveler
doesn't have time
to think of the vast
distances between life, death,
and that fatal figment, future.

le morte rides sidesaddle in the catbird seat
every cliff a constant surprise, each plume of spray
a siren bearing a rocky smile. how easy to take home
every thing left which you love how easy
to follow the mermaid song down into the nestling ocean.
life and death cleaving
to the stone instant.

and these journals, pictures, memoires, scars
and souveniers pile atop it, dust in the albatross bar
tapping this out, you are
Inside of a chat room with one god
Or with a giant iguana
or with mothra made of flame.