epjiphanies

little bolts of aha!s
tacking on the dayline between the risen
orange outrage of morning and a catarac
moon. still full, still blindingly
tidal and cycle. what happened to mine?

my soundtrack's been jackson browne's version
of "these days". specifically the line about
risking another. it was not sposed to be a risk
to live, to love. it was just the thinging
just the being in it. when i sang that with
the most emotion, sitting in my room in suburbville
i had no idea. the concert played a few minutes
ago and now the echoes of it finally hit home.
so i keep on moving, moving on. things are bound
to be improving one of these days. thank you
liberally borrowed from the engrams in my ears.



current mood: waking, baking.















)_)(







michelle must be so angry that her man
decided to take that job. i mean she gotta know
what might happen to him, prolly already seein it
in her nightmares, not the ones
she imagines, awake, but while she sleeps, children
in the next room, clouded, princessy then
shattered skulls and screamings. pill box hats
and the pod people with extended finger.
the sixties in a full retro crash
where this time we push
the button cuz we've seen the future and
well
reset














(&



i am fallow. period of rest before the next seed.
i dunno how long this winter's going to last
but i long to feel roots begin their wiggle
maybe the longing will hasten spring
though now i think of it, i get too stimulated
when the leaves begin the unfurl, the big stretch
into interstice. why think spring when it's
harvest time?

last night the moon lit my undulating
belly. ants busy on the mound. pyrotechnic scythe
expelling angst and members of the harvest.
they ate of the fruit we gave them
and still did not understand. no need to scold
i mean myself. i tried the best i knew how.
now i know a little better. experience the grown stalk.
eat of its nature. taste what bitters become
when they return to the body. or spit it out.

waitng for winter. i have a sister that lives for
the fall. sugar burnt leaf. the exuburant flash
before snowfall. i think winter suits her
like my cave in summer suits me.











*((*



sometime tho
i didn't try at all
somestime i merely mechanised.
auto pilot. little white pilly.


li'l white pillow. heh.sometimes.
you know, like fallow
means potential. unused, true but hey
conserve it for a while, just don't
forget to put me in rotation.















*(_(*


once you think you've had the final epiphany
you know like
the "truth"
the "key"
the "lsd trip"
the "nirvana"
the "glad bag around your nose"


isn't it grand to have something come along
and surprise you into feeling again?































*()

i can't wait fa dat


but i guess i gotta.