Begin in the knees of the earth.
Walk the dizziness of
A poem that breathes in space exhales into the void.
Remember the
Tomb tipping
Guts of spring,
The sea and the eyelashes
Defying gravity,
The ping pong playing peonies
Of electric yesterdays.
Remember how
All at once
The universe put on
Its legs
And walks like
A fiasco of names
On a checker board.
Will you walk with me?
In the opposite of acquisition?
Who else can see these widowed months?
Beckoning at the table
Where is the pen and paper that ribs time and space with the dents of
highway laughs?
I walk and walk,
In a coat, black, collared, the curve of which almost touches the ear.
No hat.
What is it in us that allows us past narrative ghosts?
For this I penciled in the page and erased around the poem
Like an astronaut fills the page
With the memory of a jellyfish.
I stayed up all night
Playing solitaire
On the PC
With the radio on,
Curating the ramblings.
The soul is a runway for anything
Willing to fly.
What do we know?
It is only afterward
A sense of being.
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“All at once the universe put on its legs”. I love that. This poem flows brilliantly from one image into another.
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Thanks. I’m trying to find my inner Kerouac and just write what come to mind. Glad you liked it.
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I love the mad scramble of images, esp the ‘widowed months’ and ‘the soul is a runway for anything willing to fly’ ; what the ^%$#%^? but it’s brilliant. I’m going to have to tell my poems to lift their game. Actually I might write a poem about this; may I quote a few lines with due attribution,of course 🙂
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I would love to have a few lines quoted. I look forward to see what you do with them. And thank you for the wonderful comment.
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okay, Bob; it’s up and running; hope you like it 🙂 when you do a poetry collection, may I suggest you call it: ‘the soul is a runway for anything willing to fly’ 🙂
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Thanks John, I read your wonderful poem and left a comment.
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