Tag Archives: dream

Celtic flux tube disorder

I’m at the intersection
going left

I’m at the intersection
going right

I’m at the intersection
going down

I’m at the intersection
going up

I’m at the intersection
going forward

I twist this way
—then that

never knowing which
way I’ll be going—

never going back
the way I came—

.

.

.

.

.

Advertisements

Some unknown

You wake up
holding a glass jar
with a brain inside of a solution
do you stick your hand inside
to touch it slimy & beige
standing on the edge of a butte
or do you go & carry it down
to where the wildcats
are floating dry lips
invisible above the mud
go give it to the sandstone
night at the edge of the laurel
canyon with your sweaty hands
dancing by the fire after sunset
or a bird you’ve never heard before
unravels something inside of you
bringing liquid ripples
replicating sounding impossible
flies away
can you see the stars
with your eyes closed
not thru the Earth
but thru the trees
not until you’ve sweat
the infinite of last winter’s rain
from the high noon heat
lighting up the mountains
cleaning up the wastelands
of pines the beetles left behind
with wildfire awakenings
suddenly everything you thought
you owned
is either in your truck or burned
to the ground—where did the jar go—
you lose grip of the spiral
lightning flinging ’round
your wrist & can’t see
your shadow in the moonlight anymore
carve a message into it
found millions of years later
two words written
barefoot with a staff
of bone & petrified wood
a necklace of teeth
some feline, some human,
some unknown





.


The things I do

There’s a reason
why I make
my echinacea
& elderberry tea
after dark

The plants feel nice
inside me extracted
the honey of course
that’s a give in

The warmth is soothing
even in the summertime
it makes me want to
smoke more hash

But no it’s neither those
nor the taste
nor the ritual of making it
just right each time

It’s not even the subtle
apothecary & mushy berry smell
it wafts in my face as I play
strange tunes while I wait

I can use the cuff of my sleeve
from my hoody to suppress
the strings in these spots
make it cry like a broken sitar

So it isn’t that either
nor is it the way they strengthen
our defense against sickness
infection & fuckery
& since we’re running out
of things it could be
I’m sure you must be guessing

It’s a large blue mug
too big to be drinking
before going to sleep
which makes it the perfect size

I’ll wake up in the middle of the neon
night with the need to take the hugest
piss I’ll be god damn amazed by it all
but more importantly I’ll remember

The subtle details saturated
by the side effects of my redeye
where I was
what was happening
I would have forgot
all about what
that feels like

I’ll close my eyes & light
that little fire
I’ll taste it
melting into the bed
like marshmallow & leather
blueberries & pine





 .


Side effects

The whole house fucking reeks
no—I bet the entire
mountainside knows
today is harvest
like if a skunky cheesecake
grew on a plant
breathed it’s spirits
into the sky
one stalk at a time
the black hash melts
on my hands into my skin
my blood & bones
some of it was wiped away
with the honey off
my feral fingers at lunch
I feel like passing out
but I’ll write this first
it’s sticky then it’s smooth
I could roll up a ball
and smoke it, I’d rather
lay around and dream
with a body pillow
on both sides sprawled by a fan
while the cicadas light up
like fireworks—like that
thing that happens inside of me
sometimes you just gotta
wait some more
while the leaves wither
the mind wanders
quiet solitude
half way to heaven
I’ll wake up
rock hard and throbbing
knowing you’re out there




.



Las siestas

Somehow                                             I always end
                                              up here by the water
 with dirty feet
  it flashes back
                                          this other world
                                         we’re in now
looks like a dream
     it’s so consistent
                                                I know
                                                 so meet me by the lake
 somehow with dirty feet
flashback to the songbirds
                                           
     in the forest I’m awake
                                                but I was there again
           by the water
      with dirty feet
                                                     dirty toenails
                                                         I live alone
        during the day
               I’m not alone
                                                       by the lake
                                                I’ll pick the lighter up
  with my toes
I’ll take the clover honey
                                               from the cupboard
                                              I’ll keep it on the counter
      ’til it’s gone
 I’ll smoke a joint
                                               outside in the shade
                                                   it used to seem
so much more random
             than this leaking
                                                locality from both sides
                                                              what am I



.



Borderlands

It’s the first time
you realize
you’ve been born—
you were becoming—now
you’re being—

It’s the crossfade
of your memory—that one
time—you can’t discern
now—was it just
your imagination—

It’s the one dream
where it’s made to be seen
so clearly—
like an epiphany—
or an emotion—

It’s the fever
that comes over you—seeks
to mend you—takes you
somewhere else—
does it boil—
or does it burn—

You slide down
the neck—you feel for
where the waves start
wobbling—you put your
palms up—index to
the thumb—

It’s the medicine—
do you remember
your initiation—
did you take it
into your hands—what does
healing—mean
to you—

It’s the practice—
the moments of mastery
that reflect the mystery
infinitely—

Does it pluck at you
like a string—does it
drone—does it chime
like a bell—does it echo 
when I do this—

It’s the death—
like falling—
or the death
like flying—

It’s tomorrow
where intention
calluses—it shines in wait—
tomorrow—you will
surrender—