I was up in your neck of the woods today
Hiking the trails
For a moment I was back in Arkansas
And you were back to being yourself
I know you’re here, somewhere,
Your soul clings to the hills
And your delusions fill the valley
What Harrison does with “you”
in the fifth line—
Now, I can get a little lip quiver
A little tear, dink, from the corner of my eye when I want people to think I’m sad, when the situation calls, when I’m so overwhelmed with the absurdity of things
But not at my momma funeral,
Because that’s a farce, and with farces you constrain laughter,
Is my understanding
But what George does,
With that second “you”
My Sweet Lord
Strikes me as authentic
Motherfucker captured a moment of truth
I’ve had a productive weekend. I’m feeling pretty good about it, but my latest project is taking longer than I’d hoped. It’s pretty ambitious. It’s epic. It’s about my time here in Denton. It’s about you. It’s about insecurity and the fear of hope. It’s about secluded evenings, and sneaking a secluded evening, every once in a while, with someone that makes you happy. It’s about long days becoming long nights and the Harvest Moon. It’s about loosing and winning and freaking out, that is to say, it’s about love.
Who doesn’t panic in the face of love?
Those that ain’t been hurt.
It’s about hurt and hope and rebirth and love and panic.
Here in Denton.
My most ambitious piece.
It’s gonna take a while.
Oh, sorry, in my excitement
I forgot all about informed consent.
You may wanna know:
You’ve Been Upgraded to Muse!
At least I hope it’s upgraded,
It may be a downgrade,
Hell, it’s probably something
You don’t want at all.
Muses do tend to burn fast
And leave craters behind.
I’ve seen enough craters.
Let’s just say,
Being true to my own nature (poet),
I’ll write about things I find intriguing,
Poems without Explosion!
Time of the burning dream
When the air shatters into song
A fracture a shard at a time
When Katana, the Fox, darts from
The wheel well of a melting Karmann Ghia.
And pounces into the Blackwood,
Where the song recedes ghost cold and still
An end point of a configuration space
Of a subsystem spanning subsystems
With fudged and blurred initial conditions
Understood as motionless possibilities.
The clearing strains, and holds, and breaks
Into new songs as Katana smiles and runs,
This time it’s a disused warehouse
Where the cunning sneak drinks or naps
When it breaks the Fox’ll move on
To meditation studios, and dungeons,
Daydreams, and death,
Katana the Nexus: the Binding, the Breaking
I’m not looking for love,
I’m not looking for sex
I’m looking for a poem.
And maybe sex,
And maybe love
You have green eyes!
You have pale blue eyes!
I want to write a poem
But I don’t know what medium
Works best with poetry
Conscious maybe might help
But my pipe is clogged
And the paper clip
I was going to use
Maybe under that silver car
Or maybe someone else
Wanted to write a poem.