Thursday, February 11, 2010

the mist, the cellar and the colonel (revised)

hawthorn, where the red tree grows
and i'm standing still in the mist.
coffee colonels on the march,
a prilly sight awaits may prilly dawn
and the stream is quiet now---
3a.m. and i say its okay
to wait up staring for the new day.
where's the man with the divided heart?
he said he believed in aurelius
he said he was contagious
he asked me to pick my poison
   i credited him three quarters
   the world and ordered two waters,
he shot a fine game of pool then
woozy, coughing, laden eyes,
i let him take my true shot
  he needed it, and i enjoyed
              salad caesarian
              his dime
              my constitution,
i had the creme balance pure,
my brain was on white fire,
it all just rolled---my special
yearly happening, and it was
     with this guy,
i was so sure he was my david reborn
and i was his archangel pickaname---
he my champion, i his guide
                jai ant agony
disordering the pole's position
on purpose      and with knowledge,
knocking the sticks to share it
and ma'jai ant shooting straight
to prove the point, what? nonsense,
i could have played him with my toes,
instead i let my divided heart win
        he owes me half a buck
what did it mean then?
                      the stars
were stripes. the moons, solid,
  earth between the chalk
  dusting the felt and wood,
contact english---plenty good,
  the alignment and realigment,
  as we required and demanded,
and whatever else came
about the knock and smack of idle banter
and flash firing white heated thoughts---
   good game, divided
   good game, heart
   gimme a buck now
   i'll brew you some coffee
   for the hug n'move on
the gin windmill is spinning
and fire breathing giants
cannot stammer in the heat,
they lay around steaming stink
and i do all the hardwork
like sucking lemons
     for lightbulbs' sake
where's the man with the earthquake?
hawthorn, where the red tree grows
            plant a newville there
and make it pure this time---
squeeze one drop and watch
gold do the digger pinstripe a solid,
watch the gears out speak shakespear
as the apple runs through the horse
and the cactus buds on a crack
and a lonely tear forms the well
while orion's bowstring goes slack
and the deer run buck wild---WILD!
      for in this age what we lack
is a deck of real cards
with nudie marks that still mean
                      oooh la la
                      and e i i
                      i'm telling
oh, we have our na na na
                nerve mana, plenty
to go a round with the clock gentry,
we have two watches bare on the arm
    and one beating on the chest,
we have a balls' worth of rubber
    banding about our wrist,
we have our code words for treason
                  and trist,
we even have a guy who thinks
reading acts makes spirits fly,
believes it and sometimes it is so,
we have our own michelangelo
               and we find at last
               just as he
               we do not need our medici
but i'm still standing in the mist
and the coffee is cold
and the colonel is dead
and i'm not the scribe anymore
and my chin has stubble
        and of the mist-tree
        i still call it a bubble
a little too much air
        there and there
a little too much care for fear
a drop too much saliva
        here and here
oh we're alive but, the sun
oh we're alive
oh we are      but  the sun
where the red tree grows,
we're the wretch wheat rows---
we're the food of the gawwww-dzah!
oh i love it when they do that to me
  that seizure then
  that moke-sha moment
  falling down
  in upward inside out
  fashionista    keesta
  bouta be on the ground
  sudden vibing now i'm lying in the
mistah! mistah! mistah, why you fall?
  er! um! to arms! for, um, portia!
  porche? porche!
  dere's de monda?
  no, what's her name?
  to arms! for lee burr taye and all
maybe, bud mebbe you cray-zaye
where's the man with the baby?
         something about kids
we shouldn't have them anymore
we should just be gods
   and be done with it
where's the man with my hawthorn?
                 is there no end
                 to your line of 
she actually said that,
after i noticed her,
standing in the doorway
that opened to a stairway
that led downward to the cellar
                 noticed, doubled back
                 and proclaimed---
you know, spin a long time
since i've seen the color purple.
                 her scarf---and
                 her station, why not,
she was taller, not very pretty
persona noxa, her evil majesty on earth
       she offered her left hand
                 oh, disturbing
                 quite, yet honest---
i returned with my left and right
she could not play equally as well
with both, how many hands makes both
anyway? we had three hands shaking,
one hand pinching, four lips smiling
and her question left standing honest---
                 honest not god
                 honest only good
and good true enough for me
                 on that note we parted
one more thing, there is no such thing
as what the word 'lie' tries to mean,
all things are constantly true
(work the ly out of this sentence,
                       would ya)
    and true the constant journey
    through the esophagus, life
    through its boca grande,
                life sah verm
                life sah vermin
or not, but light,
yet all things that eat are eaten                   
true---swallowed swallowers we are                   
         what the fa--hack, it is true!
i will try to console my body now
by scratching the hell out of it---
                feh! hoff and hoff
what do they make? oh i tire of this
and that there are no straight lines,
                not up closest    
no angles       only curves
circles,        dots circling dots
trying to grow up into lines
but bleeding out novalike
    a momentary jailbreak escape
    on tangental plane
but then to curve back to the point---
o,o how can everything be an origin!
    blows it all up!
    it's a bubble, man
    that's all it is.
yeah, yeah
    i'm sick of eve's droppings
               i wanna dump her---
the share-eve man came by today,
         he told me to be quiet
         put my arms down
         and let eve go by
i said goffer hack yourself
                      share? if---
biggest word in the dictionary
he didn't get it. not by me.
so then eve said something
    and he cut out his tongue
i was content to leave the rest
   unspoken, but known the same,
he had to go and squeal---
         ooh deeded! ooh deeded!
of course she cheated
    cause she thinks she's in charge
    and you let her
    think she's the only one
all the things you say, where
do you think they go---
    first, she's real
    then, she's ideal
christ-man, eve drops a mean load
when you feed her that poesy
    i'm dumping her as we speak
    o here it comes again
ahh, oh how can
     everyone be in charge!
     we just are    so easy
     oui-ja star!   yes, i remember now
                    the answer
                    is always yes
ode to wrap this up
thank you, sir---that's good enough
okay, now scribe, take this log down
           by tales and scetches but
                    don't use hawthorn
o the mist
o the cellar
                 lo! the colonel!                   

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