Rationa(i)l (The sucking up of wonder by too much reflection)

Before sunning palms
sits the sunning palms,
sunning in the sun
for the purposes of
being in the light.

The Elephant

There's an elephant too,
but he's invisible.


The elephant charging a splashing river
On the grey afternoon
between two trees
after midnight.

At a housewarming party,
I told this joke.
No one laughed.
One kid cried.

I told him he was adopted
and the tears shed a red and white painted shed
before I could continue
with invisible elephants
so he'd know it was too fantastical
know it was to stupid
to be true in the truthy sense that is real in a really truthful going up elevator.

Get up! The night is going down . . . to the extreme. A vigil will be held in a rain bucket, when the toaster timer goes off, and the orphans can have their rations.

They aren't rational, but they get what they pay for dammit, which was a lot less than you paid. Don't give me that needy look. You get nothing, the end.

By the Bar

A hill of ash clouds the bar,
grey and bald of fire expired
as in line for a bank teller
waiting, car parked, to retire.

There's no job, and wife
won't stop about it.
The glass hollows--it's life!
--and wets the smoldering pit.

Under the stool here, listen,
before the tables to him talk,
his sight the world leadens
and the world no longer shocks:

"Cute baby girls through the door
to men holding the silver moon,
who grab them to the dance floor
and drift in timeless tune.

Even my jaded eye's less jaded
in seeing meaning move here
to tease my form. But, I'm faded
with rolling ongoing years.

That couple!--He makes a sign
he's even completely unaware
but she by it knows: 'he's mine,
forever. It's in his stare.'

His eye's inside hers,
he won't one moment dare shut.
They'll bleed when blood poors
all down her bleeding heart.

And which would I become
for meaning's manifestation;
the girl or the guy would I roam
if for one transmigration?

I'd put my shadow in that girl
--under the exception
I'd return in here after the whirl
avoiding her long severe reflection.




[And who would I become
if for one transmigration;
In whose form would I roam
a meaning manifestation?]
Form

Jumping Off

There's no silence here under one lamp
so late. The walls alive reverberate
with one voice: your calling passion
springing in mounts of blues electric amps,
pushing from me doubt and frantic fears of late
that no one exists who creates live expression.

Sing on, siren, for my senses unstable
for arriving here how was I able?
As no absinthe from hard drinking days
ran such red lights and bent up roadways
as I did barely moments before
drifting dazed from your door.
Thank the silver moon who led me home
while I better thought your dark eyes to roam.

Never quit, echo! I'll long pull up my sheets
and try a swirling head to rest,
to disappear into rustling summer trees
beyond silent deserted streets,
as your voice makes sounds seen.

Dreaming summer, I'll trample new ground for one chance,
with you to breathe and bask in freedom's dance.