For weeks now, I have been obsessed with the color white even though the acid green of spring flows down from the sky white, white, here, there, even the sun behind clouds assumes a pall of white
Maybe I missed the snow did not get my fill of winter white
But I have learned that colors speak
They guide me to the things that are needed
So this brilliant day spent following mundane tasks
a new fuse drove the flower of thoughts
to metal & to white
in my shirt brown as a wren
even as colors resound
gaudy pink beginning to shout
the blue, magnificent, subtle, the white of clouds every shade of gray the spectrum
Researchers can make prairie voles fall in love—or whatever the vole equivalent of this is—with an injection.
LOVE . . . .
…lies bleeding ……in a mist …to love you BABY ……a-ah a-ah a-ah ! ! !
Blinded with science is a dove in the rocks. A bunch of grapes springs like a gazelle!
My delicate fingertips drip with myrrh… lips crush like honeycomb… knocking at your gate……I will build a willow cabin— — —we will stay up late… and in the morning make perfect crispy waffles !
Negotiate the baffles…… Engineer pointless raaaaaaafffffflllllllleeessssss… Rhyme purple with orange … Answer like a chipped brick wall…
Mmmmmy harmmmmmmonious
Apple of Desire,
The Voice of the Turtle m-m-m-m-mocks The sound of one hand CARESSING.… Light one candle… Never curse the Darkness!
(Even The Gideons have to economize in this day of enfeebled charities!)
If the prairie voles are fools enough, my Jewel of Ten Thousand Things, with this Onion-ring I thee bed…… It’s all in our heads, since science has shown we’ve no will of our own. We’re creatures of our amino acids— — and what do they really know?
Last night I ventured out into the cold to see the stars in the blackest sky amateur fireworks burst here and there the popular color being green, lime green
off the shoulder of Orion, I thought
like tears in rain
I thought
the sad companion left behind with his woes
with his dreams of women
surgically enhanced women
and his foolishness
He just doesn't get it
thinks it's all written on the outside
an open book
if the proportions cohere
I thought
and his grief just makes me tired
(compassion being quite inconvenient at times)
and I thought of my own foolishness and avoidance of resolutions other than digital images which are the only ones that count to me now that speak to me
I'm planning a trek across the part of my country between here and California parts I have never seen except in photos and movies I'll bring along my dog and my cameras and a cell phone and a laptop and a nutritional system of my own devising no tent, just an SUV
I could be dreaming, but the idea could really grow on me could become more possible with each passing day
There was a time I felt a constant companion but that entity checks in with me less often now and I keep hoping
