poem...

an old poem, from 2 to 3 years ago...





i did post this recently in the "playing around" forum...




























Where is the beauty that was there?
--Classically gone.
 --Slipped out the back.

“How’s things?”

Things is good right now.
Things is going fine.
 Like rhinestones on the water

shine until compared
by practiced eye
 or layman’s eye.

The poor laywoman wept.

Where is the glory that was here?
Took it for what it was worth.
 Tumbled off the Hone in a car,

missed the water,
 blew half the dock.

The clock is rolling sideways.
 Does it slow?

Show me this science.  I know
you will wonder
 what I want it for.
   I have scissors.

Lend me this scene.

I will bend it and switch it
and throw a parade with it.
 I will hire clowns.

A pantomime of a dream
fascinates the spectators.
 He drools.

A running man
crashes into the crowd
 and gets tangled.

   The clown behind him has a knife
     and slips on his own nose bleed.
       The stranger is safe.

Life is a
 Life is a
   Life is a lifting.

Grip the gear and make the shift and
 try again.

Where is the beauty that was here?
It’s there, sipping, waiting.
 It will not wait long.

A wrong is a right
in the end, then a
 rickety chair.

Rock with me, you spectre,
 hyperbole,
exaggerated shadow
of things that were,
 
   you shadow of mine.

Fall, and you shall not fail,
     rain.

Share with me some life.
Shed several minutes.
 We burned the night.

Turning to day we looked on the ashes,
fumbled for goodbye’s
 and watched a wad of trash
   tumble into an old crooked warning sign.

Simple
elegant
form

returns to its roots
as it evolves
like hoofbeats to the heart.

The blood pumps
into a hand that twitches
and strums.

A melody runs through the breeze
to be kept free
 and dies in its own forest
   of distortion and noise.

Poised to perform this memory
 of a memory
   of a memory
     of a memory,