Brown in the making

and I am the blue to your green

the way waves rub tectonic

in space of season

permeating without fundamentally

changing, bodies of land or sea

buffed by air, compressed, and colorless

the hhhhh... that escapes from the sphere

...a sigh, and it sobers us

like whales, beached

Between the myriad of advertisements

The radio doesn't rhyme

It celebrates, laments, describes,

But not every word is

So clearly designed

To fit together perfectly;

Not every tone aligned

The road blurs

Beneath the car

Like a spinning record

Around around around

Each time a different spot pinned down

By the revolving wheels

Each time a different ground

Wander far over

Unending planes of grey

Scarred by cracks and tar

The crimson-tainted orange hues

Of the receding sun

Piercing through the horizon;

Can’t see where you are

Sickeningly sweet fumes

Drifting like fog

Along the crowded lanes

Filling your lungs

Taking your breath away

Until a rising breeze quiets the dooms

Of idling too long

As the darkness rolls out from

Beyond the distant hills

From between the solemn trees

That stand witness along the red-lit road

The soft-edged neon spots that

Speckle the way for miles blur

And from the from the woods'

Long grass resounds

Cricket trills

Gas station

After gas station

Each more vacant than the last,

Their signs a glowing hand held up

Indifferently over the blackening sky

Not in greeting, but notification

Of fuel pumps and coffee

To whoever is passing by

A meter on your dashboard blinks

You look at the time

1:02 AM

Glowing white numbers

Searing into your aching eyes

You blink

And blink again

Sometime, long ago, you thought

About stopping for the night

About taking a break

But the wheels keep rolling

And you keep going

Along the endless freeway

Into the dark

The chanceless wind, dies on the sea-

So mellowly, it could not breathe-

Its absence - it was the "red green

Pastures" of Mallarme - the sea-green

Gold of distant greeneries, folding

So intricately beyond all abstraction

Leaving breath or soul no room for

Traction- the waves they breathed

The collective essence of foam and

Foment, folded in their intercollected

Action- the sea's connected passion

As each spire in its twirl - searching

Out the other, like fir trees slowly whirl

Merging their secret emerald worlds

In their mountain flights- synaptic - with

The azure of the heights, folding

Color unto color- as if no transition

Had transpired, for so intimately

Had tucked the fibers of the sea

The secrets of inner melding; the

Inner secret, of color into other

Color illusionarily bending knowing--

That all earth is rock, and that rock

To molten fire secretly is melting

That if an artist could harness the

Inner color nested in your hidden

Deep- free them from the haunted

Green, and the blue-gris endless sleep,

And paint them upon the mountain-

The skies it would confound them

And they would burst backwards

Back onto its rock, drip away,

Not able to handle the separation

From Gaia's clay for you have

Always held the secret of the

Matchless blue, all other paint

Becoming just the scansion

Of the residue

The earth beneath my feet

smokes, catches flames that

jump onto my holy gown

The guests gawk in horror

bubbling blood and sinew

reflected coldly in their eye

This is the consequence

of insolence, arrogance--

irreverence burns us all

Followed the sky

but not the sky, because the sky was

way up there and I was still

down here, down.

Ever-sparse and filled up with

not-space space, that less-than-desirable void,

the wrong stuff taking up too much of

Not Much Here,

It catapulted me without me noticing

through the same the same the same

until--

the rain began to smell of mint

and i remembered the last

flight from/toward/in/while

that led me to that unending catharsis

--terrifying, Jesus fuck--

on the mesa beneath those endless, glaring stars.

Odd perception,

mixed privilege and despair at

un-welcome centers, despise

the homeless and keep the others

tired.

.. suspended

...

I might be-

running out of anticipation.

...resorting to expectation.

All the same same same!

Always and unchanging!

And no teleport or drug or shitty poem is ever going to

even scratch the skin of Abraxas.

Yet I do it anyway.

I must.

Lest i forget and commit the

sin of worship.

Clambering after the constellations

I move my words into mysterious shapes

and place them in a jar.

Maybe the one I need to find

will notice this inky spagyric

filled with knucklebones and old love,

red-to-brown, doused in blue-gold desire

and placed in a dark corner of the cupboard to find

a shadow-spark:

my own personal Frankenstein

awaiting the end of the universe

to remember it's never not lived--

to bleed rust and drink dry wine--

to cut its teeth on broken glass

and watch the mess of its body

drip down..

down...

down.......

you are born in blood

and cry for something unnamed

yearning for soft love

your emotions are

too big for your body, and

you want to catch up

but young adulthood

brings loneliness in u-hauls

and loved ones fading

is this life? just change

and love and loss and feeling

so much you might die?

and then death arrives

so gently, and carries you

back to your old room

Befuddled in light

Vocal cords stretch in loud cries

Pulsing of new life

Guileless eyes peer up

Playful naivety shines

Inquiry sparked

Radiant youth glows

Dreaming entwined with passion

Boundless paths ahead

Stepping into prime

Dance to intricate rhythms

Soul ever blooming

Etched with lines of grace

To wisdom’s gentle embrace

Stories echo on

Born to this world's stage,

Innocence and wonder bloom,

Life's first steps taken.

Youth's fervent embrace,

Dreams like stars in boundless skies,

Time's tapestry weaves.

Midlife's sunlit path,

Responsibilities weigh,

Purpose carved in stone.

Autumn leaves descend,

Reflection in fading light,

Age's wisdom gained.

Twilight whispers soft,

Curtain falls, yet spirit soars,

Cycle finds its close.

Eyes closed, lips silent,

Mystery wrapped in moon's glow,

Love's dance stilled, breath cold.

M

There'd be a purple ribbon.

A leaf dried between the pages of Ride the Wind.

More baby teeth than seem reasonably possible.

There'd be a business card with Dad's phone number printed in dark green.

And then there'd be bigger things.

Innocence. Faith. Trust.

There'd be love, lots and lots of love.

There'd be whole entire people in there.

But I wouldn't reach for them. I lost them on purpose.

They've tried to be found before, but I just bury them under the soft folds of my yellow baby blanket. I might stop to look at my cowgirl hat and the matching pair of boots. I might even think about picking them up, but then I'd continue on, inside the terribly big treasure chest of all my lost things. I might begin to feel hopeless, as I waded through a sea of bobby pins and earring backs, but I hope, after long enough... I'd see her.

The little girl with blazing red hair and matching fire in her eyes. A brave little girl. A good little girl. A little girl so full up on loving life that she spread it all around like Christmas confetti. The smile never seemed to leave her lips. A laugh barely caged under rosy cheeks. A wonderment reflected in the way she ran tiny fingers along leaves and lilac petals. A deep well of kindness in the core of her, where others might come and drink and drink until they were drunk on the sweetness of her spirit, and somehow, still, she'd be full to the brim, spilling little drops of joy wherever she ventured. I'd look for her first, so that maybe, just maybe, I might take her hand and I might walk with her again. I might carry her out of that place full of lost things. I might drink and drink her in until she was found, at last in the place she should have stayed... But.

There is no treasure chest wherein to search for the little girl, for her hope, for her quick laugh, her unquenchable joy. Because the world came and drank and drank and drank, and she gave and gave and gave. Until. One fateful day, she ran dry. What had seemed impossible had happened-- she had nothing left to give, not one drop of joy left to share because they'd taken it all from her and given none in return. And so she is gone, and I would not find her, even if I had a treasure chest of everything I ever lost.

Because she isn't lost.

She's dead.