Tuesday, November 3, 2009

This is 4 me, imagining crazy things. Not written for applause

she walks along
tempted by a sprawl of fence posts, like crooked teeth rattling in the wind,
and lamp posts, mail boxes, the cracks in the sidewalk and the movements of strangers.

her toes wiggle
bending with her weight, her shoulders, the bounce of her breasts and the heaviness beyond words that she carries in her heart
her toes redden, Mercury blood
and she moves forward

her neck rises up vertically
from a spine constructed
of vibrating scales and paper clips
she sways in the savage elegance of a rhythm of words & beer cans
smeared with goodbyes
and close misses

a language animal, living in the mind, vibrating, resonating with those things unseen
the verbal equivalent, an autonomous thing? It's possible
the objectified product of the imagination
existing in a parallel world

her knees are oiled up with butter
they slide round in chrome sockets
ripe oranges whirling
with the energy
set in motion by the word

she turns
frail threads of smoke
spill out into the air above her head
the skin on her face falls
in a solid pulsing sheet of whiteness

hot flecks of sunshine glisten
as her spine rolls through a spray of quite pops
until the scale reaches the inevitable conclusion
of its crisp articulations

she turns
her eyebrows awaken
and her eyebrows plunge forward
in a spill of gentle brrezes
through a gray sandy mist
and she is gone

constructed thru the imagination
can we breath passion into these characters
do the take on some thought form & exist on some mental plane

I like to entertain the idea

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