The first hour afterwards

Early morning slips into the postcard

stillness of the future

these are the days

that drop out of the ever changing sunset

you can almost smell the neighborhood in flames

hairless hats scattered in the park

the butterfly's ballet has been sold to its shadow

by the angry skies that follow

death in the very next breath

sleepy demons rise out of our dreams

now the commercials look silly

the property lines and

plenty of space are going to bed in a storm of

vacancy

we make a cameo appearance

before it disappears

gardeners decorate the ruins

with abandoned machines

human remains smoke

in the emptiness that was waiting in vain

for the green phantom

and the madmen

who are selling big red flowers

I join forces

with a watchful mantis that

cocks its head in its coffin

this is the first hour afterwards

this is the sound of the planes

screaming over the living

seconds away

the buildings want to burst their seams

with a laughter that tumbles out of rubble

the original valley of the shadow is remade

under new flags

there were good reasons

of course

no one deserves this world

this bodyscape on the lawn

this numbered day in dead furs

thinks to itself

*

Rain

rain rain rain

rain everday

all the drenched greenery

rejoices

the silence sings through

the sound of rain

the rain on the roof

the rain on the machines

the rain in the firs

the rain on the roads

all the fires are here

in absentia

in the rain

it is late November and it is still

warm enough to rain

ice bergs are breaking up

drifting away from Antarctica

while poor people standing in lines

outside

waiting for a holiday handout

are not happy

with the weather

against them

they complain

or they stand silently

in the rain

#2099 20091124

Navigating
    the dark, cool
    soggy wetness.
Interiorscapes
    dream states,
    quiet.
Suppressing the
    cabin fevery
    claustrophobia
    seeping in
    and cooling
    like the dampness
Numbing the nerves
    like an opiate
Like the onset of hibernation
Slowing down
Soothing restful state
Satisfying relaxation
Overtaking slowly
    In waves
Restorative --
    a candle lighting
    a room
    flickering slowly
    a wood trimmed cave
        with black windows
        and a stone hearth
        with a wood stove insert
        dying out
        dim coals orange
        shining through
        the soot of
        the doors
    shadows moving with the
        candle light --
The mind tempted to do
While the body is separate
Movement will
    end the consuming stillness
    enveloping the moment;
Letting go.

Cartoon Orange

Is the dusty ground around the ancient tomb really cartoon

orange?

the flying fish leaping over the wave

is it really a symbolic cinematic rainbow

inside an egg of imagination

in a sleepy calculus that dreams of flying machines?

your bold moaning is my rock of rain

a golden wind over the reef...

listen to this disabled symphony:

hell itself

shakes the breaking baby...

Romeo your unspoken Juliet does a solo tango

with a hungry sentimentality...

while the impossible waltz is walking away

in the spooky clown face of an autumn evening...

this sugary gluttony in the philosoph dreams

a French wedding in the doctor’s garden of secrets

on a raft in a crystal lake of time where the monumental moment

frosty with tomorrow’s storm

is moored in a paper

harbor on a factory made desk...

home cooking rests in peace

with the iridescent postcard fossils...

on a holiday an immigrant

without a passport

without color

butters the husk of the moon

for the computer gallery

and the door in the light

with its safety catch

off...

*

(for Kirrill D’Kainn)