Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

when living end poetry crossed my mind
it genuflected on a reflection
it came down the road like candy fire
it hung out in dens of black velvet
tigers
while it was crossing my mind
it turned hieroglyphic memories
around like revolving silver moons
into the real thing for the heck of it
Egypt land of black sand
when poetry crossed my mind
for a split second it stood there
and waves at me like a stoned poet
street protester, crossing the street
like a snap shot of a wild clown shaman
dressed in a thrift store serape
but that is just another way to
say that poetry is close to the earth
and drifts close to the ground
like a hermit wind blowing slow and low
and also is looking up at the stars
for the words to shout at the neon zeros
of the long turning pages of night
as if it came from some other place
some other dimension between
that being & not being
that seeing and not seeing
that comes just before the first word
passes though the mind
when it crossed my mind
when it crossed my mind
it played at the ends of sentences
written by ancient typewriters
in feverish visions hanging out in parlors
of dawn with Greek demi-gods
who curled around themselves like smoke
from a stick of exotic incense
I had a far distant memory
of once standing there on that same street
his wild whiskey glazed eyes watching the
play of jazz on the far wall melting
when living end poetry crossed my mind

enjoyed the quick rhythm and snapshot vision of this piece
write on
snowman