Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

One day in a safe, neutral-gray office building, a cosmic mis-alignment told me to leave. And so I left, out of respect for promptness, through a slapstick revolving door, into a safe, neutral-gray re-alignment of destiny. I prayed for guidance, then ordered a burrito two blocks down.

By and by, I came to understand my mission. So I left for the driest, most bereft stretches you could ever frame. I spurned dirt-cheap flesh and packaged God flash, like a confirmed fool. I wrote something about separation and return on the trail; impossible to tell just where.

Separation and return. That does ring a bell. Like a university class in 1979. Like a rite of curriculum-gray passage, like any other questionable habit. Hard to get to it all when confronted with a Mojave sunset. I departed as an acquaintance of philosophy, hard-pressed, and I returned as a child.

miniature
life in a revolving flash
grey to sandscape
and home again full

There are fine epithets here, and lots of be-bop and able phrase-shaping.

Some of these combinations glitter like Old English kennings:

"slapstick revolving door"

"packaged God flash"

"curriculum-gray"

The prayers are mumbled through clenched teeth-- hissed God-missings.

As Wordsworth said:

"The child is father to the man."

This is solid prose-poetry, and your riffs are sure, the Coltranistic tootings into the void well-shaped.

Thanks for letting me see this.


--Z

I picked up on your seperation and return around mile marker 268 in Arizona.

It was a good trip, a good ride, thank you for letting me share it.

I prayed for guidance, then ordered a burrito two blocks down.

There is a little cafe in Marion TX with a latin motif murial on the east wall, I say to you what it says to me.

Love, Peace, and Taco Grease.