Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

blown heat.
amber waver of burble.
like muted shapes on bright fuzz,
i will be absorbed.

i know what moves me, what fools more gently,
enlightened at every seventh truck stop on blinding tan,
on lucent ribbons holding one mountain to the next.
every fold is mine if i move debt free to momentum.
i brought along a jug of jerky and bag of bourbon,
and enough momentum to bleed through a portrait.
but that was yesterday.

i penetrated blown heat on a trail under the powerlines,
from vegas because i like what they did with the juice.
they crackled vaguely overhead and lit nothing.
i had them to myself and plenty of parking.
it seems few came to nevada for nevada
except to crunch numbers.
but that was yesterday.

excellent...Excellent!

Your burble of words has entered and been absorbed.

I suppose that being absorbed is so often taken as a negative thing, but sometimes it is but a completing thing.

"i will be absorbed."

I love the sound of that. For me...to me, there are times when being absorbed sounds heavenly.

Delicious read mnaz. Voracious. Thank-you.

... a place larger than life that i can't quite transport the same way from ridge to ridge, and back to the outskirts... the prospect of backlit ripples that no one will see... gets me thru dog days of January, that sunblast escapism, if nothing else...

TY, mousey 1..

what a fine poem, mnaz

your stuff just rolls off the tongue
and melts in the mind

It's good to know that, Lightning Rod... to hear that echo.
Those hard realms of soft, bright tan tend to have the same effect on me;
that melting in the mind effect....

Perhaps my hand is connected to my eye after all...

I still remember that litkicks exercise.... write about "imagination vs. reality"... naturally I thought of some massive heat-drunk dry lake where those lines tend to cross...

"I rest on a rattlesnake porch and toast the first heatwaves. Reality and imagination cross a broken floorboard and pass through the same door on their way to lunch. They come in out of the sun to hash out their differences, then retreat into monster heatwaves that can't tell them apart. A vehicle flows on the surface, shape-shifting, vanishing into rippling singularity. At least it must have been moving; its steering wheel vibrated, though there was no other evidence. It came to rest where it started, as things generally do around here. It flowed toward that which never existed, like the first ships that sailed toward the edge of a flat earth ocean."...

Or something like that...

mnaz... the words you've been spillin' are some heavy shit... which is damn good.