poemimage

Bleed into the zeitgeist

at fever pitch.

Stumble into a ditch

at fever pitch.

Bleed into a lullaby

& spin round to pivot.

Beneath obsidian cliffs

eyelids open to see.

Bleed into the zeitgeist

eyelids opened to see.

Reverse a happiness; taken far away.

Reverse great loss; heavy as gods made of clay.

Reverse this negative space invasion.

& To be told negative space is positive space.

As background becomes the foreground.

& To be told not to believe your eyes.

As perception goes topsy-turvy.

Beyond Op Art & M.C. Escher.

& Beyond Magritte’s surrealism.

& Beyond the structures of in the beginning

& forever more.

Reverse this positive space inversion

Reverse this positive space confusion.

& To be told not to believe your eyes.

Return what was to in the beginning

& forever more.

& Return to the wisdom of the body.

As cicadas sing at night

& you practice second sight.

As you rock the claw hammer, loosening nails,

beneath a sky gliding at full sail;

& you practice second sight.

Redeem what is crucial to the crucible.

Redeem what is pivotal.

Pivot by the flashlight on your phone.

Pivot at the crossroads with four stop signs,

illumined by half-buried bones.

Redeem pivoting as night falls

in your existential Dark Night of the Soul.

& Wander into the bleeding night.

To pivot is to recalibrate.

To recalibrate is to plot.

Reorient within the wisdom & visceral intuition of the body.

Boil bones down to broth & in essence find the power.

In essence find clarity.

In non-sense, & the sensual & symbolic, find the power of clarity.

Beneath a comet flotilla; pinpoints of light cascade on your pupil.

You stand outside the bookstore,

only nine o’clock at night.

For decades this bookstore stayed open till midnight.

Tiny bells on clown caps ding in a performance:

Somewhat a Las Vegas wedding.

Somewhat a Grand Opening Extravaganza.

Somewhat a car alarm one street over.

Clown caps & uniforms rented from a costume outlet

at the discount strip mall.

Out where the Falafel Hut burned.

Choreographed actors, smile & gleam;

like poppies in a field, shiny as broken glass,

like a hitchhiker opening his bag.

Like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

Videotaped in the flicker of a glowing furnace.

Jerking akin to marionettes, in a pantomime.

Dancing at the edge of an open air pit.

To a wraparound roar of staccato hammering.

White & pale-blue clothing smeared with charcoal soot.

Smoke billowing above a primitive smelter,

& sprinkled down in fine black rain.

Next door to the hospital parking lot.

You turn away from the locked door.

& Wander into the bleeding night.

Bleed into a lullaby beneath obsidian cliffs.

Bleed into a flower at fever pitch.

You must be The Chosen One,

chosen to blaze echoes of flame,

in bonfires dotting fertile hills.

& To set flame to diagrams.

& To set flame to foolproof plans.

Bleed into the zeitgeist & sing lullabies to innocence.

Bleed into the zeitgeist & sing into towers,

buried in the tall flowers,

& built above the ditch.

Supported by columns, covered in ivy.

& Built according to ancient law.

Your fingertips burst into flames.

Cooled by granite inlaid with marble vines.

Bleed into flowers, arcing to the sun,

in homage to the original essence.

Bleed into the zeitgeist & spin round,

pivoting,

your shadow a roaring lion; now become a bird of prey.

You fling your arms wide in a wingspan.

Talons open & shut like a Swiss army knife.

Screech like a carnyx in a carnival of the dead.

Swooping upon two cars stopped on a bridge.

Return with a vial & turn the dial.

Return with the clandestine formula.

Return with the official diagrams.

In sunlight you squeeze your thumb.

Passing between massive columns

in shadows long as a boat.

Clouds form like pools of white ink,

tinted with pastel violet

& a touch of yellow.

You bleed in victory; blessed & cursed,

& accused, refused, in churning mud.

Today is The Day of the Sun.

Beneath the sky & obsidian cliffs

one rope ladder, drooping, dangles.

One cannon overheats exploding spangles.

Confusing pilots who traverse eons of the dead.

Confusing even pelicans.

It must be cryptic; as you smile like a bird.

The four seasons swell your breast.

You receive magic, myth & metaphor.

You fabulate a visionary spell.

You empty a silver cauldron

hammered in the vegetal motif style.

Hammered enough to exhale madness,

compassion, & ecstasy.

A book on war advises:

Advance into 

where they least 

anticipate you.

As you reverse-engineer the crime,

roll barrels of freshly dug clay.

As you reverse-engineer the crime,

roll barrels of warm, black ink.

Roll wooden barrels of glass marbles downhill

without losing control.

Crossroads form a Palaeolithic sign

at an old meeting place.

Here comes the big surprise:

The Chosen One returns, in disguise,

succinct as falling rain,

& protector of children.

Returns in whirling translucent flames,

to uproot fossilized histories.

To raise collapsed garden walls.

& Returning in the flower of her name,

divides the guilty to one side:

No more to see the light of day.

No more to threaten children at play.

Today in The Day of the Sun

as you exhale the radiant truth,

bleed into the zeitgeist

spherically.

Today in The Day of the Sun

as you inhale the radiant truth,

bleed into the zeitgeist

spherically.

The Chosen One in disguise,

succinct as falling rain,

& protector of children.

& Returning in the flower of her name,

descends a spiral staircase,

slanted with missing sections,

beneath a darkened lightbulb,

in a state of disintegration.

Perusing the diagrams & foolproof plans:

Decidedly flimflam.

Scam of the century.

Scam of the eons.

As she ascends the spiral staircase of her spine,

crystal birds in fractal patterns

communicate forgotten songs.

Faces in the shadows evaporate.

A coin of memory drops into a slot.

A stranger with a face of untouched granite

refuses to reveal his identity.

Today is The Day of the Sun,

spherically

at fever pitch.

Turn on the radio to get directions.

Wait for a passenger pigeon.

Here comes the runner from Sparta on time.

& The echo of the oracle deep in the cave.

& A buzzing ’round the first beehive.

In your fingertips & heart-song.

& In the flower of your name.

Today in The Day of the Sun.

Today in The Day of the Sun.