if I lose one more thread,
I fear I’ll lose connections that matter.
or should matter.
used to matter.
if I let go of a few old strings,
will I just float away?
maybe I’ll wait for a windy day.

so much to grasp from titles
and yet
being left cold and empty
like swallowing balloons

separate the porn from the chaff

someone made a switch
from the mundane to the grotesque
I think it was the hippie movement
heralding freedom
but finding filthy vacant lots

we’re back to wearing gloves and fedoras
but with gas masks marring our bouffants
there is no better taste
than stainless steel and rubber

reading fine print only when libidinous

did you read the headline
or just the photo caption
do you count the number of deaths and births
and try to figure where the souls went
or just attach string to the balloon and rise

give me room to speak
the air is heavy and warm
sound is not carried far
but I mostly want to keep it close anyway

bursting
energy, thoughts

my hands want to take words from my mouth
shape them into something beautiful
let fly lines and shades
tones of quiet eccentric elegance
giant winged daydream speaking
cantos read in harmony
absurd abundance
even with closed eyes
the arc of tree limbs welcomes a story
smiles overtake the streambed, curving

this is me happy
it itches
it aches and is mine

no time for a new view
or a page to be left unseen
it’s all scattered to three winds
the fourth is all me
I will travel lightly
with only past troubles
tomorrow’s yet to be furrowed
today I drink fully down to the dregs