the continued

iridescent soma glides at the slice nudging to be
that otherwise buries into the polka dated primal
somehow the withdrawal has gotten us to elasticize from here,
uncivilized, brutish.
high tea has done nothing but bloat

and now a shy paddle draws from a snowy sky
that hasn’t seen such modest cover since months
yet nothing jars alert to this feeding
there is wilting rather, pallid passivity, in the grey
from an adaption to the warm
to the venomous thirsty sun soaked blue that has held the sky
predicted.

neanderthal dragging sunrise
for loin, rumpled
briefcase club soda with lyme
in an unblustered rustled wood
rowans blistered a naval orange affirmative

tbc

vitus

the absorption of scenetics has bot been blood thinned for a time
like i am this as before when i was something grand
about and out
and in new sounds, all sounds
never before peopled
lights and puppet blue eyes never sparkled ‘fore
we have what is ours and grasp this like sand putty
in a tidal tornado
and as the day sets the same reflection on your cold hands is a twirled cacophony of voices
and pinball arguing against the beat misinterupt
in an all clear here haze.

Shade and Freud

in the tent all is bedazzle and glitz glitter –
brows painted and bodice upheaving magnificent cups of dea.
the tent is a three hour chaos of  frenzy bonanza circus stripe
with christmas chocolate, hors d’oeuvre crostini and espresso to end.

the streets have neon darkness –
three brute chelloveck turning round broadway
and a crippled china town shrugged, bare barren.
her shock clouded the official interrogation.

the storefront two a.m. -
two crowbars looking for a squat
our walls thin and enticing
mercury is spinning backward.

san pablo – 4236578

scheduled for one to determine my need sufficient
recently showered and breakfasted
wearing clothing chosen to show a border that i to fro
in a san antonio san pablo room – eight others

there is an obvious dire and a dubious – i suspect this my category
yet i can only sniff from my chatter perspective
here’s me thinking i had some private appointment with a Ms Hastings
from social services.

shoved into a cattle room with other ribcage snow men
we are all eager, something on the line, some fate determined.

en route -
i walked past a school gets out and there seemed nothing different about the pubescent curtain haired from the nurse scrubs kibitzing along the street.
i am writing a book of days of instances of understandings of perceptions

this cubicle is distant. the statements under penalty of perjury are sterile

you save me super

but it requires these lights: procession; formation and filing
stamping and highlighting me for the future

some place in the next world shimmers more purely, oasis, each time you sign a card away
and we will step out into the san pablo sun with some chips of safety
curtseying to hotei bowing to penia, and their recurrent compassion

emeroyaled

dripping pooling is faint behind the pounding wheezing climbing|
and the thud of the heart founds the racing arrival
tufts of summergreen moss pulse out of cracks in the rock
cliff facing upward one thousand feet
sand covers the boulder steps rippling inward outward
unyielding gevurah
light life prances to fro dismissing probable
pause, of harm
the water is chesed uncanny green brown blue
dropping slowly into the valley crevice
succumbing to any movement
she is here.

every tinting tonic an old familiar
being between the moment poised
disrupt currupted
someone else’s
leaving nothing of a space to crawl crouch create
the flatiron folk staring gives strippings of tone to its players

losing hours/gaining time

the stretch in ohio is laden with gasoline tanks processing field corn and i am sure i have at some point drank or eaten or sipped from a specimen grown here. this gives me some time. i am supposed to be sleeping between driving legs but this isnt working any more and my system is resisting the air space living.
this has been for a week and only now can i look at it and i dont understand the shifting of hours that has brought till now
the city of new york held me from wednesday: welcomed and enveloped in warmth at the light columbus, the splendor; wondering in the rains with the tailor from the californian forests, occupying the streets – the sheep; delving into the mystical radiant one on thursday not able to rest before the two hour trek to the airport to reunite love. and the day was silly and tired and recapturing into sabbath again sending our voices into the rhythm of essence shard mending.
the morning had crystals fluff falling from the heavens into our blissed floridian chirping, chilled on the rusty banister, closed-eye yawning melody between converged hearts to this freezing frozen moment.
the streets slushed, our feet throbbed.
angelica fed our herbivorous bellies and the mountain dressed our adventurous spirits: fueled and warmed. stip stopping the veins under the city we ran to catch the train north losing electric power close to home
my car – neglected for days – was redeemed beneath piles of snow at the top of a heavy hill lined with road trekkers and car lights.
the moon was new
i lost count the times we slid and stuck on sides and connections to the village stopping to make sure if anyone needed a hand in their icy breath night surrender.
tea and chuppa blankets were like nothing else, double sleeping bag and familiar hugs and hands.
the morning was buried in angels and white reflecting melts trudging through this wonderland speechless breathless weighing options and packing a sunshine state hatchback with everything i owned.
to byfield massachusetts, electricity-less yet home of the warmest mama ive ever encountered
airbed love
making warm
russels orchard in the north shore who had pruned last week let us pick apples from storage: we picked twenty pounds of northern spy, mutsu, roxbury russet, fuji, red delicious, macoun, idared, cortland, baldwin
and hard cider and donuts of cider and maple sugar candy and honey and our teeth rotted just paying for it all
in newberryport we met up with patriarch patchett under a car fixing a muffler and had tea and bananas and donuts and thai food extra spicy through chattings of truths and omens and predictions.
still electricity-less in byfield we decided to excursion to the rum diaries and as we were stepping out power came to us again: bright eyes confused we stayed in with mushroom soup and chips and watched limitless, we were.
morning apples, tea and to boston. big house cooperation, meetings and sharing and sprouts.
and life alive bowls and purified water to purify the body and to purify the soul.
and then delivering a decades old jukebox with tape player to someone who would sell it for some profit to profit someone else who will profit someone else, all from this decades old jukebox with tape player that we found on the streets of cambridge.
T time to candlepin bowling. have you heard of this? no candles or pins but candlepins. some benefit bowling and flatbread eating filling the joint to its edges and we’d have to wait some hours until they’d give us those fabulous shoes so that we wouldnt slip on the alley and would feel somewhat awkwardly cool so to a vegan diner for more.
four am to chicago. sixteen hours straight curves wire.  there is nothing else in this but long roads and corn
loft bed in the orei miklat, after rooibos and rice and schug and finding light again, beauty light in eyes. there was time to dream.
chased the bank to retrieve what was his, stopped for chai and the paper in the metropolis and the windiest rain i have ever been pushed around by, lost my hat to, giggled through puddles and around corners in.
to boulder

was that yesterday
flat and flat and flat land of soy and corn being flattened for winter. miles off of anything in anywhere and i feel insanity, shifting
fields of wind vanes. power to the windy

too tired to sleep, to hungry to eat
shabbos kodesh

I love you
xoxo

green line clark

there is something about a saturday
a market, park farm and gurgling milk – thirsty shoppers
ethiopian joints and thrift rolling into the side streets
it will never bore – the chai will never be better.
you are naked and caked in the bounty choice you made when i never knew you existed
i am just another stroller in the java leaf mess
where will i be come a month – the drive through chapel in the neon desert calls something of a sordid boon dream
you’ve let your beard grow and there is some grey in the redden curl – those adult decisions you didn’t think you were going to have to make so soon. and do you know who holds you in the lamplight saturday sun and do you know who helps you choose the flavors that you cannot quite get right?
i hope dear dearly that we are not falling into categories pressing to be consented – twirling our hair chopply; drinking unmilk; ordering softly
the spokes of our bicycle spell revive, as we ride, like a commanding suggestion you wake up to establish
i’ve put honey in my tea desecrant like epiphany

kai – to open and explore

Shadow
on my shoulder
watching over
the path I tread
lonely
but for reason
listen too
voices in my head
burn the candle out now
let the darkness in
lower all the children
with dreams of fear and sin
mothers
broken visions
of whats gonna
come from yesterday
lonely
never had if
that lovers change
slowly sailed away
burn the basinettes now
watch the giants flee
grown up all the children
now just let them be
stoned
wait for angels
listen to the songs
they play
lonely
deep incision
running through
flesh of the dead
reaching out to me now
trying to grasp a hard
wondering if im ever
gonna be me again
lonely
but for reason
listen
to the voices in my head
entertain
word and visions
otherwise i’ll go
insane again

a path
dug out of
the black dirt
winds upward
around peaks
and plateaus
rising climbing
stone steps
placed by patience
christed with wisdom
marked by spirit
broad
open to every man’s step
every man’s dream
no light lends
only forgiving selfless
hands
no man need walk alone
in these hands
is faith
enough for those
who cannot believe
in themselves
they are gods
and the journey
is home

empty stage, black
candlelight, naked
cold, alone, waiting
afraid to pull
or push
afraid to slice
too proud
too scared
weeping
pools of truth
lies in the air
and I breathe
trembling cold
so cold and alone
jack rabbits
in my chest
pounding
trying to escape
the dark constricting soul
my lonely veins
cower lifeless
to whom do I speak
when I dont know my name
where do the heroes dance
only atop stones
at rest
and villains
plan the time.

1/27/94
wake and wish little children
’bout the ladybug’s wings
dance with miss rosey petals
listen to the sunshine sing
come on out your shadows
your lonely hideaways
stop listenin for tomorrows
quit chasing yesterdays
ringing round miss rosey
pockets warm and cozey
lashes
lashes
her eyes chocolate brown
sit on down in the flowering field
feast on her bread and wine
cradle clouds with y0our visions
dance with miss divine
come on new little marybelle
no dont be so scardey shy
join us in the livin festival
dance to the lullaby

1/31/94
LAST RIDE

crouched atop the razor’s edge of sanity, he licks the salty sweat from his lips, tasting the bitter reality of what lies below and beyond. He tugs at his weather beaten garments, trying to make room for the thunder that pounds in his veins. He pulls his skully tightly over his ears, blocking the insideous noise of contentment that echoes in the wind. He asks himself “is it worth it?” as the purple sun awakes through a jagged horizon, pulling him over the threshold of time and space and intot eh sacred bowls of heaven’s frozen tears

prime cut

captain ashburniham was always good for a laugh despite the deeply furrowed scowl he wore consistently. eager to develop a more personal relationship with him i would invite him to play cards every friday, hoping endlessly he would not show. he would, carrying a dry wine and new deck every weak. a fine gesture of friendship, yet i couldnt help but wonder why my wine was never drunk nor my cards ever shuffled.
i found peculiar how he so naturally developed a winning streak during our friendly games. each time he would dare to raise his stakes a bit more as if he knew he would win the pot. what a magical gift he was sharing with me, i couldnt help but wander what he would be spending his winnings on. surely his wife for he was such a generous man.

can’t time tell me
where im coming from
wont it ever understand
the reasons for what ive done
chase away the memories
so i can commit again
mistakes of my consciousness
fences i must mend
clocks tick in unison
set to the tune of our sun
follow in its footsteps
and watch the shadows run

piercing the skin as if shot full of salt, the frozen rain forced itself through the thick wool stockings she wore. her chin pressed against her chest she squints in effort to protect her eyes from the penetrating force of sleet.

dropped into a fantasy
youre runnin from reality
lost your senses
as as seeker
now your limits
are your teachers
scared to wonder
or ask why
just look my friend
look inside
your own mind
illusion is the addicts game
chasing dreams to kill the pain
watching as the world runs by
cant catch up if you die

beyond the lodge of the sun

i was reading that stones are perception, hues of consciousness. i was reading how to build a sweat lodge and how to let the wisdom of the owls be what guides you beyond the ego. the shift in the season has given me time for this. at first it was the maple losing her leaves onto a field that was still dancing with summer. the silence after the children left was haunting at first, spaces that i needed to fill again and had thought i was desperate to. now the tethered time has left me silent and wandering, knowing that i understand the language of the golden seal. knowing that the hummed chanting of my ancestors awakens a portal in me that vibrates the silk of the silk of my web strand. the sounds of the harmony remind me of the direction i am in space and sometimes time and disappear these perceptions into a bubble of memory. the foreign language is a trill of melodic understanding and a barrier is overcome in the listening.

this is the autumn second, my blood thinned for the spring yet a yearning for a cycle in completion

what can it do to slide across hemispheres building homes and tipis and climbing trees that smell so different from their foreign sisters. my hearts rips and mends over the scar and rips and mends over the scar and grows and strengthens with each new absorption of life.

so much fills the time of the sunrise and perhaps the lessons are understood and unfurl into reality or they remain pupating in the seat of the center until their time. the patience is the gem yet i wish not to run after anything and to have here be where it all is in all sorts of form. because you are always here with a different face or accent and i bring myself again with her shadow and her magic.

and what colors the moments are the realizings that it is wonderful and creative sun. and i speak to you from the mountains all the while and we dance inthe strokes of wind that reach to the clouds twirling like the curls of the spiral unfolding.

and if i still have you in my poem then there must be something that i must tell you. that you have formed me and let me stretch and learn and fall and soar and like a dodo bird i am still learning my landing as the flight is somewhat perfecting.

the scope magnifies memories and gigantic sighs fill my heart.

teacher i love you, brother sister mother father

this change in season can hold us in her shifting. we move with her because we too are dynamic and must experience the shift of our self and our doings. i am grateful to follow something of a wheel and something of a path that leads to no where and back again

watch the skies, listen to the rains, the moving trees whether they be undressing or just greening life

i see you on the mountains in my dreams in the truth

and again, thank you for giving me magic

aho mitakuye oyasin

namaste shalom

forever, lenetzach

xoxo