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