Always The Shoals.

Wash azure the linen
and into its folds pour glue
that past and present stick,
lest we dismiss that we exist .

Waves subtract sand from the beach ,
and from the water the sand separates.
Dreamer, I am the sequence to your bottom,
stretching downward from skipping white caps.

I am veiled, hooded Rider,
Kismet in my saddle
I ride Camel through the dunes,
under star clocks that mark the Arabesques.

Dreamers be not vaulted,
butterflies released must flutter,
and as to how or why they falter,
be not bothered, Navigation is our Father.

Sisterhood

Knock, knock. Who's there?
It's me, your trance in person,
Banshee of the Sorority of Jezebel and Sweet Tart,


that same Sweet Tart, who shaved a certain Samson
followed by a blowjob, he's bound to remember.

By "blowjob" I refer
to how Sweet Tart fluffed Strongman's feathers
after the crew cut he got in Acapulco

Everything is Everything

What a lovely language
all languages are
Canaries sing pretty
Mocking birds songs are thrilling
Owl hoot night's passage
Speed a recording of whales,,
and they sound like dainty canaries.

I am amazed that I finally think in English.
still I pray in Hebrew to God and  to myself,
and never I spoke a word to my mother
which was not in Ladino.
How many languages have been lost?
Still, is anything ever totally lost?
Everything is everything

Language Forever

Big Head has spoke;
You, I made something special
my gift to the gap which is present humanity

"Me" say over and over
me in the mist, me in the mix
I love you but I can not stand you.

"Me" as sweet as pollen gathering
is to honey combs.  I would like you,
but you are too sweet.

The word "one" implies ownership,
and to own is to desire.  In the code words
of we who ghetto: Everything is Everything!

Whorf

In deep mountain undertow
grain by grain
planet rearranges

Thus, dark chambers are to lanterns
as innocence is to knowledge that,
that which is seemingly clear as day
in its illumination holds the obscure
as curtains are to darkened rooms

Ding Dongs and Cling Clangs

It may seem strange, it may seem weird,
but in the language of  the Ding Dongs,
there was no word for "problem."

Ding Dongs simply lived "situations" of  common,  every day resolutions,
If a buck from a neighboring village stole your goat
or deflowered your daughter, you'd form a raiding party
and  pillage the delinquent's country.  No mercy to babies nor elders.
This was the Ding Dong's " Rule of The Spear."  Give unto others
to a deeper penetration than they give unto you.

If on the other hand, an extended dry spell occurred,
the Ding Dongs shouted and stomped the ground in dance
till the Celestial Hoser turned on.

Yep, our Ancestors had no words for problems of any kind ---
that is until the goddamn Cling Clangs arrived. Cling should mean "Polemic"
Clang should mean " a pain in the ass."
First, the Pains  labeled  us "inferior race."
Heck, who knew we were a race ?
We thought by "race" was meant a sport.

Then, the Cling Clang had a problem with Ding Dong dress.
They felt we should clothes in wool rather than in beads and feathers
our traditional Ding Dong cover..

Following the problems with race and feathers,
the Kling Klangs had a problem with that we played more than we worked.  
They were they were the ones chasing sheep all over the country, should we
be feeling guilty the fish in the coral were fighting to jump into our cookouts?
Add to this, the Kling Klangs  were multiplying like rabbits,
a rodent brought from Rope Land, the home land they call Europe.

You know what just occurred on me?
the  Klangers cover their bodies,
because au natural they look like pigs.

In short, we Dons got  the short end of a long stick.
Our mothers were put to slave in Klingon  kitchens.
Our pretty girls went to work in Kingdom brothels,
and in no small number died of syphillis.
And we, sons and daughters of those early cooks and butlers
were taught to worship the Holy Klan Man on A Stick.

Understand, that in Ding Dong culture,
men on sticks were  not worshiped but were prisoners of war,
who were floated down river after trial by barbecue

That's how the marshmallow chews
That's why it's called His-Story.

Rainy Days in Atacama

The more you think
the more you question
Questions prompt
additional questions
subtractional questions
divisonal questions, etc.
and ready answers refresh
like rainy days in Atacama

Dive Infinity

As into infinity he dives
into his wife he dives
like high divers into pools
Correction - lagoons

The "O" Word

We have a Chief we've nicknamed "Ears"
for shyness we be spied at the mention of his sir
whose name has now been cataloged
the dreaded "O" word

Required Field Must Not Be Blank

A grain of sand is a celestial posting
on a galaxy where time further subtracts
and tides going out go into a distant beach
like me in the morning, and you at night
We wait but do not hold our breaths
we are still trying to grasp it all.