There is this electric awareness of molecules ping pinging up from my skin to collide against the cotton and constriction of garments rendered by machines and hands distant, lean and unknown. molecules ping pinging reciting nursery rhymes to the sound of glenn miller albums spinning from a french-blue bedroom lined with irish linen and smelling of mercury and things both long forgotten and treasured long. sunlight distorts the path laid by the moon and snowy owl scat on a not-quite-spring-yet night when the wind steals the immediacy from breath and molecules leap to find their match ... measured to the three four cadence of jazz played on a hollow body guitar.
ping pinging
output
input
carrying the moontide
rolling
shifting into
ping pinging
output
input
carrying the moontide
rolling
shifting into
(remembered)
patterns of moonbeams on blue snow
patterns of moonbeams on blue snow
morning finds the coffee hot and bubbling with brilliant bitterness, upon a tongue tired tired tired from want of trying trying trying but eager to try try again and grateful for these minstrels and poets and gypsies who shine their light so that i may take a bite of an apple hanging perfectly poised against my dry lips
Oh! Morning!
find my spine straighter, my heart wide-open to every mote, every nuanced collide of dust to senses awake with the sun
Oh! Morning!
find my spine straighter, my heart wide-open to every mote, every nuanced collide of dust to senses awake with the sun
ping pinging
