Thursday, June 7, 2012

A Few Revelations

Have any of you ever worn three pairs of shoes
at the same time? Are you sure?
The distant traveler walks barefoot in the inner world.
I am only happy when the dark planet of process
exerts its tug on me. The metaphysical raven perched on my door
is tapping a pin into the door hinge with a small brass hammer.
I am the dark horse in the first pew. My patience is unique.
I'm sitting next to you whispering in your ear.
     Lift my stripes for words of gold.
I want to be soluble on a moonlit night.
The mighty are not deceived. Do not interrupt their loafing.
The decorations of summer are a lonely creature. 
The world will not sleep.  It might wake up. 
I am in the target like any archer. I see this movie in a cobblestone.
I've read westerns on Iron Mountain.
I've listened to owls in the Blue Palisades.
I've lost a marathon in Canada.
I am a boy hemmed in by persistence.
Dreaming these dreams of you, it's easy to forget
that I'm the fool of a few revelations.
I found this fame in the infinitive lee of Penguin's black tie. 
The pathway to the bookstore is paved with brick. 
The pathway away from the bookstore is covered with straw. 
I glue my moccasins to my feet. 
The traffic drifting by on the left is stranger
than the march on the right.
The minotaur at the center of the salt shaker
has been unvanquished for eons. 
A rug collector is living underneath his last Persian carpet. 
The world's smallest rabbit leaves his cage and travels
in miniature jumps to historic downtown. 
The computer that survives invention is eating and being merry.
One button pressed will release all the bards,
but buttons are always being pressed.
Heavier than a katydid fossil, I'm on the loose. 
Three brickles west of your scene, I'm thatching your roof,
washing your kettle, folding your ladders, listening to you howl.  

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