until the mindless hours of night,
flout cellos strain the tunes
stagger, under a coronet moon.
rustle of handmade dresses and voiceless chatter,
of dried glands spoiled in milk, guild
the finger painted echo of her
clutching mother’s sooted pea coat.
I listen to paper dolls toss and turn
in her shoe box below the stairs.
A cradle rocks
in my broken stagger’s shadow,
under her coronet crescent moon.
Space Cadet 2020 All Rights Reserved
Something I dreamt Mingus say
Nothing, nothing else
I got Lost but I’m back
With a street dream of that house
in an ashtray heart
A curled 16th note corkscrew
Only if we’d known we’d lost the money halfway
A lesson floats in that ashtray.
In that heart
On that corkscrew note
where brook trout surface
in baritone river rains,
where fox prey,
and jackals await
dressed in morning’s ballistics
as firing squads take aim.
‘neath The Moon Rabbit,
cleared by crowds drunk with virtue,
screaming for Śakra
in final sighs of autumn’s jade dawn
I send this signal to you,
to share in our memories of saccharin-skin armor, my brave brother,
negotiating peace with toy soldiers,
playing dead from sticks and walnut hand grenades.
The prez went golfing, the kids went to Daytona to ride waves.
They love each other when the weather ain’t so gray.
I stayed home, runny nose to my toes, bandana over my mouth,
counted the door dash twenty-somethings deliver pizza,
could smell the garlic bread from across the way, uncovered for a breath
like coming up for water, or jousting with a drag off some worldly monument, holding it as a cigar, the Statue of Liberty, or The Moai, one of nine-hundred, and his oversized head, so much for this inhale, what’d gag and crumble almost everyone…
In balance of history, looking back isn’t too kind. Moving forward and living now is all. Now, when the tenth page turns near, lost in pandemonium inside this abandoned town, I ride this bicycle steed to the next city.