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Poems in prose clothing like Mardi Gras traveling incognito conjuring San Francisco street scenes through a Cajun filter with mystic Tarot reading kickflips and Southern Baptist backslides while a half-forgotten dream lingers somewhere off-stage fiddling with the dial.
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The key to the motel room was a metaphor
rhyming with the allegorical sunglasses
which may be the point of it all
pointing due north
An ounce of nightingale
versus banjos in the eucalyptus
which I took to mean the prototype
& to lay it down then
w/a little 2/4 oom-pah beat
spinning the wheel of outrageous fortune
like taco Tuesday on a Wednesday
but knocked from the karmic loop
whatever is going to happen
like it already has
& all of it leaning up against yr mind
like a bulldozer
leaning against a feather of mist
