Thursday, September 3, 2015

No Shoes No Shirt No Service

The wind kicks up late 
"stirring the eucalyptus kool-aid"
is one way to say it
though my head is bent on the rhyme implied
which is sure to change someone's tune

not necessarily set to music because what
is music? other than the measure of syllables or breath
vibrating molecules of air & at what frequency
in the mind when words are not read aloud
still renders a tone & rhythm & shape
as much in image as sound or whatever claims that

          As for me I'm convinced it all has to do with the
                    bubbles in Mexican glass
                              fucking with the way perspective
                                        grinds against the grain of perception
                    but it only makes me thirsty

Digging the breezes as they go
          steeped flowers & devastation
                    "slow kisses on the eyelids of the sea"

                              I seem to be practicing reverse meditation
                              not even to see the way the mist hollows out
                              strumming the drumroll sand

You could ask who's voice it is this time
& remember how the guitar came in a step behind

& you're counting horses on bingo night
just around the corner from the end of civilization as we know it

& yes it does matter how you say it more than perhaps you know