you keep trying to get it right
tonights menu on the placemate again
a sweat-crusted "what?"
hes just happy to see you
"The matter of song is warm air, even breathing, and in a measure living, made up of
articulated limbs, like an animal, not only bearing movement and emotion, but even
signification, like a mind, so that it can be said to be, as it were, a kind of aerial and
Ficino, Op. Omn. (563)
The first neon lights
streaking the dawn
green luminous golden ultramarine
cross-dressed the ship like a drag
queen with too much jewelry and fake gold,
the last thing we saw was the stern
swaying as it sank from that weight
through a red tunnel grotto vulva mine or
cave and our senses, all of them,
made us guttural, vanquished us, made us drool.
What they saw was more or less this,
that few survived to tell the tale and
fewer stayed sane: we were.....
One by one the animals disappeared
either shot or destroying each other
or owned by banks or the military,
the short dog, the eagle mean
and not giving over,
the terrible melancholic deer.
I admired their efforts in the face of apocalypse
and so lined up my inner animals
in a similar formation:
the happy stupid one, the cheater,
the practicing intellectual,
the yogini, the softball champion