When Mingus and I, to Rainbow’s End,
enjoined on rides apostate gravity
till close of day, in queues of open rain—
two males playing naturally as friends,
I thought I felt that all these things
were written. I could comprehend
contortion, but don’t think I want to
understand and hold that moment
known, how it started, all from nowhere,
with not even an idea.
holograph or hieroglyph.
no amulet, or minecraft,
no hallelujah liferaft.
In scholastic Evolution, navy
format, re:Evolution’s airy format,
smaller planets influence, my education
forbade such things as precognition,
Intelligence prior Form. We change
and ride a gentle Log flume
through darkness made of treasure;
the water, though it eddies
behind the large rocks, the
flow of the river does not
fetish for long the still spot.
Come closing we are wet,
in hunger tired, and smiling.
And back in the queues tomorrow
for more of the centrifugal
forces threw the son out of his mother
into the brother-care of males.
thank you, Robert; it was in answer to your last poem: I went some years as a drinking writer, but Writing, for me, is best lived sober (which isn’t to say I don’t miss it! and the booze had it’s uses, for sure)
Kind of crazy, but I like the flow, and you took me there