Stream of Somethingness

Write as fast as you can

to escape your memories

waiting for you at the end of this very line

but if there is no line or sign or rhyme

then there’s no reason to end

or to be afraid

like a tightrope walker in the clouds

taking it step by step

knowing nothing

except for the feel of his feet beneath his wire

thinking that this is the feat that leads us all to infinity

that we’ll get to eventually

when we’re patient enough to see

beyond this universe

that rests in the dream of Vishnu and shake your head

and this kaleidoscope sends

changes

and shapes indescribably into the seen and obscene

but these particles remain the same

and here we are

where we said

we’d never be

but as babies

we never conceived of

where we were

and where we would ever be.

 

 

 

when the abstract abstracts memory

When the abstract seems like landscape you’ve pictured before

is when you think you see

everything

until the landscape swallows you whole and spits you out

a babe in the woods

naked and alone and into the trees that look

like Jackson Pollack’s handkerchief before he sneezed

and you’re left wondering

where you believe and what you believed

and life’s too short to see where your sight begins and where it

leaved

and what you see

you once seed

even if the word is saw

that sees through the cutting of these trees

so what you saw was seed

planted deep in memory

harvesting these thick vapor steams and paper ream dreams

until ink bleeds

to read as poetry

or reality

or bullshit

only to fertilize

these next crop of printed dreams.