far to wet

a couple of week’s rain in a day
the first time i heard the train in a while
i never got worried by rain until florida
english rain is light and polite

shortage of umbrellas
footsteps between raindrops
or a ride in a blue car
not to far, but far too wet


buried below

moments and movements
we look for denouements
push for improvements
and look for the reason inside
the ebbtide or the flowtide
starts inside the decide

wake up in the sunlight
pushing through the curtain
not a room with only one light
to spotlight the hurtin’

we moved beyond that a while ago
and now the heat is all aflow
and we keep the dead buried below

buying into the gordian knot

hit the nadir
and the zenith will appear
rooted to the spot
only as long as the trajectory is forgotten

i keep drawing limited maps
bury the spark in synapse traps
and sponsor collapse in a spiritual lapse
we are giving more attention to the gaps

mind the gap says the underground train
stuck on a loop of repeat and remain
choosing not to cut against the grain
you make the pattern trammelled plain

i was magnolia wallpaper
i was a plague of beige
i was a surrender of vague
i was an aborted stage

taking out the eye for the kingdom of the blind
fucks with your depth perception
running around out of your mind
tuned into some other kind of reception

i knew the way home yesterday
yet today i claim i forgot
blunting the blade with a thought
and buying into the gordian knot

the relation

family submitted through consideration of distance
some kind of mental resistance
to the notion, that duty and devotion
are any kind of lock; any way to navigate past
any way to move into the future
practicing triage on your surroundings
amputation, conflagration, or suture
the electricity we are grounding
i felt like a foundling
you feel like a stranger, a divergence
what do you have to understand to have a resurgence?
you have to understand the other people in the equation
you have to understand the relation
and then you have to take part in the creation
of a family

under the lies

to recognise the self under the lies
to see with new eyes
there’s a surprise in the action
you feel the traction
as the tread grips
and where the previous was slips
and starts and false beginnings
this feels like a different innings

it’s just not cricket
it’s understanding when you’re in the thicket
bowled a googly, took one in the box
and all those other unsportsmanlike shocks
you are rarely ever on the rocks
you have the blues but aren’t in dry docks
and you can float out into something you sea
where the ocean meets the sky
and you can remember how to be
someone who knows how to fly
and you uncover your self from beneath the lie

Fried A

end of the week
start of something
at the heart of something
a part of something
the art of something

you have to put yourself there
put yourself somewhere
attempt something
or you are a dumb thing
you are an object

some days i am a half woke hand
needing a cup of coffee and
something always planned
be able to produce on demand
you sit, you rise, you stand

new orleans again

i been jazz head heading
with no water treading
with a treme float
with a sweet blue note
the second line playing
and the indians are dancing

i remember it being sweet
standing on bourbon street
dropping a smile by the moonlight mile

i dreamed buddy bolden
before i smelt the mississippi
i was swinging with louis
screaming with bird
be-bop dropping with diz
and stepping out with trane

i need to go to new orleans again