quiet the title
earth. one day it will all burn up in the sun.
my thought bubble bursts, tear it all down.
it is too hot to walk outside, blue peter waves,
we walk anyway and head down to the docks.
boats clanging on the wood in gentle waves,
the court ship next to the dirty oar,
fingers untie knots as thoughts bubble again,
“let us have shrimp and grits for dinner.”
we debate the difference between polenta
and grits. a fine mill with a touch of homemade rub.
a fine meal with a cold cucumber soup.
they want to tear down white Jesus
as if it matters, fools have reversed the image!
it is art for art’s sake, forsaken in hubris.
quiet the title, passions of quite a collection,
a swamp tree plays with me and my statue
shadows, everywhere I go I plant tupelo.
bend down to pick up blue nitrate gloves,
masked b-yacth’ch Karen left, rest her soul.
unmasked ships and giggles has a diver down,
one owl hugs a stump with its wings. starboard,
take flight inversion of the curve... code orange,
code red affirmative sui generis’ keep clear of me.
when we speak of religion are we talking about race?
an Ulm dream of breaking crystal night,
the flag of quarantine with two black squares
comes to rest under the yellow flag of pratique,
one short blast of the ship’s horn sails past.
two bodies jump to infinity, shiver in adrenaline,
sacred ghosts in the fragrance of a sailing day.
creations held in that liminal space before
becoming manifest in the world. unbeing Adams
in that safe place in the void before the water spills over,
fully in the universal knowing outside the pound of flesh.
we surface born into this world of questions, look towards hills
where stars have come out and sweet honey of the rock
M’s MacGuffin anchored in the dock. talk about it,
thought bubbles of ice cream series coloring outside the lines,
modernist cuisine gallery of hoarders release objects.
leaning in the corner, children dance around the tupelo.
a vase with carnations, we disembark reborn minimalists.
race and religion a device to move the narrative along,
showering solitude and dressing for dinner. lost art. lost soul.
