poem: bliss minuet
guano on the firemeerkat shuffle
it's a Sansabelt kinda night
the bludgeon tools
need a feeding: if you
wrestle your demons
in the midday, the forecasters
ramp the dizzy doodles,
answering the full of love
cashmere sweaters
not a snowball's chance
they lay the other way
casting calls
redeye gravy
pinch the bottoms of all they gals
in fashionary bliss
minuet on the boardwalk
the teasing's in the saucy sauce
little miss teentown
box your socks
with nary the second glance
falling severance pay
egalitarian passion play
get that marimba on outta
here, the curves
say angular, but
you haven't guessed them,
guessed their weight,
guessed the nearest
whey, guessed how
the ample
maples the rest of all
your ubiquitous
pusillanimous
atramentarious
wide world economy
righteous brontosaurian
rusty, crusty
mess.
Labels: felix cavaliere
posted by murat11 at 8:38 PM
8 Comments:
Well, guano on the fire is definitely a rusty, crusty mess. Your beginning and your ending certainly connect, but the meanderings in between are quite amazing! Loved the gals doing the minuet on the boardwalk.
Clearly, I need to reschedule my demon-wrestling sessions: been missing out on those dizzy doodles and razzy dazzlers, and lord knows, we could use them these days.
Despite the guano, despite the brontosaurian rusty, crusty mess, there's something light and skippy about this one, more connected in spirit to the gorgeous photo and beautiful song that frame it ... Makes me wonder ... been making snow angels lately?
I think I've pinched a few bottoms on the boardwalk myself. Hope the floodin' down in Texas ain't too bad for ya this winter, Pascal.
Great song from a great record. Part of my soundtrack from the early 90's for sure. Peace, amigo.
Teresa: I'm not sure what to make of this poem. I likes it just fine: I know that junior high and high school years and themes are creepcrawling through these years - reminiscings, blushings, etc. All distilled through these Sansabelt ancient of days . . .
Anno: I plan to make plenty snow angels with the Resident Beauty and Youth tomorrow, when your care package arrives on the overnight express . . . (:-D)
Welcome back to Tejas, Miguel. Floods are fine, hoping for snow overnight: PM fits the musical moods just about anytime. Peace back to you, amigo.
I picture you huddled over a magic 8 ball that you shake and new words pop up. Atrementarious? You made my spell check go into therapy. Don't know where you were going in the beginning but the news of war is indeed everywhere (if I am reading that right)
Hate it when the guano is in the fire but when you go pinching bottoms of dancing girls you take what you got coming tot ya, lucky to get severance pay.
Dee: Poet's dirty laundry: ain't no magic 8 ball I'm huddled over; when we're skidding to a poem's end halt, more often than not, it's a rhyming dictionary I'm scrying.
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