Saturday, May 05, 2012

poem: big mama avalanche

Vachon Island
the gris-gris mess of
fits and starts
dancing the fine line
tightrope of vagrant
minutiae. ask yourself
for the time of day,
calibrate your soul
sisters' temperance
dance cards, see can she
simplify your
quadratics, your
your differentials
even if the toast don't
be toasty. toast that little
gal, see can she dance
your finite rhythms, or if
it gon' be a fiery mess:
it's a simple two-step if
you wanna keep it simple, or
if you 'blige, you can go all
stephen hawking on the whole
damn thing, ventura highway,
muss-gon'-be-jump, and the files
just keep on follicatin' they
satrap funky eyes down
the sally alleys: this
distillation titrates
the very last cold cold
bone of your casual
dressy shaman being: seek &
the dressy dress comes
down the holy mountain
big mama avalanche
of billy idol time,
dancin' with self &
all them blimey elves:
sample the nines,
my pretty babes,
the weather's turning,
the fives are yearning,
the tantric lil gams
be your final


Blogger Teresa said...

What a wonderfully rollicking poem to brighten my day (everyone's day).

Hope you're well.

3:55 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Happy to brighten, Sister Teresa. Listening to some Sting earlier got my rumba on.

5:48 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

googled Vashon Island and I am a little obsessed with wanting to visit the northwest anyway so got stuck there. I would be doing all those dances (those the math escapes me) if I could be watching Orca Whales doing their own dance in the waters off that island. Someday....lovelovelove the rhythm and feel of this dancy piece :)

7:54 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee, when I sabbatical'd for six months in Idaho back in 1995, I became obsessed with Vashon, too - all the San Juans as well. Those islands up there are well worth your time and obsessions. I enjoyed writing this one.

4:52 AM  

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