mamaist drops (2)
Let the salamander outrun
Night’s opening door;
Cast your own shadow in
The flame of morning.
While you’re going all the
Way from heaven to hell,
Stop in and see me sometime,
Said the canary to the cat.
The fetus curl he slept in
On cold nights warmed
The heart of his death
Which he kept watch over
In his dreams.
What does a daisy give?
A daisy gives a fig.
The lotus, though, blossoms
From the inside out, true to itself.
Salve is the best boon
Money can’t buy.
The end of now
I sought to wed
Dream and poetry
To make both true.
For fathers go forward
Where mothers go backward: thus
A word is born.
A word that crowd-surfs its way to center stage
To be seen and heard, is obeying not the word of law
But the law of words.
There was once upon the time the end.
Now before after, is just after.
Own your own
–is it or isn’t it?—
With the body in mind,
I mind the body.
Beyond control but tantalizingly watchable
Is the subconscious.
Past makes present commodify the future
Bought and sold in the marketplace of sound.
Alphabet soup and humble pie dished out
To the budding poets of the world won’t deter
Their appetite for life and glory.
Steamrolled into politics, I’ve discovered
Depths lying beneath the pavement of stars.
The taproot of the poet is spine plus pain, in equal measure.
The heaviness lifts with each letter written down.