Ghost

My soul,

wispy wind-kicked haze collected in a curtain of dusk.
Industrial wasteland with mortal survivalists nestled and mapped to it like a network of moles,
sporadic antennae dotting the landscape are the signs of hope.

Streaming by like grand rapids, an endless cloud, and corresponding shades flicker
through the imagination- the greatest stillness known-
preoccupying the thoughts with daylight and fields of wheat.

A bionic life; a prosthetic family; a metallic cot.
I rest my head for a moment to hear my own breathing animating the whole.
It is too jarring to recall how much this wreckage will tumble again, unsatisfied, unrequited.

And so I squint through shreds of scarf to peer into a scant window where the ceiling is thin,
looking as is my duty and salvation
to what looks back as at a speck of scattered dust light-

white, glowing ghostly orb.
This mind sees into it, and through it, and around it-
It sees me.

The miracle is that I lock eyes,
a vortex of gravity and transformation fixes a point around which all buzzes and blurs.
A searing poker erupts the pressure like a pin to a blister and I am flapping skin.

Filled with vision and pain
I lose metaphor as the reference inverts and needs explanation
I sob with joy and repentance.

Inspired by “Spat” by Cut Chemist

tinklin ivory dances in sync and in sequence
integrating tricks and transitions
from harmony to melody
mellow key keeps me noddin
to the jazzy narration

a stroll down the avenue of acceptance and action
a slight slant to the stride, indicating what can’t be denied
can’t be crammed into classical form
a high class storm from low pressure
leisurely postin in mid-air,
notes floatin buoantly
in an ocean of heads bobbing in waves like wind in hair

Openly without annoyance each invites a break in monotony
beating a purpose in the street
like construction wokers,
jack-hammer jive and vibrations working on a building plan
blueprints with new hints of old flavors
long-time neighbors found leaning on fences and sharing recipes
reciprocity of refreshment
this tune turns things around and loops loose ends to meet
and like chldren’s medicine, to the tongue the taste is sweet

this craft creatively captures complexity
and shows samples of the soul to the simple
birthing smiling faces and dimples
discipling grimaces until they’re faded
and to those over inflated, balloons are burst like popping pimples

ripples and wrinkles freshly pressed
dressed fresh with funky creases
the funk ceases and the song releases inspiration
instigation of instinctual music
some quintessential hip hop

Atlantic Afternoon

Like current that comes flowing in front of a hurricane

the force of desire wells up- waves are thrust up by the steep contours of the century-old shape

of sedimented erosion

setting into motion rows upon rows- in droves they rise

advancing like denizens on an invasion march

I’m daydreaming, imagining that their surging and swelling might

complete their course- fulfilling their unshakable mission to flood the

earth

Instead they fall short of the mark as they crash just shy of the

gently sloping shore

slipping back slowly, slicing through rocks on the way

and returning to feed the next set of liquid soldiers with souvenirs

of sand-

mere tokens of cyclical dissolution

Delusional, we ride the waves like surfers just for thrills

and I’m sitting with the barnacles, ripped up from grasping for dear

life

to the only firm footing in this- which also is soon to be subsumed

until I’m at total peace with just floating along the current.