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Sky, was the reply

Posted to Poetry and Politics

Sky, was the reply


it’s all set
the set is set
with very airy open eyes
sat wizard men with
enraged breasts
outlooking burnt Vienna
in the self-legislated distance
a distance favorable to the peeling ass
“Forlorned omens go along clogging the skies.”

snake carved desert of a sky

Egypt in a tomb
a spirit’s spirit
hundreds . . . tens . . . teaspoon generations

“They’re plans are quite eternal.”

In slaying skies
skies of slain slate gray
marble skies of rock collections
the paper weight to international stamps in bureaus
skies of loaned longetivity
clouds in the pole - vault - limbo
abridged rainbows

Porous star light
of a morning sky
Cracked stained glass city sky
Sky of kamikaze pigeons
dive bombing the open hand
Skies of astronomical windows and
postcard views
Memorized skies of the
Ice cream skies
Spark plug skies
and the dharma-cathead
reflection of endless skies

swift and set
like a carnival of nosebleeds

bereft of a degrees axis
23 degrees of separation
calls its name: sky of toilet gold!
like wheels of hot butter

on the eve of
daughter of a Wednesday ceremonial superstition
a conceptual conspiracy of the Atom Mother
in her absent
exited the tower of
her radiator castle

a Narnia without wall
or steam feather

sans archers of love
sin Billy Goat Gruff

gone go no gone on to no one

Princess! Extinguish your locks of blonde!
Feed me a ladder!

There were no locks to be had
for Rumpulstiltskin
was busy weaving
battleships and space asterix
for the Pied Piper.

O a time of pickled everything’s
Nothing is exempt
the staunch wizard is cracking numbers
with his teeth
in the sea’s basement sauna

emphatically spoken
mile of dead shoes
lollipop civilization for hire

I see
of which it was not spoken
but of mountains eclipsed
for a moment
then returned

I saw
tho shant calleth
the centipede children
holy butterflies
..of which it was
skewered as a finely dead rose
upon the newly born planet

Cut To the chase-
an Earth separate from this Earth
a civilized service island home to
Queens and their Jester lovers

“A Bonnie and Clyde past.”

Past day and night
. . . the sun lives Not in outer space
outer space is a permanent night
with brighter stars

How close are we to the grand THERE?
Do the souls of pragmatic
and the thinned
live on a preschooler’s brow?
Will Idiom Adam eat the apple?

Stop-Stay tuned.


a dream

Again I take to the skies
in an indigo vermouth flight plan
spreading air throughout my timber eyes
I am awake in the air-borne legend

This is not dead dreaming
I know not I am flying
tho distance tells me so
The horse field’s speed is registered
in the jungle
I soar to great heights
where down is up
and I am lifting above everything

O scalloped vermilion flyby‘s!
Can you hear me sweeping
by you in your château’s of weeping clay?

I see your blind children
play stop-watch croquet
on the thistle of champagne dew
and the potion erectus
begins walking upright to the near-bloom gardens of Aristotle
as terracotta overtures wail:

Maya the Spring Olympic!

Meanwhile, as Olymmpia grows dead in the womb
Larissa is hungry and stolen
on god’s cleft chin
…reaching with burnt fingers
I tattoo:
‘Who swallowed the apothecary?’
on his sleeping brow
and free Larissa like Jack frees the harp

(Man) is instilled on the bloody welcome mat
of a plutonium playhouse
From the window I see
Jaguars drinking tea
and a ticker-tape parade marching into the attic

I levitate above black cornfields
till the sun rises above toad riots in Moscow

-I pass through the clouds
of steam volcanoes
with no end to this horizon.

ryan storm