Litkicks Message Board Archive

Postcard to Sal, Judih, and Lotus..

Posted to Action Poetry




I'm somewhere, spinning, twisted, twisting, swining, swimming - swimming in some silent session of blown pure notes, falling over each other, reality stepping forth to take it's solo as I sit back and sway to the flutesax ripples of weekend holy rest and movement, moving into endless highway sands lighs of baker looming in the distance, looking back to smogtower humdrum general motors - birth of the smog, miles never saw such a mess, birth of the cool, birth of the bop, Dizzy Cab ride, drunken nights on long stairways up to the piano room, sax glistens on the floor, but i'm not cool enough to go to the stage, newcomer, alone, laughing inside, a stranger, once again, bliss, blissful stranger, strangeland, birdland, strangebird in a birdland, robert parker, hear the lines in between and the man from mars finds a glass of teardrops, waiting for that perfect sunset, I wait, for that perfect moment, where time stops and the roads all call out for the touch of the soles, the souls, the soulwheels of travel, and endless go go Go blow, BLOW man, GO.... tired, and shifting to silentce again sleep plays coy in some crazy game of cat and mouse, hiding in the hills, under the sign for elko, where there's a hardee's with a helium clown, and a stop sign or two, my town for a few hours - momentum on hold, building up for atlanta to see the pope in bear feet wander a crazy hotel of fantasy and dreams, before the florida coast opens its arms for days of fishing in ocala, and laying on the shore so far from the normal sands, the earth embraces so softly with lapping waves and hushed winds, this place is IT, man - sell the car for fifty bucks, and north again for a recolllection of the days past and the west once again, as those same truck stops are once again the moon lodge, rest, walk, rest, drive, rest and move on, but nothing really soothes like market street, and charleston horse smell, and happy tourists with nag champa and sea wata, and saltsmell meeting the alleyways of underage intoxicated laughter, parking garage lookout over temples of old world charm and restructured bricks and old buildings made new by modern stalagtite chemistry - bring back the caves of modern life my chateau above king street with the underground third floor dungeon ,where i'd hide and read away from the noise and paniced drugcrazy souls screaming in jittering zangzinging dismay at the terrors within their own minds, as I laughed alone and sat in the dungeon under the kitchen, leaning on the waterpipes and reading with my waterpipe, outside the masses enjoy life and spread that joy but the windows above me are closed and house the terrors of acidcraze and i sit alone and read with that waterpipe - wake to silent dusty dreams in a cavern of dark and always new nooks of scrated initals and notes and long lost memories of jack loves jill loves paul loves mary - bang back into ohio where the stars are really bright and the roads all lead west and north to where I end up in some robtotic world of machinemade machines, crying out for lonely mountain truckstops.

Michael