3 post-holiday nights
(158-160)
by mike barth
//
TEXT INCLUDED FOR AUDIO LISTENERS
3 post-holiday nights by mike barth // night i (158) yellow boat ride hold the gratitude close to my chest tetrascopic twin bodies with large heads they watch the clocks tick teaming underneath they watch the clocks tick at separate times all set at wild zones of interest golden foliage leaves a path unbroken, filled by man an impasse too difficult to progress especially when the leptis manga (the roman empire) sings to the father of carthage bleak north industrial scenes of the matchstick man today's and today's and right now's a-train stays on the rails today fish grin white smiles straight into the well prayers rise like incense after the coins are tossed in then an age old question buried in the box out back - am i beautiful enough ? we cannot change the wind , only adjust the sail // night ii (159) mosaic tile window pane all lucid , all design rafter decor ceiling art a reflection of your internal guts a spiritual jungle youre an eight-headed freakazoid looking at mythos drinking tea eating cold eggs on a colder plate life no longer ash in my mouth the lake that is clear Inflow, outflow come out of the fog clear headed optimism the bermuda triangle inside you , inside all others // night iii (160) hot water and the cold weather help the hands and the ship captain necessary tools in the lock box there is an end to this flatland cut deep with an acute angle all belongs to him all the mason jars are filled to the brim no leaky cauldrons they say my journal notes are lost outside this music , the song kept within somewhere ? who am i where am i what am i to do it's a river now painted clear as crystal proceeding from the throne room straight to your well on to the blank canvas where the ink was splattered and stained on our fingernails back in the locker room to be of service l listening with open ear canals not the shovel but i! or the other way around? evenly gift wrapped in b-day paper now the dunes are one with the waves, sea of sand , landscapes to ride on uneven tides what story is yours that i may share? death / life upon arrival , a strange outlier detached, limb from limb from what ails a new low how many miles till home? empty 3d vessels to fill with candy alesis drum beat the chest tidal error, two stars the dream police says its a season of vision while the ghosts sit right above our heads swapping out or insides like lego pieces //
thank you kindly for reading ,
- mike
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