71 aspects

there are less than 71 aspects to this slice of cherry toast
i will not go on to bore you with each individual aspect

do you have a place for me to take a nap?
like there under that tree on the hill with the breeze gentle and 75 degrees?

Seasoned Seas

The dishes are so dirty in the stream of fresh water. The minnows are queasy. Pure sunlight is coming up like a puppet over the dirty snowy hills and I am taking it easy. Bend the light with your left eye. Prism time. Dime in my shoe. Pure lettuce in the box tipping over the reel to reel canoe. That's what you show. Wet lentil smushed into the oak flooring and a tidal wave of flavor making itself unknown.

patterns of flavored ice

proverbial squid lozenge
classic rock cd sampler between two slices of hard bread
sweat lodge keycode
188628545674167

resin

liquid resin is the byproduct of low level bypass concrete pourings
and is the viscosity of my current showboat
i showboat through the oil looking wanly at the sun
knowing full well my commentary is like that of an egret
or of a plum floating in some ancient oriental wine

crack the jug motivational poem for slugs
but i don't seek i squint to peek
and let it wash like guash

cherry cola

credit card gummy bear beat it back in the sandwith Charlie Chaplin's canehow do we know if the medicine is fresh?go to Pittsburgh and reinvent the electric carwith pine cones and masking tapeand cherry pits andbrandy from a plastic tub

exerpt from the journals of the Giant Baby

lobby of the liquid nation
liquidator liquidates for a reason
no time to sell a bucket of reason
lobster crawling toward the seasonin'
hit me with a salad tray and let the bees in
drywall gives my hands a crease-in

Typical Jazz Family - Quick Portrait

She is a pumpkin visitor from the island of flat cakes. You have heard her play the modified bassoon, I assume. She and her half-sister are here for the summer. Slightly obscured behind the drapes. They'll come out when they are comfortable. Later, much later, on. Her brother is there in the corner, standing, playing forward thinking jazz on a boxy plugged-in George Benson type guitar. Nice to hear. Haven't seen him since he was a cracker eating dirt devil. The music sounds nice with the clarinet. Played by a man stiff as plywood. He's the father of the family. Old but looks not terribly old. Still stance, loose playing but not sloppy. Quick notes that all have the right shapes leave his horn and go out to mingle in the air with the round warm tones of the brother. It's perfect cracker and cheese music and drinks. Strong drinks with half a pill dissolved. This family is a jazz family and with that comes the full package: popped water beds, purple pills, Velcro shoes, flags of imaginary countries hanging from the front porch, ant problems, slippery ceilings - you for sure get the picture. It is typical of this generation of jazz family. Sad but happy. And then neither. 1 sister, 1 half sister, one still standing clarinet playing old but not too old dad, and a mother who is on another planet. She's a female astronaut. A bracing beauty with blood as cold and whispering as a Neptune dawn. She's smart, too smart to be a jazz mother. She built her own rocket from chopsticks, toothpicks, and guitar picks. Installed a hamster drink dispenser filled with Mojito mix. She is as cold as a northern bell hit with a cold stick at the end of the day. And she rings long and true through the neighborhood. Like a marble eye in zero G.