Needles and Points

when we drift along reluctantly,

wending along,

distant from the hurry-ups pursuing close behind,

time becomes its own dizzy atmosphere

erupting into inconsequential nostalgic backfire.

and somewhere down the line

we notice we are not out front at all

but merely exiting

Sgt. Peppers lonely highway,

holding our noses

(to stop the bleeding),

coping buds portable electric

as eventual dancing dwarfs

begin filling our ears with toothpicks,

evening ragas,

one-way airmail envelopes.

time becomes its own dizzy atmosphere

reverberating a constant hum

amplifying desperate existence in our ears,

and lightbulbs suddenly freeze

then shatter from sight,

demanding unmeasured discipline

this season of Mule Mountain monsoons.

time becomes its own dizzy atmosphere

as we sit in phonebooths composing rhyme,

waiting for the next nod to die closer,

considering a single shift key

that has become immune to a tap,

been there so long:

"hey, peasant, want some mora?"

lost in time's own dizzy atmosphere

we cannot verify a thing,

the mind's shovel turns black

so antiquated from monotonous thoughts,

impossible to disclose these random soporific confessions.

and my throw-up lover collapsing naked on the floor,

bending her knees

over her next kill,

armed with her sweet Chinese dragon

as I am bound to watch us fade away,

any wonder or contentment already strewn under the bathtub.

time becomes its own dizzy atmosphere

pausing so pathetically,

no jobs listed in the classifieds,

my home another dizzy atmosphere

convoluting wayward cobwebs.

I do not expect some peaceful sympathy to follow.

I do not regret necessary prophetic letters

appearing before my visor.

in this overdosed rain a flute begins its calling.

underneath this sky some other destiny awaits us all.

grey streets do not ponder sinking deeper,

recalling further,

only close doors to deny frank strangers

thus propagating even more eager pages of verse latitude.

we have been asked if there’s peace in nodding?

any bread for seducing a sister’s appetite?

but only silence answers,

and clearer paths may emerge

other far-removed mornings

from time's own dizzy atmosphere

Bisbee

7/6/74