Thursday, January 20

the wane.

moon getting smaller?
oh, yes.
brain returning to normal?
you'll have to define normal.
if you're talkin' noise about normal for y'all,
then no.
no way, even.
no watered-down waterbaby thoughts happening over here.
in fact, it's all hard styles, all the time.
if you mean normal in the sense of a returning to
the less-erratic static of an analog line-out to lunar leniency,
all up inside my warrior brainbucket of elbow macaroni,
then hells yes, neighbors.
we're getting there.
the slow wane is also warming up the skies.
and brightening up the nights.
tides ebb, and circles get smaller,
concentric, and encapsulated,
like pipesmoke-blown rings of intangible transience.
awwww, man.
that's hobo-style imagery, innit?
mm-hmm. it takes one to know one.
i've got vagabond itinerancy welling up to replace the fur and claws
of werewolfen berserker business,
one side ebbs, the other flows, ninjas.
real talk.
handkerchiefs filled with treats,
stealing pies from window sills,
avoiding dogs (mostly my own)
and relying on the kindness of a goodhearted married woman-
who just happens to be married to me.
that's a lucky bum.
that's what she said.
wait, what?
i've got a harmonica and a fire over here...
a pot of beans is all i need to complete the picture.
one calm, collected gypsy swansong, coming up;
never quiet, never soft.....

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