They once gathered    more
to listen to some    upstart
play Faure; today    my belt
perks awry as    nocturnes
play through laptop    fan
static, but Mozart    knows
that life is like this,    hear,
says he, disregard    plastic
medium.

Speech, to pull

surprise

          from a gap

where the lining

comes

          loose

in your jeans

pocket,

          where

anything arises,

seams--

          fable.

I sat again

at that focal

            dip,

where masts bend
into a dome

            frame

that supports
a spectral
            ceiling,
that city lights

pierce

that parade and

            swivel

But when the sharp
point from Moby Dick

            fine

sea food inches

between my

            ribs

and the pizzeria

on the shore

            slides

neon into my side

and they lift

            me,

I imagine, as

wonder

            drains
onto pavement,

that skywards,
            lady

familiarity parts
the worn

            fabric
between Mars
and unknown

            suns,

says, "they who wield

electric spears want
            jerky,

not succulence." She
says I must now 

            escape.

Thought is a homely nurse

Haze
until my split-
image arrives

He is casual
as if to bare
face

behind
skin is common
and he says

yes,
I am clarity,
your neighbors

play bop-it or moan
but you can't disoblige
them, flesh is fire

and they ache,
but you thought
as much in the fog.

Look:
you saw the chandelier's
tusks, and pictured
ivory,

but you can hardly kill
her outright. Shall I take
you by the hand, draw
more?

You nod,
hardly listen, weary-
pupils, let me tuck
those lids over, but know
that in the fog
you can only
quake.

I let him go,
the flame grows
damp, and a still
air rises.

Trouble sleeping on interesting sheets

Laden, a shade
steps along a scaffold.
He looks over
the edge and below
orange energy
pulsates. He observes,
                             -if I dip
my face into this broth
viscous from adren-
aline shivers, I may
                            bloom
and petals curl
around unused
thoughts and brush
                            off
the dust, and laughter
rise, as if skin knows
pleasure; I need only
                             swim
and let orange swells
engulf second-thoughts
                             and feel
electric curls
where a cry is a slide
to a hiccup
and bliss wells
                             over-
he turns the corner
and lays in shadow,
for there were no thoughts
there, he saw no thoughts.

There was a game
where two magicians
played ball. The first
threw it to the sky,
above the clouds
and it was afloat
a zephyr and native
to the wind, and then
the latter took control
and the ball abruptly fell
and his arms shook
but it plummeted
until above his head
it plumed and haze
and vines birthed
with petals that curled.

The former's feat
may have been laudable,
but the audience could
remember nothing.

We spurn a person
because when we fear they cringe,
nervous lips deter.