a few weeks ago
my grandfather approached me
in a dream
he was nearly twelve feet tall
slowly walking into the grassy periphery
& leaning his head down & into the greenhouse i was in
seeing his face,
startled, & mentally grasping,
i woke up
later that morning
i learned that day would have been
his one hundredth birthday
the tar on this highway
looks like arabic
dripped for someone
high above
to read
cocktail dresses
hang in muddy fields
holding up power lines
son house hollers
slides a bottle
picks the notes
like a grandaddy spider
the ride feels still
for a second
like the road
is moving underneath
new batch of nannies
again alien
student on a bench
staring into the sky
writing in a notebook
lawnmower purr
the asshole w/ the poodle
the ranger's Ford Ranger
f feeding treats to lap dogs
clumps of dying grass
airblower
rocks
wait for me
asian woman w/ hotty legs
ruined by a butterfly tattoo
a white butterfly flits past
lighting on a tree
putting rocks in the trash can
cable grinds
then almost silence
cept for a beeping truck
& the robot voice from a bus
announcing the stop
bless you
same lady
as yesterday
casing the trash can
rock tossed into wah wah
fifteen yard dash
guy doin pushups
a femmy trainer nearby
training a bleached blonde butch
back to swings
a yellow, plastic castle
my mind mowing
my mind an airblower
my body a park
sand in the swing
warm, wooden bench
son on the stairs saying
bye bye
i walked in to buy some tea
& as the man behind the counter
commented on my t-shirt
i told him we'd met before
@ the old location
years ago
& the talk turned...
i accidentally walked out w/ 8 ounces
of monkey-picked tieguanyin
sticker shocked
but after many cups @ home
gettin water right &
steep time:
honey, flower garden, lemon,
readin a history book,
the clock turned...
this stuff isnt really "monkey picked"
but a tale the east sold the west
in its ironic naivety
it was either sending monkeys
up tall tea trees
& throwing rocks @ them
so they'd tear off branches of leaves
& throw them down
or that the monkeys
were trained w/ feasts
to climb up
& pick only the choicest leaves
from the tops of the trees
the world turned...
my head was racing
like daytime
the thoughts i looked forward to
wouldnt leave me alone
locked in a wrestle w/
i couldnt best until finally
maybe for a few hours
but focused on portsmouth square
in an undreamy way
analyzing
awake but asleep
until 4:30 AM
gettin up
puttin some water on
& having more tea
the tides turned...
inspiration is like a gear
hit w/ oil
for a while
gravity doesnt exist
time doesnt exist
until the squeaking
the ghost of an old city
seen thru sanborn insurance maps
haunts alleys of my mind
walking out
meet lawyer samuel wilson
preacher william taylor
navy man david dixon porter
plutocrat james ben ali haggin
poet ina coolbrith
the kentucky derby runs at 3 PM
honey dew half
w/ spoons
pool forms
in the soft greens
if i could shrink myself
& climb down there
i'd take a dip
do a can opener
