Typed Extra Quick for the Waiting Guy

Prose. What a strange mangling of harmony. Not breaking enough. To show the rhythms. The linebreak, an ingenious not ingenuous invention by someone more than a genie on the genetic scale of action. All this reaction as if playing things over without thinking makes us better. Well, a small update. Matt's moved in. We have a funny humor in our interactions. So much better than interfacing with machines. My armpit gland swelled up. Too many toxins. Just because I'm a wine-steward doesn't mean I'm a lush. On the contrary, I probably just didn't get enough nutrients for a week combined with too much pinball in bars with Meilani. Oh well.

Mortality never ceases to amaze.

Not a significant crush to report. Intelligent & pretty girls abound. Some where we pause at meeting & weigh the cosmic repurcussions. Nothing too right. Excited about the City Repair rave coming soon. Kinnie Starr performing the night after that. Decided not to go to M Ward's show, too big. Reading physics books, following my Einstein obsession. Rereading Dune series as a prelude to the new Sequel based on Frank Herbert's notes found in a lockbox. Cleaned the shit out of my place before Matt's arrival. Still anticipating The Fountain coming out. Great to have Gnarls Barkley in the house again. Reading Carruth & Matthew Zapruder for poetry right now. Both have that humor. Oh, also Ryokan. Ryokan the zen-poet-priest-hermit-jokester. He of the big heart & companion of children. Thank goddess the Yankees eliminated in the first round. Huskies playing much better football. Still dislike the job. Creatures are dear & sometimes dangerous. Danger gives us adaptation galore. Time to trail off. So many trails to take. This was typed extra quick cause there's someone waiting.

The Infinite End of Summer

Take a coffee pot.
Doesn't matter which color.
Relic, heirloom, or hand-me-down.
Enjoy the morning,
peaceful non-resistance.
Then get to work in concrete fields
cracking slabs back to earth,
sweat molecules sandy seashells of salt.
Take your macular-cleansed glint-eye
into the Art Festival streets.
Prove stone's impermanence.
Pitch your tones, tents tethered to trees,
easing their harmony as close as you can
to wisdom & encompassing love in the trunk-limb.
Admire sexy boot style on the pineneedles
& face bright implications framed with sky.
Joke with your motherly concerned waitress
stacked spoons of comfort. Hold the tea in your palms,
cupping the warmth crisp as her mysterious enflame.
As a lover's breast the sidewalk seated flirt
milk of sustenance drawn forth
by a foreign finger's touch, a changing breath,
nipple at attention in the sway,
a toasty glance in the hazel.
A vanishing night through the streetlamps
of summer's star-edged neverend.