In the Drool of Twilight

I like to gather shadows, anything

Perception is a process, shuffleboard

In the basement of a dark bar

Whipped cream maps ambient webs

I concoct a climate that shatters into reality

And hatches a bakery. I feel my feelings

As they thicken and glow. I ride a green train

Whose eyebrows are effervescent diversions

Of hair. You don’t expect this from trains

This is why I smell like a suitcase and go

For those really big metaphors, like Manhattan

Whose ceilings are clandestine residues

Of consciousness exploded out of time

And space. And now it’s time to break

Into abstraction and tell you about cloth

And how it becomes clothing, even

When you’re not looking. Take a look

At Picasso painting in his underwear

Some people go for algebra, but me

I like denim and silk. Money is lousy

With sophistication but it doesn’t serve

My purposes at the moment. I’m laboring

To make a point, which is coughing

While the dictionary explodes

I don’t believe in water

I experience water. Dear Skin

I like your touch and openness   

But where shall I put my paddle

When the paddling is done?

Identity hangs in the mind of the identifier

The rest of this poem is flailing around

In its own diversions. This is serious

Is that a door in your head? Or a bas-relief

Comet churning in a washing machine?

Blood is where it should be and Asia

Is genial with a thousand themes

In the drool of twilight