Something

in my right ear

pleasantly mimics

the Nantucket Lightship

out on the US Eastern Seaboard

In my left,

the happy soughing

of everything eternal!

The something and the soughing

play the game

of lofty naught

so smooth and smart

I can but dance

all over the house

on X-mas morn,

trying to opt

between Presley's and Dylan's

seasonalities,
deciding on my own hisses

and growls and groans

for breakfast

I see myself backlit,

and hear the myself

I have become reasonably accustomed to

roar

with a mighty grizzly Zen laughter

and tap dance down the stairs

out into the everywheres

where there is no end to resolution,

the way I understand it,

We see everything from a distance,

which is why it looks

the way it looks,

and we have a knack for patterns

Even in an electron microscope

we still see from a distance,

and determine patterns

Imagination

is one holy hell

of a coming together

”right now, over me”

My music

has pulled so far

into pranky patterns

that only off-the-cuff aficionados

like Felipe Caramelos

are turned on and swept away

but I keep receding

into the present,

my self anonymously hanging on

like a detective's trenchcoat

in a 1940's b/w movie

on the quays of the Seine