How I managed to survive

The damned balloon was made to order, but the stupid asshole who made it let it go too soon. I had to make my own out of bubble gum wrapper, paper towels, toilet paper, and plastic grocery bags. I tied them together with dental floss, stuck them together with pine pitch (did I ever tell you how much exactly I hate, absolutely hate, I mean HATE pine pitch?) Why'd that bastard let it go? No matter, I made my own. Did I tell you that I happened to use the elastic from my underwear? of course I didn't, that would be stupid... but... I mean... oh never mind. I was actually able to launch it. There was a formula for making lighter than air gas in a popular science book I read from the 20's, One of the ingredients was iron shavings. I started grinding up my car before realizing that there is very little iron in cars these days. I ended up using the kitchen sink instead, proverbial I know, but I was desperate. I had to get the hell out. Time's up? OK, long story short I did get out. The balloon happened to hold. Of course there was a small mishap with fire. What? Yes I understand. Perhaps some other time when we have a little longer to talk.

out of pen, out of mind

good morning night elusive. The sweetness on my lips from wine doesn't run too deep. The stillness, pens louder than traffic, the window sky airplane buzzing by awhile ago, the spokes my bent wheel whining, counting time, days, hours, minutes knowing that they would run never doing what you would hope, and that's the funny thing there is no time that ever isn't slipping this way or that, tomorrow yesterday both robbing now, knifing it in the kidney or the back, leaving it laying in the alley leaking seconds and minutes, the bike wheel spinning on its side, and I wonder when I race my bike if I'm not still, and only speeding up the Earth, and if I can ride east fast enough will I ever find a yesterday I'd even like, don't get me wrong, I'm not into repeating (a pause) I'm not into receding into past or into walls that seem no more to be, I'd rather run or race not against anybody but me because just once I might be able to escape myself or me or whatever the hell I am or not. To see beyond the present why would I want that, I don't, the future nor the past, you just let me be now here away from that which should be or might be or can't be. Let time fall off the planet, let me do away with skin, with flesh, with shoes that wear too fast, yes speed if there were no time speed would die, the wind wouldn't blow, my teeth wouldn't chew, doesn't garlic burn? raw garlic good for the heart, and keeping people away, let me breathe on you and leave your flower putrid, let it cease to be, that you might come out, empty yourself and me the (no not a vapor)

this way and that

among the wine glasses a water glass bubbles un-drunk the evening light bleeds into us over us through us the aching bee stung with visions of death undetermined the word concrete falling from the sky the black sky above the himalayas who was it spoke of the wisdom of her dog its simplicity complicity the revelation of some truth that seems like paisley in an empty sort of way colorful too again the bleeding light a sea of oranges bobbing like the gladiators eyes his lopped off head smiling still speaking saying babbling "fu.." then ending tongue stuck out a crow alights and caws they always like seagulls go for the eyes are the doorway into the emptiness of souls spilled forth a multitude of things draw me in all directions perhaps they do others too they grab them though and shape them into something that has so far eluded me but that's OK a dog chews the dried ear of a pig.

the lifeboat's last voyage

a lifeboat upside down on a sidewalk scraped along the bronze of its gunwales beginning to shine layers of paint peeling off he dragged it behind him approaching the wall finding the door that was locked he hurled the lifeboat against it all of his dreams spilled out the glass jars shattered things lay in puddles that were once in jars things bleached brown instead of green a lamprey eel dead reeking of formaldehyde the fluid clear repulsive yet vapors rose that once were dreams a wind drew them through the doorway over the fragments of the broken door out into a field on the other side so incongruent - a field he followed the vapors through the doorway finding a desert instead a severe light beating down the still coolness of timeless morning sands winds whispering whispering whispering.