painting flowers

we are lip readers and

between the index and make 

up we carry pup tents

on our backs and we chant

did you like our

chanting? we know it 

is dark and smoky

but could you hear it?

our chanting ?  i mean in

the corn fields and under

the palmy phalluses

stolen 

from the xxxs and

ooos of your unhinged

comfort

bones dripping delicate

silence

the wrong # you dialed

the wrong # we knew

but we answered anyway

and we offered you

an unspecified consolation

prize

the offer expires soon

so don't wait until

the shadows of dancing

clover

appear on your hollow

innocence

where abstract chains

rattle without geometric

precision

we are lip readers and

we chant while we set

up our pup tents after

we have taken them

off our backs

(yes it was distressing

to watch the old tattered

faded black umbrella

slip and fall on the

slippery distance of 

your uncertainty)

we are lip readers and

our pup tents are our

passengers

and yesterday morning

in the doll house we

spent one hour painting

flowers

while our passengers looked on

they were white flowers

you know

white flowers

and they begged us to 

dress  them in different

colours so we did

a triptych

escaping through smoky mist

dripping from caramelized

apple trees a dream a pale

blue dream sneaking inside

softly closing doors leaving

behind decomposing street names

and frozen silhouettes shivering

__________________________

come to sightsee have you

expecting you we left some

clouds unwhispered too many

tourists come to listen to the

clouds before surrendering

blistered to fading shadows

we regret to inform you that

the lecture on pale blue rubber

bands has been cancelled and 

no one knows why

__________________________

in the middle of a street  cracked

and forgotten a ladder a pair of

binoculars and a warning do

not eat the jellyfish they are

pale blue the jellyfish are

unfinished

a word unfinished

interrupted by stories

stories of the invisible

the misfits the forlorn

gasping at the stench

of the beautiful

no favorites to be

found here in the

company of an

unvisited pendulum and

some angry bubble 

gum

you were playing in

the dirt i have been told

what was that like

playing in the dirt?

heavy

the losses were understood

and colourless

but you always won

i lied

like so many, i lied

don't you?

sometimes?

lie?

at the bus station

the adventure, remember? its

distorted scars, its scattered

traces of imperfectly sunlit

fog and its illusions escaped

from song and trance

the adventure, remember? its

scars 

clean and smooth then their

sorrow invisible to all

but you and me the fog

remember? its weightlessness 

so perfectly sunlit and

the illusions too remember?

their ripeness full as forgotten

fruit abandoned in towers of

endless submission and loneliness

things getting a little crazy

in the laundromat, remember?

and the purple flames, remember?

of candles piercing the weightless 

fog their lack of privacy lamented

and surely you must remember the

magical colours carousing with

abandon  in lower case volcanos

and