Adamantine Ripples

August 27, 2009 coothoots

The heart’s oyster is a wooly place.

Squatters share this space.
The faces are not clear,
but they like to pen,
bubble dreams,
daze similes.

It’s rare to package intimate torrents,
shower manic glitter inside “pupilscape”.
Words fornicate mind’s pocket,
And the weeping willow mushrooms
exotic brushes; tree fringes cold muller.

Tools of art, fantasy, suffering, and power
of poverty thrust flares of inert matter.

Sparks fly and in the fever
of hallucinogenic dreams
silver sequined mermaids,
and mermen flipper green kelp,
sandbars, and glimmer
of iridescent lay oceans.

It’s the clutch of gadded passion.
Scrimshaw flashes bright like welder’s tool,
but dangerous to the eyeball.

I, simply, want to hopscotch reefs,
sip on island cocktails,
pirouette like clythonic nymph,
take pot shots at Poseidon,
casque beside pirate’s ship,
ride seahorses over pearly fields
and slowly jog rainbows of fish.

And when I surface rocks to sing
the wind will comb my locks
and sea gulls will fly up estuary.

Search for lost sailors will heave oars
to other slippery worlds, hourglasses
of time where tracks are never left,
and realms dream kaleidoscope
between moons of Scorpio and Capricorn.

Gonfalon buoys float seas west,
and draw the sweet abade
of aching violin.

Queen mermaid lingers hotbeds
half naked above sea grape.
Red jasper glimpse pain
to visions or mirages.

Sand shifts memory’s undertow
where memory tosses new beginning.
For each place and each time breath flames
spectacles dazzle symphonic seas,
and balances returns harmony.