The collaborative poems in last night’s salon lengthened over pages into overlapping dreamscapes. Some wonderful new works shared, including a reading of a 21-minute narrative poem and, um, some digital code. Writers and appreciative listeners are welcome to join us in the next salon, and, as a taste-tease, enjoy this little bit of the exquisite, masquerading, line-bending poetic feast~
The smarmy gentleman cracked his fat knuckles.
He knew the night held promise.
Cheshire cat smiling from behind clouds,
Cassiopeia winking suggestively,
swaying with the wind
telling me every little secret,
opening memories I’d discarded,
conjuring melodies out of nowhere.
He floated a balloon in the conversation
hoping the damage would be minimal.
Let’s lift our glasses to the setting sun,
and the burn of the beach at the end of the day
becomes fire. Under stars turning
above the floor of the night—
the disco ball we call the Pleiades
and the clock face we call the moon.
Spin it to black, renew the month.
and then unfolds, a whisper, a prayer.
There is no new year, no resolution or remorse.
Crossing town today we passed the shrine
the neighbors built on the spot you died
and I’m not praying at your tombstone anymore
I dance with a black veil, a black hymn
my rhythm is in the ink
my syllables syncopate in iambic
stress turning to unstress and dripping from my fingers
pools of no regrets
waves floating me, floating me away
past a horizon, to some shore in a distant season
where time ripples back, and intersecting waves puzzle back
step on a crack… try to stay on track.
It’s back, have a snack. There’s just, a lack.
Maybe I need another cat to fill this empty space in the corner
or maybe I just need to change the music
and soar beyond the stars and sing the darkness down
where the crystals hoard water
and the deep itself drowns.