New Poems from 2014 ("Impossibly Far Away")

Here is a rough stone I hewed from the slab of local reality
I copied bits into other poems and polished them for word choice.
The key word for this was fog and there was fog and thunder storms when I wrote this.
No cooper or tin in these lines Below
Just the bronze, mixed molten, the "old fashioned" way:



snapping and ice and slipping and  slicing through the mist, you,
All at once
You turn and twist


Floating on cold liquid water like
A frozen fog
But not  You hit like a heavy mossy trunk and shivered yourself unconcious.

Awakening icicles sway and curve
Against the bearded and opaque
Northeast wind

The moaning of clouds
Heavy and decending like
opinions from the Judges of the Sky

Then, Wooden tables and chairs
Illuminated by flicks
of afternoon lighteniing
over cold water corn bread

The knot of your accident
A faded memory of foggy
pain dull and deep in the mind.

The plenty sustains through sickness like cooper pennies at a time.

The patches and pennies of humidity you watch
Roll across the afternoon
and loiter there until moonlight

Dancing like the rain through
grape covered valleys in a very algorithmic, barometric, halographic, pattern recogniton
your visage morphs and unfolds changes in the glows of green aurora of of the forgotten time machine and the doorway to the Snake Aliens visit to South Am

Doing fields study in alternatives to  anthropology theories
From my off line laptop listenig to the frosty, fogcutting hornish melodies of Miles Davis called "All Blues."

At night: it designs deluxe light shows  and
In the mornings,
Sheets of it float above the warm updraft columns like throats of loons.
And they part the low shadows with the cold howls of four-legged nocturnal
Purveyors of the moon,

Vapors from above
Through the nose
Across the brain
Like pungent blue cheese

In the back of my mind
The perfumes of the night
Were caught in mid air between the back of my throat and a dancing happy uvula frozen like the ghost of a taste of blue cheese and rosemary on a farm fresh wheel

the green beans we cooked from the damp fields last night, tasted like asparagus this morning.  So lifted the trance of sleep and you hurried off to shopping malls and other urban maze-like jungles liberated by the slow coating of light ice
To see everything bow and turn white

The city paused and looked around, happily entangled in a no zero sum game One ship we sailing to run groundsomeday  on friendly shores impossibly far away and obscured.