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Life with Music

Around the World in Nice, France

Month

April 2013

Sexy New Kitchen

Hey there Starshine
I see that teapot simmer
Hot knife ice breath buttersky flutter
Baking coffee pie
Dance across the sky
The moon’s a square if you see it there
Lawless, bra-less
All this distance star-kissed
Red hot oven and I
Can’t even feel my twinkletoes
as we the beats flutter by
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Through a Filament

we emerge from salty bodies soaked

in drudge. We gather substance, patching

our burst skin with moss, with fur.

 

Trees fell to build steps out of the bog 
Others climb to a feasible escape. 

Others lie down – stars drip

nectar on their still faces.  None are alone,

the whispers caught in the claws of

a squirrel scurry up a nearby tree and drop on

 

the head of someone who might look

up in time. Just to receive our thoughts in

pools of dew I seek our reflection, we

so often do

glisten.

Voice in the Wind

Hello.
The moonlight froths with delight at our meeting. The time “with” feels without thinking and the time “without” is and fuels both. Reservoirs brimming like frat boy dreams in cups, chirping back to the frogs and singing praise to the cool, greeting those who seek. Hello wanderers, drink. When we share there is enough.

The roars of the ocean! “Remember where you came from!”
“Forget where you are going!”

I stand here before you with saltwater dribbling down my chin and kelp between the pearls in my toothful grin. I have sailed, and battled, and rested. I have maps. I’ve torn them to shreds if it fits the mood.

You remind me of the light that brought me here. You unite the land and the sea with each breath, each step, alternating current.

Disruption. Change. Fire. Who cares where it comes from, it’s here baby! The man on the beach, what was his name? Danny doesn’t care if you use his fire while he’s getting beer. The fire consumes the wood the ocean gathered from a tree in Taiwan blown apart by winds from Australia. Smoke churns the way eyes search for direction.

And here, we, the seed, become we, the flower, become we the seed.

What are we? Becoming, Be Going. Be Always Flying Floating
Sifting, Shifting Magic Because.
Simple Whispers Filling Wishers Well
Beyond Their Means. A Far Cry from Home, where
Broken Goes and We Know and All Things Grow

Back to me, toothless and still grinning. I wanted and saw and ate and ate. Lost my chompers to a greedy crow. That’s okay, I can still make soup from the sacred stones we found on the pier. One foot forward, the other the same. Sand cushions steps between places. Remember the time I lost my voice in the wind? Somehow you read my waving arms and knew what to look for. I would have said “take your time” if I could, so I did and that’s when I knew magic.

River’s Dream

The Silver-tongue Ice Lout is a perserverant breed and the colder it gets the hotter it feels. The more distant the flame the faster he runs towards it, but never directly. He spirals into this infinite dance until the flames lick at his fur and bite his ears and he himself is so mad and hot and confused that he spirals back where he came from. Tongue unthawed, he licks his wounds and dances back around the fire. This ceremony is his favorite and most dreaded! He whips himself up like a king feast in oil and syrup and spins into the flame, catching the end of his tail ablaze. The silver tongued lout rumbles “Should I lop it off or merely douse it?!”. It creeps up his spine and begins to spread. In a panic the creature grabs its tail and devours it whole until all that’s left are a flame and a mouth eating each other.

River awoke with a lump in his pants.

“What a strange dream, huh Gigi?”

The bear’s pumice eyes stared back, confused and somewhat concerned.

“I think today I’ll be encountering… Monsters….”

River jumped off the bed and through his closet, landing in a jumble of clothes.  In this crawlspace there are two shoeboxes, a screwdriver, and a candle on a plate. Hunched over, he thrusts his index finger into his little pocket and grasps at a smooth surface.  After shifting to his bum and extending a leg he loosed the lump; an oblong orange stone. Turning it in his hands he noticed it looked a bit like candy corn, one of those with a broken tip, with a lighter ring around the base and a rusty sunset-colored crag in the top.

River pressed the stone between his hands and bowed his head. He sat like this for several minutes before opening his hands.  He studies the surface of the rock. “I see!”

In one smooth motion River drops the rock on the plate with a “clank,” removes a match from his left ear, and strikes it on the rock.

“Haha!”

He triumphantly lights the candle and sets to work carving in the rock with the screwdriver.  “Won’t need this for monsters,” he giggles as he sets “LUST” in the box. “How about…”

He scans the rocks: BEAUTY, FUNNY, FEAR, LIES, BIG, SILENCE, are all near the surface. He grabs Funny and Fear, “Monsters need to laugh most of all! And… they…”

He looks at his clothes up and to the left while digging his fingers around the bottom of the box, searching for the right feel…

“they… need that too!” He closes his palm around the gem and breathes the world in a breath. He holds it, holds it,

Then lets go.

“Let’s go Gigi!”

He slips Vans over his bare feet, grabs the bear and slams the door behind him, followed by rocks clacking and a whistled tune glowing softer and softer.

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