Mars and the stars . . .
Men, like atoms,
spurt and spume
themselves into the vast
vagina of the universe
which waits, hot upon entry,
Until relativity cools them down.
Thought
Is constant,
Is clear like glass yet
Chiaroscuro in effect,
Is swift and yet
Turbulent as air in flight,
Is rough like a bare
backed, bucking bronc’s haunch,
Is wasted more often than
Not,
Is quick and dead
Before there’s time to think,
Is here and now and then gone
In a
Blink.
Knuckle headed
Noises jammed my scan
Static lightning mistakes
Messed my plan
Pit stopped, I smelled
This as another “I can” attempt at self reconciliation
Amidst the
Thought traffic jam
“Ear-ran.”
I ran,
Feet heart beat fast
I reached at last
A place where thoughts
and acts
Cannot crash
Un back lash ash to ash.
Smash.
Making love to Watergate
Nixon and I and you
Sweating at a rapid rate.
Reprehensible
Utterly sensible
Lacking declensionable
Nouns
To possibly clarify the
Inter – relationships
Of we three making hate to Whitewatergate.
Clinton and you and I that is . . .
