Scene 221: Fried Clocks and Spinach

I dreamt a lot last night

copious amounts

just overflowed and spilled from my brain.

The dreams exploded in a frenzy,

with dancing cats and talking rocks,

trips to Hogwarts and U of A.

They swirled around, almost like a

toilet

pulling me down. I reached

searching for air, for sense.

I found a dollar on the street corner.

And I gave it to a monkey

who promptly ate it

and flew over Mexico.

Dejected, I bit into a fried clock

and shunned

everything else.

And the peas, carrots,

onions, tomatoes,

eggplants, rosemary

and spinach

cried

Scene 220: Like an Ark

The clouds fell

as I laid on my back

floating in the wet grass.

I think.

And breathe.

Like those before me,

as I stared at the sky. Meanwhile,

a purple dove flutters

strangely.

I stare.

And breathe.

Like those after me,

I stare at this phenomenon.

I reach my hands

up in a daze

to cling unto the wings

but they flutter away.

I stare,

wishing I could breathe on the wings

of that dove

Scene 219: 12:56 (Forget)

I tried to forget the world

but the world

wouldn't forget me

Scene 218: 11:56

I've been trying to forget what I've learned.

I went downstairs

to buy food

but the numbers

jumped back to my head

and the nutrients

all of the

enriched flour,

and vitamin B1

and B2

and everything else,

burrowed itself back

So I went upstairs, trying once more to forget

but the books called

and the classes screamed

and the tests reached from the future

and I couldn't remember

what I was trying to forget

Scene 217: 10:56

I'll try to forget everything I've learned,

maybe

a fresh start will

sweep the world clean

like a vacuum cleaner

or a dust pan, or

maybe

a mushroom cloud

Yes, I'm fully aware this poem is for yesterday, which ended 23 hours ago.

I was gone in some far-middle-of-nowhere location in a cabin for a retreat.

Needless to say, there was no service.

This is a part of three series that will hopefully finish up buy 12:56 tomorrow morning, and will include yesterday's, today's and tomorrow's poem.

Let's see.

Scene 216: 8 1/2 x 11

Sometimes I have dreams

Countless papers flutter about me

wrapping around me,

hugging me,

pushing me

The papers are beautiful,

sheets of purple,

squares of orange,

smiles of yellow.

And there's red.

Lots and lots of red

they simply dance around

folding themselves

into one thousand paper cranes

I love these dreams I have

and I love the papers

But sometimes it rains

And the sheets drink,

drowning like drunkards

and clump together

clawing at my flip flops.

Their colors melt

and they mold together,

brown and black

as a forgotten highway.

Sometimes I have nightmares

Scene 215: In the Dark

In the shape of an eye,

the mouth searches,

the tongue flaps,

and the ceiling caves in

as the white soldiers tremble

in their tombs

It's been really bad lately, how I've resorted to writing two poems every other day.

I promise to try and be more on time again.

Scene 214: Seven Stages

I

In the white

sat every color

II

Red blinked a few times

angry,

impassioned,

full of

love

III

Orange looked around

mellowing,

confused,

and tenderly stepped

IV

Yellow hid

V

Green fought

stabbing at the crosses

with the worn out edges

of a triangle

VI

Blue sank

tired of floating

balancing just on the surface

tossing,

in a hole in the ground

VII

Indigo finally stopped and stood

the system cleared

and quickly slipped into

VIII

Violet

He sat happily

upside down

on the smile

Scene 213: Among Other Things

I can't quite remember the reason

we said goodbye.

I do remember the day, though,

the wildflower scents, dancing

with the wind

I picked a flower, and

stared

looking at the stem so separated from

its sustenance.

Though the flower looked still fresh,

I knew better

This poem is late. I know.

I had issues studying for a huge chemistry test that's coming up.

It's not fun. Obviously.

Scene 212: Jack and Brandy

The flesh rippled, like sinking sand

the follicles stand, erect

Malibu runs

through his veins.

His eyes, glowing with red spiders

legs wrapping around his pupils

He shouts for Jack

He shouts searching.

The flesh ripples about, like zits on a teenage boy

the follicles stand, still

The poison beats

through his head, viciously.

His face burns like Sedona

and his teeth march, lined up as the infantry

He shouts for Brandy

He shouts.

He shouts

Scene 211: What A Scene

Tears run in an endless parade

racing towards the finish

running from the light

wallowing in glory

in the adoring puddles

on the floor

Scene 211: Howling

The silence hopped the stones,

skipping breaths across the lake

I sat,

blowing gently

over the moon

Scene 210: Major and Minor

The piano walked across the table

clunking along

bearing its teeth

hiding behind the chords

black and white

it plays

glaring

trying to find the

grey

Scene 209: One Second, Thirty Times

Audiences everywhere

want

affordable

unlimited

red-tag sale

Free modem

spring into savings

29.99

leading warranty

a way to save

Call 1-888-XXX-XXXX

coming soon

Scene 208: Black Tie

I took a shower twice that night

tried on four shirts

and had eleven mints

Tied my tie tight

Buttoned the buttons

and combed my hair

six times

I stared

for twenty-two minutes

I walked by the door ten times last night

breathed out eighteen times

and in nineteen

Reached towards the wood

fingers hiding,

as they hovered

suspended

I followed suit

Scene 207: Purpose

The turnstile jumped
over itself
running from the police
and leapt onto the
space shuttle.

Jettisoning off
onto the moon

Scene 206: Not Enough

An egg on the sidewalk,

a blizzard in autumn,

a cold front on tip-toes,

a pigeon just dead

Scene 205: Facade

Lo, behold!

I peeled back the skin

that laid on your mask

and what did I find?

Nothing

Scene 204: Love (Pt. 2)

The fist furled,

curled,

clenched

Scene 203: Nouns in Your Backpocket (Laundry Day)

Broadway in Arizona

Row 6

Music

$14.00

Subway

Jamie D

Spicy Italian

Subtotal

Card number

Orbit

Scene 202: Industrial

Brown petals on the cement canvas;

a pale painting of Picasso,

invisible like the skin inside

a potato

Scene 201: (The Rainbow)

I sat indoors, staring at the sky

that clumped together in beads on my window,

crashing towards the pane

that laid between me

and the rest of the world

The sun would peek through the clouds

and break them

scattering its freedom onto the pane

and the window

shimmering

And the rainbow would sit

asking me to play.

I stared in confusion. Rainbows couldn't speak.

Shouldn't speak.

Shouldn't play.

But still it asked,

and so I went.

Permission granted,

and so I went

I chased

after the rainbow as it shined,

beamed,

and danced

gaily

The rainbow was right

I reached out to touch the rainbow

hoping the colors would ripple beneath my fingers

like guitar strings

But as I reached out

my hand was batted away.

No, you could never touch the rainbow.

No, you could never catch the rainbow.

It's not possible.

It's not right

And in came the clouds again

and the sun once again hid,

and the rainbow was slipped into the sky's pocket,

like a shoebox in a closet.

And I sat

watching the sky

as it clumped together in beads on my window

crashing towards the pane

that laid between me

and the rest of the world

Scene 200: Method

Singed
like the hairs

Torn
like the vessels

Red
like the eyes

Broken
like a sole

Repeat
like washing



Yeah, it's a tad bit late... Been busy of late.

Something I came up with in class during a discussion of human tendencies.

Scene 199: Flight of the Peacock

Beautiful feathers, colored like light

pure, bright,

brilliant

They shine, like a sun

or maybe

like a daughter

Magnificent feathers, tinted so prismically

glowing, smiling,

just whimsically

colored, like a picture book

or maybe

like a rainbow

Beautiful feathers,

but

you could never fly

Scene 198: Touch of Clouds

Sitting under an umbrella in the sunny rain, the droplets

splatter

all over my flip flops

Scene 197: Up and Down

Daughters sing

about a commoner,

thrilled,

with painted toenails,

flowered hair...

well, the work

is in progress

Scene 196: The Tracks

They slipped

painted rows of footprints

A beauty sitting,

a warm breeze waiting

to fall

Believe the years curled

fists, broken dishes, long silences,

walls

Print dresses

alone in Oregon,

stippled grey wool.

They slipped

perfect footprints

Scene 195: Your Nose

I think your nose has gotten bigger.

It expands

like a balloon

and stretches like an arm

Perhaps

you should see a

priest

He could expel the demon

in your

nose

Scene 194: To the Fall of Mr. Smith

You walked

and

breathed. With the smells of

plastic and

coffee

in your

glassy eyes. The touch of

manilla in your

mouth.

Under the fluorescent light,

or the 'green' lights,

did you breathe?

Or

did you just

Live?

A tad late, I know. Midnight homework had to be done. Barely finished that on time.

But here's this poem. I wrote it earlier today during class, during a discussion of the Death of Ivan Ilych, if that explains anything.

Scene 193: Morning Drive

I hopped in my car and drove to the

edge

of the world.

My front wheels gracefully

hung

over the expanse.

I got out and sat on the

hood,

feet dangling.

And I waited

for someone

to rescue

me

Scene 192: Mother's Crutch (Her Cane)

The mother rolled in, the sea got out of bed

and she sat on the cloud, staring at the sun,

the carnage beneath her, devastation just spread

she smiled and winked, at the damage she'd done