Backs to the band
we drifted down--
drafted, up--
(clouds have nothing on us)
Penned a paperback book
on Budwieser napkins
stacked
aces high,
a house of cards
between us.
"Shhhhhh.... "
"No talking"
"Okay"
Words penciled
between strangers
leg to leg
shoulder to shoulder
tall tales, short stories
spun right there
at the bar.
I only heard
your voice
once
in a smile,
as we ran
across the street
let them fly
White butterflies
wooshed by traffic,
ghosts
with bottle ring
halos.
This word
and that word
whistling
waves
free
falling
the story out of order
And that's the way it's supposed to be...
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30 comments:
"And that's the way it's supposed to be"
Ta!Dah! You did it!
How in the heck did you spin that magic?
The magic was already there.
A little bit here and there, a few words... and it was all set to go.
I changed only a few things, added a couple. It was easy!
And yes, it's all screwed up, that drafty little block. Who knows. It's all good now.
"Clouds have nothing on us"
:)
It's magic like that, and ashes, ashes is still in there, ready for another day.
And everytime we
order a Jack and seven
"Another Michelob,please"
the bartender turns her
back for a moment,
even though she knows she
shouldn't,
but we tip her well,
so
we can grab another mayo jar
filled with butterflies
and make a mad dash to the parking lot,
hide them under
cold cars that will spend
the night....
Ashes is perfect,
I went there today....
Everything was set free
thoughts
words
ideas
glances
the rain
the sun
the stars
the oceans
everything
When the seal was broken
and the lid pulled off
everything was given
to the wind.
A gift...
And it all came back--
the circle was complete.
In the morning,
they'll find the empty jars
lined up
(Was the milkman here?)
little glass soldiers at the door,
and we'll still be silly...
counting loose change
and ticket stubs,
Jack and Seven three seventy five
Michelob three twenty five
and all the
butterflies
free
The wind waits
for us
engine idling
in the parking lot
lined up behind
the cabbies
revving.....
Gather them up, Singleton. They're yours. Let them fly you home.
clink!
I forgpt to sleep today!
Ah, back on the ground.
It's like driving a different car, flying when normaly I have to walk.
I like it, floating around. I sse why you liked 'peace so much. I miss the butterfly.
Me, too. This ain't good for us. I have to crash in a minute.
I can't drive a different car, it makes me dizzy......And I miss the butterfly too, she'll be back, she just had to stretch her legs.....
I gotta catnap sometime, we have the big Village People hoo-hah tonight!
peace~love my friend....
and dreams.....
catch them while you can....
they're free....
and technicolored
Will do that. I feel them sneaking up on me. I'm so tired. But it's been fun. Glad you laughed yourself silly earlier--I had no idea that that fit to the Hokey pokey tune, but by heaven and neck, it sure did...
I need sleep. Bad.
'night, hippie lady.
night silly poet!
Awesome stuff!!!
Cazzie!!!
I'm so glad you dropped by. I knew you'd like the wild imagination of the work we do here.
Peace.
Cazzie....Thank you! And welcome to the bar.....This one's on the house!
Peace~
"Antoinette",
he whispered,
giant hand
butterfly balanced
on my elbow,
"Lets dance"....
and I threw my head
back at the
Prince in hippie gear
1972
draped in
his wrinkles
and his eyes,
squinting to see
Jethro Tull Live, then,
and me, now
and said
"Pleased to meet you"
"There was once a time..."
The time-honored mantra
that so many tales
and fables and ragas
begin their spidery thread.
The same today as ever
the story-teller was,
the mystery that we are--
the way that all things
earth-bound may soul-fly.
"There was once a time."
"There will be a time."
"Tyyyme--it's on my side."
Yes it is, yes it is--
and now it wants one
last dance on the molten
drama silver shod floor,
before the lights
turn down low
for good.
before the time of our lives
becomes the love of our lies,
the fantasy
fairytale
concocted late night at the bar
to bide
one more 3 minute dance
with
chance
before the morning after,
lost forever to the night before,
is nothing but a wash,
a ghostwalk
in sock feet
zombie tired,
words just scratchy whispers
in The morning Mime.
I'm glad it rained.
I like this one. Reminds me of several several nights spent in bars with the ex where I'd be hit with inspiration while people watching and start scribbling on the back of napkins, on the back of bingo cards, on anything I could get my hands on. I still do that actually. And now it's gotten to a point where I'll be out with someone and I must get a look in my eye or something because they'll just look at me and smile and say, "You're writing in your head aren't you?" And then they'll offer me a cell phone or pen and paper to capture my thoughts with. :) Sorry for the rambleys!
karma....I love that you do that! And that your friends can see it coming, the inspiration, the stop in the tracks! Words fly by at the craziest times, we have to catch them with the butterfly net.....or they're often lost forever....
Peace~love sweet girl!
Clouds have nothing on us-- sets the tone perfectly!!
Princess
And it's quite an image, too, looking down and clouds are tiny little things.
Glad you made it to the show.
Princess.....
under the big blue sky
we hang....
gliding....
laughing....
Clink! To the clouds and everything they smile on!
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