Wednesday, March 4, 2009

suds and an Avian flight

sandlewood curling in the air
my screen tells me it's two degrees above freezing,
but open windows
it streams in
fabric sways
they stream out
i'm dancing to Bird's in this nighttime

enjoying the smell of lemony bubbles that mist into my face
upwards i climb
into this time
with heated hands
a sink full of nurture complete
i smile
it's one in the am--this is ok, right?
donning pink rubber gloves at one, two, or two and a half in the am?
violins violas voices lilting on
splashing stanzas
suds sing
bursting clink. this?
in the middle of the nighttime?

my ever familiar square black sky
downstairs trip twenty minutes ago--it was a stupid whim
스파크 still effervesces on my hands
but i love that i can choose
foamy stupidity
bah. at least another two hours to go
is anyone else awake in the world?
anyone else's hands have that fresh 스파클?
is anyone else listening to Bird's in this nighttime?

racing percussion
at times
piccoletting and a muted trumpet
there might've been a fiddle
or a eukele
and a darling alto
with some wistful whistling
harmonious melodious

tap the volume up
and open the windows wider
so others can hear
maybe someone will listen? bemused?
and maybe small smile
at Bird's
maybe they'll join this nighttime dance
my dance

or maybe they'll fly?

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