10,000 and One…

Often, a gentle shift replaces everything!

We shift into objects of alternative daylights with the accepted expectations of extraordinary flashes of original thought and lights of magnificently creative creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and congested repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea-or-coffee-or me-or-you-or-us or…In the becoming of an impression immortally important and into legacy’s realm repeated and recalled and retweeted we ‘amen’ to both; the previously consummated and the just about to transpire!

Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

Ghost clouds block moonlight as they race clouds across the early morning sky tucked somewhere between dawn and night. And! What is the color of souls? In these dreams see war. To fight and to find death. There be gods in this place? So! Come to Cloud early in transition time and seek flash-ride to spiral and skip into framing time.

“Well, I’ve walked these streets
A virtual stage, it seemed to me
Makeup on their faces
Actors took their places next to me

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a carnival, of sights to see
All the cheap thrill seekers vendors and the dealers
They crowded around me

Have I been blind have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized by what my eyes have seen?

Well, I’ve walked these streets
In a spectacle of wealth and poverty
In the diamond markets the scarlet welcome carpet
That they just rolled out for me

And I’ve walked these streets
In the madhouse asylum they can be
Where a wild-eyed misfit prophet
On a traffic island stopped and he raved of saving me

Have I been blind, have I been lost
Inside myself and my own mind
Hypnotized, mesmerized.” —Natalie Merchant

The Walker is a silhouette pushed low beneath Grand Moon rising and carved carefully ‘cross sky too close to be real and too real to be proximity’s cost, close to-shapes-to-shift-shape and nearer to buildings tossed across landfall along sea-line to skyline. Tide comes in, evening time and changes along season’s alteration same as sunrises and sunsets and shadows play beneath twin moon season with splashes of textured cloud color or star twinkles too far to see or too close not to catch eye, notice in brain and spirit touch at the same time.

The memorial gardens are filled and filled again and do cover many miles. Parks surround these gardens. Statues cover these parks. These are sacred places and areas and spaces and graces where families gather and depart.

And! The Walker glides across a jumble-tumble of dusted stones made by rain visible as digging once moved dirt above rock faces and dragged these weighted ones from place to necessary places for buildings built or buildings removed-restructured-replaced or destroyed. Needed things at required times when places were homes and buildings ruled land-side. And! Little killer pills be, only notions of Lizard Kingdoms where the notions of you ‘peel’ums’ available and are needed from the glory of car-trunks, pushers and such, supply for profit as price swings with demand or your supply? How about today? Or! Tomorrow, maybe too late for profit or always taxed almost and with a wonder of when the next shipment arrives?

She is a Walker Warrior and claims the Bridge above the ruins of ‘City.’ Below the places of spaces, once a great tangle of yards and rails carried the price of commerce commercially to and away and beyond her bridge and dirty sea ships sailed toward one another. They bounced the line; black shadows, slowly creeping beneath an injured sky. No wind! Masts no sails. Crude! Not fueled cold furnaces and boilers empty drums with warm air. She now adjusts eyes and turns and follows silent ships passing one another. They ride the line with no wake. They do not disturb the oiled sea or change silt-less shoals beyond an invisible channel. She watches and waits for their return.

She forgets to breathe. Fog horns moan and moan again just within cones of hearing an evening rare without fog or mist. Held inside, air rushes into throat and through her nose and mouth. Sea odor and her eyes tear. Bridge time is fine and darkness safe. She searches sea. She swears the line has moved closer to shore. And! Those ships are gone.

“Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That, baby, you’re the best.

I got my red dress on tonight
Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight
Done my hair up real big beauty queen style
High heels off, I’m feeling alive

Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare
Honey, I’m on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore”—Lana Del Rey

Red-winged Beatles and cousin Greensacks live and die during words and butterfly life just above Cave-land around cutout doors of steel and rusted tacks and salt-soaked wood where (X) marks most spots and braces require nails to hold together both life and doors. Cave-land stores many for outside a plague dances a two hundred year-long-sing-song and with sickness, death and destruction forever-follows. Watch the next fire begin and end as another begins and ends until tower eyes can never see the next and the next and the eternity of signals that mean absolutely nothing to ‘City’ people framed against that August sky.

Move along! Always move toward fear among these places of reasons-to-be or reasons-to- move-along? No and yes or not really or really scared of the mixes in the yes and no—until ‘run together’ forgets to be afraid. Little ones grow old and die inside hundred-year-old lyrics just outside tomorrow. And! When holding yourself very still, red beetle wings are loud and their textured lights will guide your motions through the night. Red beetle cousins sing and those born-to-die select their own sing-songs. High above the Towers-of-Bridges, Watchers use as signal frames, hard-wood fires and pine cones of quick sparks ‘til death does crackle and stop…

“Among the stars
there is a place to where 
my heart always returns.” – from ‘Home’ by Unsun

 And! Beautiful you are…

 

‘Carnival’ —Natalie Merchant

 

‘Lola’— Lake Street Dive

 

 

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