UNTITLED
foreclose my available sunbeams in order,
by mercy of a last request,
exposed in tiny dangers & unrest,
from a bed of lucid daydreams
that my simpleton got out of.
it’s a lonely condition of strangeness,
too ambivalent to care,
rebounding in circumference,
on fire under suicide water.
the tones are all scattered around
the area. they shake hands w/ the evidence.
uneven lanes surpass even the most obsolete barriers.
these things burn like worms on concrete.
to remember is a kind of secret catchphrase.
don’t bend so hard to peek the break enchanted.
a lonely while has passed before me softly.
these side-by-side swingings leave a space for me in their absence.
a green banner tries to enchant me to where i am being.
roses here are hanging on a cable,
different by turns,
swinging our onion rings all over your lap.
we share a bold green dome in consequence.
we’re either rolling around or drowning,
either gold buyers or jewelry.
you couldn’t save our life on trial.
UNTITLED
ungainly elephant head on my madness!
sending trunk to the sky in triumphant distress!
trumpeting my jolly sorrows!
burning sage at my hidden altar!
smoking out my demons!
discovering slowly like redundant snails,
in lateral isolation!
become my lovely poltergeist!
engage in every wicket horseplay you can name!
take my baby-soft identity to the monastery,
like a wrinkled shift to the dry-cleaners!
starch it so hard that I can’t feel my soul!
make me like an insect humming,
drying out all of my features in the rain!
capture me like a polaroid in my white timeless box!
plant me like corn in the red clay!
burn me up, making me into a subtle white flame!
I can’t stand any longer
the love that I have for this place…
I adore the acoustics in this steel womb that I call my palace!
…ECHO!!!…
UNTITLED
tie me up in circles!
I can’t stand this grand display of everything irrelevant.
my time & space are long past nothing,
& a dear friend is trying to make contact.
it washes off in the surf.
my serrated sides will make a blade out of my body.
I sharpen my soul on the rocks.
STUNG CARROTS
it braises me like stung carrots.
a long lapse in minimal vestibules exceeds its aged parameters,
scattering darkly like a loon.
it is a green book binding,
a caterpillar stethoscope,
a shield from the wind.
do you dispute that I’m looped about me?
what an embarrassing iconoclast…
simple holes in the radar.
I can’t make a mess or tails out of it.
these fickle thoughts disturb my inside linings,
my waterproof edges…
a notorious foundation
shook right to the timbers
of its outmoded architecture.
MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE HORIZONS
it’s about the old hours on the wall,
they bleed sour like expired fruit.
they reclaim junk from colossal piles,
emptying it all into their deep throats.
they embarrass think-tanks & debutantes,
whisking around the observatory.
I foresee a dense tangle of mutually exclusive horizons.
the dormant pack on my shoulder supports antibody fundamentals,
engaging us all in a loose manifest of courageous dreams.
I chameleon my camouflage,
dripping deep into the jungle of my comfort.
give it one more shot.
dismiss the early tidings from your moon.
be sure, & be deliberately aching in your nimble steps.
decry the false mountain,
the completely ragtag dreamberry fruit.
it tears thru me like a plastic lid,
& my button is punched “other.”
there is so much dirt on the dashboard,
it’s like a playground w/ the windows down.
attempt your massive muscle!
adorn the chirping canopies in pollen & syrup!
enforce a code of flowers as an acrobat!
my silly tiles split at all the somersaulting splendor.
a waxy figure kneels beside my bed,
my minister of abundance.
Colin Ferguson 