Sounds remarkably like Jandek.

Too much work, not enough time. I’ll shoot for next week.

Thanks for your patience readers,

Steve

Let the revels begin!

Wilma Jean Patterson
July 13, 1935 – December 18, 2007

A couple of veterans….

Where the cars go by,
All the day and night,
Why don’t you say,
What’s so wrong tonight?
Pray for me,
Praying for the light,
Baby baby,
Let’s go out tonight.

Where the lights all shine,
Like I knew they would,
Be mine all mine,
Baby I’ll be good.
Pray for me,
Praying for the light,
Baby baby,
Let’s go out tonight.

I know a place,
Where everything’s alright,
Alright,
Let’s go out tonight.
Where the cars go by,
All the day and night,
Why don’t you say,
What’s so wrong tonight.

I pray for love,
Coming out alright, yeah,
Oh baby baby,
Let’s go out tonight, yeah.
Baby baby,
Let’s go out tonight,
Let’s go out tonight.

Tonight,
Tonight,
Let’s go out tonight,
Yeah,
Where the cars go by,
Where the lights won’t shine,
Tonight.

fields collapse
edges grinding
walls and windows melt
sidewalk spongy to the stride
city lights circle, haloed
drawing tracers
faces bob past, blurring

spinning while stationary
levitating
into a sky of stars
shifting blue and then back to white then blue again
a tremor in everything

city of strangers passing through shadows
their voices, footsteps silent
cars whispering, echoing, past
subway a subsonic rumble

falling foward never down
fingertips sparkling
electricity crackling through trees
all surfaces seamlessly melding
changing yet holding shape

rising, looking down at yourself
motionless as foot traffic
flows about you
looking up at yourself
receding against the stars
lost in the crowd, lost in the lights
close your eyes, traveling faster
on your way somewhere else.

slow, a time-lapse
gothic cathedral swells
walls coming loose at the roof
buckling as the ceiling falls
and towers ripple for an instant
then topple
stained glass bursting out
a million pieces of Christ
for miles, buildings shake
a mushroom cloud of colored glass particles
rises and shimmers in turbulent plumes
seen just before you rise into clouds
a purple and gray wash
fading to black

…but it doesn’t seem to go away.

Just a note: if you’re planning on catching Matthew B. Zrebski’s “Rubber ‘n’ Glue” at the End of the Pavement Micro New Works Festival this Friday or Saturday, tickets, they are going like the hotcakes. If you’d like a seat, e-mail me at splatterson@mindspring.com or call 503-312-6665.

That is all….

Steve