Something
in my right ear
pleasantly mimics
the Nantucket Lightship
out on the US Eastern Seaboard

In my left,
the happy soughing
of everything eternal!

The something and the soughing
play the game
of lofty naught
so smooth and smart
I can but dance
all over the house
on X-mas morn,
trying to opt
between Presley's and Dylan's
seasonalities,
deciding on my own hisses
and growls and groans
for breakfast

I see myself backlit,
and hear the myself
I have become reasonably accustomed to
roar
with a mighty grizzly Zen laughter
and tap dance down the stairs
out into the everywheres
where there is no end to resolution,
the way I understand it,

We see everything from a distance,
which is why it looks
the way it looks,

and we have a knack for patterns

Even in an electron microscope
we still see from a distance,
and determine patterns

Imagination
is one holy hell
of a coming together
”right now, over me”

My music
has pulled so far
into pranky patterns
that only off-the-cuff aficionados
like Felipe Caramelos
are turned on and swept away

but I keep receding
into the present,
my self anonymously hanging on
like a detective's trenchcoat
in a 1940's b/w movie
on the quays of the Seine