Thursday, June 27, 2024

Inundated (2023)

I curl up with my back to the wind sawing through the redwood tree 


A boiling kettle of branches above 


Not a twig drops 


Gusts crescendo and murmur and ruffle the fabric i cocoon under l


It's paltry and cold 


My tent stake bends as I make a wee roof 


The earth packed by a thousand nights tossing my sack of bones down the time slide 


Some more dry than others 


None so dry as my mother 


In a closet box,


Inundated.  






*** 






The store's closed for good, that's bad for music


Unless one likes sad music 


At least the bums don't leave their Lexus in the truck zone just to fetch dry cleaning 


Across the street 


I had to chalk No Fires by the former entrance


As some are crazy enough to burn trash for a couple minutes of heat 


The awning says Community Owned but the bank is in Wyoming 


It looks inundated with poverty all butcher papered up,


A real cutlet. 


A simple gift, tax deductible, and bento man is the last guy standing, but most people throw out the rice 


And besides 


Who needs silverware to eat and drive 


And stick it to the stick. 




___ 






The cook is sick


He was hale last night, chipper fist bumping the whole band 


Will be there 


He plays stand up 


Bass when he's not sick enough 24 hours later to cancel appearances 


 So here's a guy on acoustic songwriter and a cello from utopia, beatific 


She's covering in every way as they foot in mouth their non event for number 248 per year 


It's refreshing as tap water in contacts 


Let me tell you about yahacts last month, the best cheese steak in lower mintagilla 


Don't sic your hobo fan on us 


It's regular refreshments that background stop the ballpark 


Never heard of you 


There's your two big fans to dish out some shots at finale it's rubby elbow crimes  


I'm not watching overtly your cello diva at all 


I'm inundated by the mundaccious amateurism calling in well. 






 ____ 




Over our head, don't quit 


Breeding. Don't douse supplication by the fryer. We're layers in warm straw. 


The rent rises, inundating the newly burntbeak crew. Leaf feathers alone, they're company. 


Cage free gonna be, we'll see. 


___ 




Brown shirt staff sargent 


With his ranger rick get-up is barking some demand for me to risenshine from my weather buttress 


Here at picnic in the park 


I emerge, forgoing my combat boots, standing in my socks 


To hear i'm illegal and could be arrested at which audibly snort, been here three years 


Not here he says 


Yes, exactly here he waddles back to his city truck i'll be back after brunch and betting online against hometeam 


Then off to busk this temperate morning, the melvin gargoyle ambles away pushing his life basket, dispirited from last he said I'm lucky he don't got a bat 


I play an hour, one ten, and toss a pile of tin cans over the fence, spilling kidney beans from half finished meals that had been opened with haste and few moment edges 


Another hold the piss bus ride toward the east over the volcano all dead and fertile, notably peaceful with carlack 


I do my swimming in a rainbow suit as the hot tub brims with retirees and a retarded man of color, my mix  


He doesn't want to leave as his guardian calls time to go 


His eyes mesmerized making waves in jetting fizz, a magician transforming with perma smile beyond us 


He's inundated and center of attention, will he leave? Will patience grow more calm under the variable ennui 


I swim a quarter mile, half mile, time laps away who cares, dry off and go pump some blocks of dumbbell 


As cellphone drool surrounds the absurd muscle museum full of taxidermy 


And exiting, there's the troll, skin like a dog treat from a value pack sized roadkill 


Slinking past toward the natatorium with eyes in the back of her knees, trudge trudge 


It's quite the flow today, watching reality melt down history into a teeming sewer, up to my muskrat brow 


So I inquire squire lee about is We research regarding mom's non estate being subsumed by texas incorporated 


I scribe my hardshit waiver sic like melting butter on parking lot inferno, grittyesque with facts and antimath economics 


Done, not done. Inundated. 


Happy birthday, pops, sell the union and wallpaper the flood stamps, it's life on the river and windy by trial in the wrecked casino barge, high tide catfish that's on my menu of fascination  




___ 




All fed up, cuz the pizza from the bench by the theater didn't sell 


The movie been seen before it premiered 


Pepperoni dejavoo pickemoff 


Thick foil triangles inundated so that multiple wraps can't smelter the bounty 


Out peeks red sauce, but over sparingly to my tastes 


Dough still crusty or vice versa 


It'll dry let me get a handful of tissue, that's sad 


Don't call it a rerun, fantastic planet from 1956 


That groundbreakingly just ten years after WW 2 whisks us away


Let me just tuck away for a rainy day some these still soft restaurant edibles, the barber watches trimming his last cowboy today 


He could turn down those heat lamps, jesus it's brite 


Specially when we exit the odditorium where they sell cups of grog for a nickel, and the nickels are silver screen, and everyone's handsome or about to monologue 


Don't barf mr. hand-me-down 


Grocery titan, you can remodel, and tear down the melvin statue, and make Howard again 


Just chisel away.  




_____ 




Sump pump at the community center parking lot, 


It's a new crew hosing today 


Lake graham cracker crumb from the toddler squads for it all inundated in the grate 


Cars blast it six feet out with enough gained speed, the cherry blossom precinct unperturbed by motor boats in the crosswalk and pylons around the waterfowl mannequins wrapped in terrycloth 


They're busy ordering order 


Filling up fuel catchers 


Butcher papering window bricks more secure 


I say get an auger size of  Detroit and sell it and don't stop 


Evict that bad water before it gets into the gas tank with the snorkel and hydroponic hypnosis, that's some lax oversight to build a drain that collects and pools yesterday 


Wouldn't you say, mom? 


Wouldn't harriet tubman breath easier not needing stilts to get to class? 


Deferred maintenance has a waiting list around the block, I've been looking forward to it all day, a little time for me 


So tiny time, so clogging it's dander and sediments, mostly human skin they say, and dog stuff. 


Lake go-away slough , back to the drawing board, better engineering for a drier parking lot, and learn how to use tape correctly on all four corners, schmucks, it's folding like my potbelly running toward gym. 


This is tantamount to inundation, the brimming excess, and repudiation of plumbing. 










____






"One lovely and useful proverb is “still waters run deep,” which, translated, means  


quiet people are often more brilliant, clever or complex than they may appear.  


This proverb compares aspects of the human character to hydro- dynamics" 




"Of Latin origin, but possibly popularized by William Shakespeare, c. 1590, in "Henry VI," part 2, act 3, scene 1: 


 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason."  




__ 




Residual snowflake, flurry of one, solitary yet wed in dance 


Over pavement carless, care dictating each to their own views from windows, 


I gambled again last night 


Got drunk in deaths clime incubator, after selling my fishman preamp I drank my treble away, boomerang 


Three pints of mountain at the park, along with elderberry flavored river, courting nightshade rowed to a rowdy stir the blood 


Pool game with paul haul, a sonabitch made me beat him and shed my layers until it was tank top guns 


Him hating his dad, 70


Poisoned but wanting the be put in his place, sassy kid 


His girlfriend hanging back, fine by me, she chides me about my daughters, she's one too 


Wants to give a healing hug no problem, drinking cheapo lite, light food high 


The chatter of a party in a long last supper table and two dozen empties get me the bird, and out the door 


I'm stumbling, falling 


My bike soften the blow, rise and hike, never got my layers reinstalled 


"Winter pries it's fingers" in my hammered heart, my pea coat saves me, I awaken to the third ranger in as many sways 


Polite on script, older than the usual clocks sent to recite and point hands at dials 


I'm warm in 20 degree bag, look out at snow ice lawns and tree bit mulch that has been Cuisinart by chef wind 


I toss my foam in the fancy litter jail, after closing off the hefty so dog shit don't besmirch later use 


Cuz who knows, other than the queen oracle, the chain off it's sprocket so I walk to shell


-Ter, counter


-ter, store 


-age, patterns upon patterns paint the road there 


Too beautiful no hangover or frost bite, temperature dropping at 9 am 


Keeping it simple, retired, slow and in contrast.  


____ 


 Between ice and hand warmers in the pocket, my speck not ascendant 


Transitory yet barnacled by fellow human clods 


Uneager for dissolution from inundation, hot cocoa mix that don't swizzle, paddle as we do with a splinter 


Pulled from the cross, red 


The gamut of exhaustion bottled, to steep in indoors 


I heard nobody pray 


I heard sharp howls of pain from one guy, squabbles and cussing, accusations, friendly banter, kind gams at sea, the chance meetings that disaster harbors 


Dogs living with cats, society's outcasts glazed sleep, shuffling feet in outdoor clothes, the crinkle of water bottles, forgiving bumps and boundaries, to survive 


Unheeded calls for help, forsaken by pecking order bureaucracy 


Legless men with smiles 


Filling our arms with tents, tarps, instant oatmeal, and brief acceptance 


At the base of Mt. Tabor 


I better look that up again in my atheist catalogue 


Now that i'm on my side 


Cheek to the snow and the other inundated with keys and coins unspent 






___  




"Just as Elijah and Moses begin to depart from the scene, 


 Peter begins to ask Jesus if the disciples should make three tents for him and the two prophets.  


This has been interpreted as Peter's attempt to keep the prophets there longer. 


 But before Peter can finish, a bright cloud appears, and a voice from the cloud states: 


 "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him" (Mark 9:7).  


The disciples then fall to the ground in fear, but Jesus approaches and touches them, telling them not to be afraid. 


 When the disciples look up, they no longer see Elijah or Moses.




When Jesus and the three apostles are walking down the mountain,  one guy gives him shreds of shelter wool to wrap his feet from the ice: traction.


Jesus tells them to not tell anyone  that the supervisor knows that fentanyl was incense in the shit room.


"the things they had seen"  


until the "Son of Merde" has risen from the dead." 


___  




Refuge in a steel box spared me from obliteration,  shhhh wind now a whipsaw velocity that decapitated the picnic manger on Tabor where the pilgrims wear shorts in the snow 


Wind sharpened to molecular carbide on Crown Point 


Wind pushed the balsa fronds of fir out of the tundra without spite other than the smite of man and his sheetrock lairs 


Following channels of cement like a pinball game, no hindrance other than balconies for viewing past the megaTV 


Rootballs of trunk lollipops, for to rest parallel invites nature a new lease 


This is the only law 


Decay, and sublimation to moss, thrush, worm, and badger  


Out of storage, the leftovers feed mouths ravenous, molting, hurry in study too occupied to hunt cook and tablecloth, too inundated with progress for the sake of shaping a menu 


To serve satin sickness 


Go climb a fallen giant and find the nests before they are sold below in thrift stores 


Go log a look 


Witness the inundation of earth fighting back, reflexive, her kneecap jerk as automatic as a catapult from the rubber mallet of Dr. man 


Freezing rain slows the dinosaur glop in our engines, we feast on Old Food from the unpowered fridge, reaching by candlelight and memory of what was deposited last Odin's day


Last Mars day, last Freya's day 


Daresay Thorsday 


There is no bearing on the compass to guide a lost bloated contagion of capitalism 


The wax expends into bee sweat as fire reaps wick 


Glaciers peninsula our shallow tastes down to bedrock 


Where pilings hold not for long, and launch platforms commiserate escape from our inundation with self destruction, in Latin fairy tales with plastic slabs of lamb, sung with tinsel jingles 


Hide behind the sequoia, it melts too under a hiccup from the Gorge 


Wy'east and Pashto take it in stride, magma boiling in their cauldrons kept at bay under a loose sternwheeler that glides upstream to memaloose 


It's talk, that's All 


The wind inundated with power poles and copper lassoes and sturgeon magnets in a maelstrom symphony crescendo 


It's sex with beyond death on a tee shirt and sponsor, that tale of cerebus Grendel


It's a high point in sea level mentality, that folded ship made of diplomas 


A helado dripping down the fist running from the bull 


We run and the caterpillar gazas us in holy pauper view 


Sic pay per view, that's how clever drips congregate  


If there's any radiating glory, it's Hanford and folly 


It's Martin Luther Kaepernick doing knee bends to cheerleaders of every flavor 


Sacrilegious sanctimony and silly potion pedigrees 


Frost heaves the homeless to safety, from tailback, from rear guard, from tackle 


That's religion. 


____ 


 
















































 




















2023

FLB 

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