No Why Of

am i trying to be correct in my planning, my
maturity if i even believe in that
hard to say but i have to at a certain point, i know
not a high or low, just slow, immeasurable pull
no team or advisory, on own but cliff looking at tree, that
cyprus meant to garnish sea view,
overlooking my notes and what i recorded and wondering
if i did it right
but that depends on who you ask, and who would you ask
the supervisor? nothing super about him, he
doesn’t like me cuz i talk, cuz i question, and there it is in my
truth pot, the table not yet served, i sit to gather self and order more
coffee probably don’t need it but this isnt manic, i dont think, but im not a
doctor or even a professional, the professional they want me to be, im just
a word wrangler, and im inchief as they say, so official, im in office, and
bobbing head with what the xylophone does, following the snare, my snare
as i stare into the smoke over the small crowd in this free hut–
not sure if its simplicity or if i some urge to
complicate and overcomplicate, so maybe its not them, not
them at all, maybe im imagining them, the clock, the obligation and
the schedule, i have to be there, that’s mature, maturity, maybe
we’re all imaging that–
return to the burn, the purifying waves of flame that come from the midday
into the notebook intel spell, attempt, no contact from me after, just silent
i spoke too loud and here i am, whoops, without
but im better, so much better, i should thank them for the paper work, release, out,
of a certain cell, look at me, seriously look. at. me.
no suffer, suffrage and suffer age, put my temper in the fridge, or freezer, thaw it
and what do i get:
sense, a chorus, words ive never sung– bong blong ting ting–
new jazz in a new life in a new street and new calendar square, dirty hands
but that’s art, voice or something like that
new extremity, so now they
call me an extremist, rabblerousing roarer
but as my songs on plays i sway on something
sharper, and my You’s a renewed ME–
landscape to escape or just remain, im
too mobile and manic to anything mold,
im told, complexing
and complication, what now, what now!

Colors circling and I get tads in dizzy,
More vision, though, there’s more
here,
Trust me.
But I don’t trust me so I’m a hyperhypocrite, listening to
two idiots in front of me in this
cafe talk about philosophy and amoebas and followings
and Asia, and standards– oh they know so much,
and I just stare at the shade, the tinted blends on the wall, smell
espresso or biscotti
or maybe that’s just the wind outside– oh so now they talk about Shake
speare. they know so much!
Please tell me I’m not one of them, I’m not of their hem!
Lean into my keys and feel please but I’m around two pseudos,
send me to Peru, or Pluto!
I thought I was manic, you should hear this guy!
I’m annoyed, about to feel my patience fry.
Concentrate on what I have to do, focus I
tell myself but I’m a bad coach and now the younger gives the
excuse that he has to get to a haircut, he doesn’t
want to listen to him anymore and neither do I and
now that the younger has left I don’t have to– praises!
To the moment and to the oddness, now come curious pauses..
Does this happen to you, when you have days off? Oh, but this
usually is a work day, but not anymore, not anymore,
more than anything I have songs to bring, new life and
new me and some trumpets and snare, event
ually:

just notes on sounds, the espresso machines, fruffmmm and
shaaaaaaaahg, repeated.
ugh, now more talkers, ladies at table two over
left and they talk about days off they need or one of them
does– oh no, she’s talking about an
employee, she’s management, enemy, turn
that espresso machine back on!
Bring that younger back in here!
She’s one of them! One of the
clock lovers, one of those bots that make
my case lowered, ‘I’ to ‘i’–
can I go? Sure I can, I have the day, no noose, bless
ing, no dis
guise, look at my eyes, both, you see a sky and a lake of intent, or at least I
hope;
a guy wipes the counter, a tall guy walks in (he works here), and I just write, and sing to
myself cuz I love my voice, I’m no different that this amoeba philosophy guy
i need some advise, and a teamish tone
let’s see what I can draw, but I’m gone
and the shop wants me to go to, go out there,
enjoy your day,
you’re free, swinging in and
out of any
sea, no edit or controls I start to shiver
but then I’m enclosed, in love, set, and I
know why

(1/31/15)