That Makes Sense

Ashes loose in the air. Odors mixing - blood, burning plastic, dead water. Permeating funk of green and blue. An insistent blue wanting desperately to glow. A distant wailing voice floating above unseen notes from a retired piano. Footsteps approaching, fading. A sweet whisper punctuated with mysteriously voiced syllables. Something turning over and around warbling, faltering, falling. Deep liquid churning, shifting. Shapes disappearing into shadow. Unintentional meanings under deep analysis. The scrutiny of mirrors.

Poetry drifting into space. Radio waves trapped under rocks. Sawdust on concrete - a jungle of insects. Microscopic reasons for movement. Something that rhymes with black. Binary layers of lettuce and tomato. Miles of fiber optic cable carrying haiku from another century. An aging cat in darkness. Calling me back, chasing me away. Promising to destroy me. A gentle hand underwater counting backwards from infinity to zero. Waves holding their breath. Wild animals discussing politics with ghosts of ancient evenings. An echo folded up tight and filed away. More memories than you can shake a memory at. A dream forgotten then found in an online obituary. A two-dimensional sunrise waiting patiently on a perforated page. Suddenly remembering half a dozen variations of tomorrow. Smoke dancing in the wind.

On temporary loan to a forgetful philosopher. Calculations melting like candle wax. Something that happened yesterday and then again. Nostrils buried deep in a moist warmth. A space between and something metallic there trying to breathe. A low moaning coming out of sleep and soft. Spheres drifting, decaying, exploding. An empty bottle of wine forever. No return address. The perfect voice unheard and shining. Who are you talking to? Now I can hear.