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Gone Boy Meets
The Vapor Girl Gone |
It has been the profound failings of subtle mind ballooning in the
headspace of incidental flesh.
Profound failings,
incessant wisdom folly.
Meandering and screwing Karma into the frozen and unyielding earth
to dig down the foundations of the lofty palace of the all-knowing
unknowing.
It’s all wrapped around rhythms and words that strain like the stillness
spirit poised over these bound leaves,
that flushes out on waiting ears.
Keep singing it.
Keep telling me how Jesus gonna be here,
humming past the kingdom in the clinging wetness upon asphalt and
concrete,
and a moment never so complete as one already fading in the deep
reaches of the Gone Cache of the fragmented, fractal, residual
wave of the Gone Mind,
Gone Time;
and Gone Woman so young and so perfected of the Gone Dreams,
of Gone Boy,
in your passing torment of your
Gone Manifestation of the unattainable, ideal Holy Grail of Gone
that you were, are, and ever beckon from your body-movement-
mudra riddle.
Gone Boy and Vapor Gone Girl fall over candlelight.
They get swallowed up in the steepening slope of the bending toward
solstice twilight.
Unsure and unsteady movement on you.
Clumsy in his vulnerability,
fool and clown Gone Boy
in the Gone Night he wishes he could take back.
And never Gone are the ghost musings of his feeble sponge-mind.
The still-frame frozen-image clouds,
Glistening luster Gone Eyes,
long-Gone Hands of elegance skirting the flame of a candle in her
never-ending dance of that Gone Night,
burning in the Gone-Mind
of Gone Boy.
Always Gone,
The Vapor Gone Girl,
From a Gone Summer.
The sidelong beckoning smiles from the window of her Gone- Mobile
to the Gone Boy in his ghost world.
Can’t get a touch.
Can’t get a taste of the Vapor Gone Girl.
Only the wounds stay.
Only the dream lingers,
in red and black
of the postponed revolution against the failings of what holds the Gone
Boy back.
Red and black…
Marking the Vapor Gone Girl
as she emerges from the faces.
From the midnight black of raven lust
and mystic touch.
Red from a heart-space that rages,
and my red-wine crush,
and its heartbreak wages,
never approaching its final stages.
Gone, the Girl in her lingering vapor.
Never quite Gone as she screams, tearing by and weaving through the
concrete seams
Until…
Gone…
Gone Boy…
Vapor Gone Girl…
Gone…
Can’t connect in this Insanity Vapor World.
copyright 2004
Adam
Lowis |
