Remember When It Used To Snow?

Tapping fingernails against a cheek
to figure out what to wear
while the global scheme is flux.

A few degrees separates
hot from brush-fire
wet from slush
snap cold from snow
humid from hurricane
Sol from desert
and chilly from black ice.

All purpose spacesuit
will suffice.

The long run is
Christmas trees
decorated with beach shells,
different from
frost.

Remember when they had a chance
to say
"fuck that"?
Your kids are
going to have a bone to pick with you.

Smoker 56

Odometer reads well.
Speedometer too.
Standard.
Gear shifts near perfect when
the asphalt speaks to the motor and transmission
road speed matches.  Golden.  Shift.

Without a thunk.  Whisper and an easy nod.

Old iron hide.  Broken knuckles and skin flakes.
Blood on the chassis and some burned to oil fumes
on the engine block.  Torn fingernail tips sitting
in the "I" and "C" beams that keep the machine
churning.  Flake of eyelash vaporized at 600F.

Silly function.  Park.  Get out.  Sit in the truck bed.

Spark.  Think.

Pilot a weapon every day or ride a refrigerator
to the third star on the right.
Stories have been told of an oasis
where sandwiches come already made
and where the made come to look at sandwiches
without buying.

Read the cloud like flipping coins
with chicken bones.
It is a shame no one believes in magic
with the same fervor.

Be sure to stop by the general store
to pick up more needles
and thread.  The ashtray is already prepared.

Proclamation C445.2

Those of us that live with the blessing of machinations
shall gift their shadows to all, with neither malice nor
fear.  In that shade will grow all things beautiful and
cell.  Within the galaxies of cells are universes.
Within these new alls, we are.
Roads to glory are paved in bone.
The gifts of shadows are not these.
The machinations will join the tree as time
joins all rivers and seas,
all lives in breaths.

Blade Runner

Every time you walk the razor
you renew the lease
on this body.
One more nail to hang a picture.
One more mural committed to walls.
One more reason to see
the sun rise and bathe the evening slag
and die.
Every time you walk the razor
to renew the lease
on this body,
promise me the evening sky
when the chimney swifts are feeding
and the bats are beginning to take wing.
That silk spectrum sky between
diamond black heaving and
sunlight's bleeding.
Every time you walk the razor
and renew the lease
on this body,
show a glitter of teeth
to let the engine seething
breathe underneath.