I am your sister from the blond tribe
Our fathers all gathered in the pre-hunt huddle
Fires crackled with pine nuts, north and south

Skies all blue in the long northern days
Summer passing into heaven.

By Richard Parish

In the grip of mental emergence,

Convergence of special massRequim,

inspired ‘Ah Heck, We’um….”

Strumming, Drumming,

Anti Numbing

Or the Plumbing of a

Bush of nerve-fiber,

of “ Zieg-heil-ism”,

So called Patriotism.

Not for God?

Who Knew the Blue Shoes

Would own the news,

They think the world only exists,

In the shine of their boots.

Logic Two-Me Zip!

Running for the sun

Love in the Run,

The eyes in the run,

The Song Songs

Long longings

Of my Creature-hood

Neighborhood,

My Hood-Hood

Sans ChildHood,

Or so seems now,

Logic three, Me Zip!

Who to trust in the rust of memories,

Lingered beleagured, lingerines left off as a child.

The wheels maintain strainings

Of dreamt up gainings

Un realism, whrenched out bolts of rope

In the dope, golgatha, the yoga Hatha

Rumi knew and Knows

Logic Four, Me Zip!

Talk to me pleading,

I who hope in hopes hopelessness

Blind groping-ness

Of hurled worlds, inside the time-tried wrongs

Never a song wrong,

Wronged wrongings from the bongings or iron Bells.

with the insides of words

they unfold like strands of DNA

one letter at a time

wrap themselves around

my every move and thought.

This I allow  like mantras;

they unfurl like flags;

they lead me to still waters.

See how the word “dazzle” has become

the bones between my hip and toes

dazzle needs water and exercise

dazzle needs to move

and so it gets me going ‘til its past tense

becomes a bingo spanning the board

from red to red and I am stilled

by the sight of this but bored

stiff and suddenly the words are wine

and I have drunk too much.