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postcards from nirvana

scene: the warm green sea where once we
all lived breathing warm green water and having no names:

                       humpback in theory distilled
this reified dream of its nobody space
            ornate goldfingers jawed at a salt-gravy's
tepid orbit
            betimes it's open and round
            its crown ring five yellow weed-wags
tourney time flipped into diary's bag
            and postulated double-apothecary tones
of zonal personal no-account nostalgia for
beneficent organelles that remember more than
how to ride a proton bike, i'll tell you that

brain drain now dares vinny barbarino several
dislodged space cow nollege with an 'n' statements
of principle screamed at the top of one's shower

"the dark volcanic slope is built of ash
that once was fire"

"the dark volcanic slope is built of ash
that once was fire"

opine you that icebergs melt faster than you shift
paradigms while we recline on slabs
of gray ice within the four gnarly
pine walls of that which s'appelle
the "shift house"    where you go
to sit and shift     your weight from flipper
to wing     you know, um, ideas--"gestalt"--"paradigms"--hey you,
you're an idea person, try this one out:
the color of murky seabottom gore is the color of a dream
of vanquire so dream on, my wily sea-onion, these
accidents take time

                                   how drowsy we became
on the wine of each other's thin company
no bread sticks were stretched between
us our company and the moist laughter
that anointed, what was it, our first argument?

oh yes, what movie to see our first date, well
not our first official date, actually the one time
before our first "official" "date,"
the lee shore of morning shone
beneath our withering gaze like a half-step,
say, an octave
octaves actually, of C, high and higher, armies of ocarinas played
loudly by schoolchildren whose business
it is
to be

hear me out:

trained in marine bell curve airship mogul
which europed into pellucid argyle paavo
nurmi foghat icicle shin-guard trophy
protection nit lipid orange juiced into
hugging your skeletal key-note drive-by
denim poppy-seed brain-tree train-envelope
and what's it got me?

it is to be heard to be stretched to be homburged
into the rat cellars of ancient clip-art archives

i tried mama tried lord buddha tried

the three of us woke up the next day
each downed a bottle of robitussin
and hopped a train for nirvana
where they ain't got postcards