Escaped Energy

Let’s talk:

I am moving to California in a couple of months.  The closer it gets to departure, the less I want to talk about it.  When I ponder at the crotch of diverging paths, my stomach squirms with thought of living so far from my homeland, getting a job, living an entirely new life.  And then my stomach churns when I think of here, now.  What do I have going for me- Well, it’s pretty simple, when I extract answers after much thought.  I have a job I love, and memories with people that could turn up again in my life someday.  When I think, why I need to leave, I come up with: I need something new, change, growing up, better chance to become famous, better people, the experience.  It’s why I will forgo my predestined path.  Almost a year ago, I wrote on Tumblr, I’d have to make a huge decision that would affect me forever, and this is it.  All the anticipation, and for what… I don’t want to leave friends and family.  Beautiful places, just knowing your surroundings.  I’m going to abandon The Berkshires and Witch City, leave my ideal job for the situation I’m in.  Am I in the right hands Clayton? These are all thoughts contorting like a bowl of spaghetti, and I can’t seem to figure a way to wrap them around my fork. 

I lust for the flesh of a woman.  It creeps up my back leg, right to my ass, and pinches me.  Spring in full swing, and I am acting as all innate humans, touching down into their carnal ancestry. But I am lost, moneyless, I just have the charm that keeps me alive, but NE coast woman praise spoiling.  I want to hang out with love before I leave.  Which brings up all the love of the past.  Would something come about for a shy guy like me, where reuniting with a past love ever happen?  That’s taking steps backward, in my mind. I’m trying to walk up unbeknownst stairs, not fall down in unbeknownst depths.  But my mind is one to wonder ALL possibilities, hence this great scoop into my gushy brain.

The main reason for hesitance to get up and go is Blaine, Nana, my aunts and cousins, and the way some things are cementing that knocks me back on my heels and gulp scary realities. I just don’t know.  Do you?

In a cold creek, we let it fly,

Then we reel it in. 

In a scraped up aluminum canoe, comfy enough for just us,

We fish for pumpkin seeds,

Primped in fading, orange life vests, with our bucket hats like real men,

Dreaming of snagging a big mouth bass,

But surely it was always a myth.

-

It is these days, when the sun crinkles its nose,

Pulls the clouds in front of it,

And leaves for a cigarette.

And yet, that thought would never

Brush the finite layers of an innocent me

In this canoe.

Instead, I’m drinking old- fashioned bubbly, soda pop,

Reveling in the cartoon i watched last night,

To my best friend.

-

Remembering this now, I taint it, dilute or pollute it,

Until the creek is murky, 

The sun hasn’t returned, 

And there are no fish to be found.

Then why am I fond of this memory?

-

Sometimes, it takes more than just remembering to bring it all back.

-

From the distance, in shedding cattails, and tall shrubbery,

As the canoe grinds against the rolling stones underneath,

A white stallion, its nose dipped in black, breaches from the forest

And gallops across the field.

When the horse has become aware of distant eyes,

It freezes, lifts its heavy front, dirt caked, hooves,

And bucks into the sky,

Like a wolf at full moon.

Then just like it came, it left,

Me wordless, until now

When I relived the memory.

-

Jasper Quince

Teeth clenched, then they chatter.

Shivers of warmth,

The up up ups-

Coalesced into a sphere of ecstasy. 

-

So I

Prolong the effect, like a raging circus on the weekend,

To take everything I can, and keep the blue dazzle inside me.

Come one, come all.

Peanut shells and memories are  now   all   that’s   left behind.

-

Brain dead, a windowless room of grey, artificial 40 watt.

Now that I’m down, down, down,

Onerous are my feet and I’m dragging across my carpet,

Sliding over crumpled jeans, cold nickels, spilled water from last night,

Pulling myself up with the sturdiness of its sweaty knob,

But then I fall back into the dimensions of limbo.

-Jasper Quince

The shark swim in the circle of life, waiting for the fest to drop,

but will it?  Sir Pedonod-

what a swashbuckler.

The king of nNyes, his eyes glint with the edge of his scimitar.

The crew of a crow, flocks up to block his exit. 

If Sir Pedonod wants to live, he must act fast.

Spinning with grace, he springs up and unsheaths his sword,

the curve of the blade working with the momentum,

It gives him the umph, 

To deftly land on his feet, slash a quick parleying jab,

And counter swing up to slice a gash on the side of the neck of the first pirate.

He juggles the squirting blood in his hands, and challenges a spin of his own,

But teeters off the wooden edge of the boat.Three more sweep the zone of foul play.  Blood cakes the deck.  

The pirates are shaking in their timbers, 

They’re thinking about Zorro, Hook, or all those other horror movies for pirates, 

Where they’re just pawns, and get hacked up like dead meat.

Sir Pedonod, King of Nyes, never gives up at the sign of cowardice.  He lifts his foot, boots with solid rubber underneath, and kicks the one in the center in the gut.  He flies back and smashes his back against the mast.  The other two, try to pinch him, from left and right, but to no avail, can’t raise their own sword, before Sir Pedonod has cleanly sliced through bone to leave their hands wriggling for the sword on the ground.  They collect, bounce into eachother like Stooges, pick up their hands, and flee for the deck underneath.  Sir Pedonod, cocks his head back and guffaws at such in-disposable people.  whatever, it isn’t them he seeks vengeance from, it’s Captain BlackStack, the pirate sailing the seas for forty years unscathed, bombarding cargo ships and by-passers for luxuries that would make a poor man cry.  He lies deep within the walls of the ship, an exuberant maze of carefully placed traps and dead ends.  No Sir Pedonod won’t die today, not when vengeance tucks him, but doesn’t read to him before falling asleep. lol

Stay tuned for Part 2…

Isabella,
Wrap your viny stalks
around my leaning waist
And convince me.
-
I long, by a still pond,
Petting pursed dandelions
To bring Isablla back,
With open eyes.
-
Materialize from underwater
Like a water lily.
Bring Your raw dripping
Curves over to my company.
Allow my palms to press-
Isabella, Caress
Your delicate breasts,
While you saturate my tingly
Brain with dulcet tongue.
Some fingers cupping my chin.
-
There’s ripple in the pond again.