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Heron Clan Reading Dec 13, 2020
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Heron Clan Readings Sunday Zoom Storm
Rumble, rumble, the tumble of the rumbles, come
As she fills her pockets with rainbows, and lightning bolts.
Cutting her fingers on shards of electricity, she tries to stop
The weakening of the seams on the coat of the dreams.
Tumble and tumble head full of promises, rumble on
In the search for a lining, silver in nature
To plaster the holes of her memory and the hemorrhaging
Of her hands in the coat of the dreams.
Stumble and stammer and stumble some more
Hiding from the lightening, frightened inside
Fingers bloodied and chard from proximity
Hidden deep in the coat of the dreams.
Rumble and rumble the storms have been sated
Hued lights and flashes seep from the folds
She palms up her hands and wonders did it happen
Or did the seams finally split on the coat of the dreams.
Joe Bonanassa
It was what he did
between the notes
How he filled the space
between the sound
Standing in the oil painted light
Accents of color
Bouncing off cymbals
and brick walls
As he stood
In the resound
Of sound.
His hands hung
in loose recoil
Vibrating from the stroke
Truely limp and disconnected
From the slick back haired musican
Metal sunglasses slid
To the point of his nose
He stood
And he waited
For the sound
Between the notes
to fill the hall.
Its what he did
Between the notes
Like a breath
on hold
A precipace
not crested
That made me wish
For an easel and palette
The pinks and the golds
And the black figure
in vertical repose
Listening to his sound.
This Time
That’s another story, timing the pace to match the waste of time.
She makes a box of remembered sounds catapulting across the room
And stores them in measured rows of lines of time with tentacles reaching the floor
Its not the seemingly nonsense that drives her to beserk-dom but the seemingly sense it all makes
Take that and that she says and jousts her thoughts into the paper lid that forms the tray of her mind
Pulling it out like drawers in the mortuary the morgue the home of the funeral director and associates
Examining it like the rock collection of her youth the butterfly cases of the PhD the recipes snipped clipped
But that’s another story
This story speaks of wasted time lounging on chairs and couches in front of phone and TV ions
The dryer rocks the clothes dry the washer beats it clean knocking the detergent to the floor
It needs to be balanced that’s all but how how to balance she’s not the tools
The fridge ice frozen in the line and the disposal as well stopped in time no action from either all quiet
She’ll do it later get the guy who fixes things to come by and not fix it but say next time
And fixes something not broke and charges her anyway and cleans the gutters but sweeps the yard instead
Its this nonsense that makes the most sense padding around in hospital socks non slip to slip into his arms
What do you think a movie and dinner or just the sex you know the blood wont flow to both
And she hops on and hears her stomach growl it’s a trade he’ll do it next time the movie she means
The dinner ingredients dry up in the frozen fridge and she muscles the dryer to clean the vent
She’ll get the guy to come fix it but he doesn’t do appliances so he’ll fix something else that’s not broken
And says I wont charge you as much this time I’ll bring the brush to clean out the dryer so it can rock the clothes
But that’s the story the other story of her tender soft spots making memories in boxes pulled out like drawers
Her drawers on the floor as he rocks her like clothes in the dryer around and around up and down tumbled and dried
Moist to the fingertips her memories linger scent upon scent crouching to see why the fridge is frozen
Under the peas and the tiny ice tray frozen in dinosaur shapes are piles of ice in bags awaiting the storm
Take it all out take it all to the counter and you tube the answer to the quest but end up couched crouching
Not seeing what the camera shows so she’ll call the guy and he’ll help her put the peas back and not charge at all
This time
