Failing to Touch Senses

I want to see pinhole lights in the night tapestry 
and be unable to escape the inevitable starstruck.
Craving spicy tastes that consume my inspirational palette
my plate seems so pregnant with unconsumed flavours.
Each lingering scent wafting through my memory
brings momentary flashes that echo recollection.
I want unshackled freedom for my intrinsic senses
possessing only what is granted an experience.
Yet within the poignantless grasp, fingers learn to slip,
and be unable to reach out and catch simple sensations.
The defiant five conspiring and complaining.

 

11:05 pm
28 February 2012

Feasting on Howls and Nighthawks

a collage of colour
lingering still-life beneath an
on-going example of sustenance

the soft shoes squeak
fluttering by like so many
beautiful biped butterflies

cherry tastes and apricot lacquering
my fingers and lips are so very sticky
with metaphor

flavoured tableau
a mist of expectant discussion
layered amidst meals’ carnage

captured images with literary utensils
gathered alongside forks and knives
we supped upon the divine

nourishment

hoping with the warm embrace
of coffee and the tingle of creativity

coalesce

under the muted light
pitched through tinted bottles
and hazy dreams

it’s easy to let feet shift
sitting on the edge of worn booths
just off the face of Hooper’s vision
waiting for the phrases
like Ginsberg echoing in the
thickening early morning air

to paint in the anticipation

of being served

 

9:46 pm
27 February 2012