Hot Coals

Firespeak sing n swing.

This is a mode, a chariot and vehicle of expression.

Bardic in its yawping

and hot rod in its bebop turbine.

Whitman revved it.

Coltrane. Kerouac. Ginserg. Bird.

Riot, blues and jazz

rolled into self-sung nuptials.

When I was younger, I listed this

as one way of expressing,

one way of channeling.

A slant of expressive self to slip into,

like religion or a space suit,

and give expression its liberated due

with specific flair and signature.

I had four main forms, still do:

Firespeak sing n swing. Blue and Gray. Home. Savage Jest.

These four formed auspices, or ribs for an umbrellaic spread.

Firespeak sing n swing

is equal parts troubadour and Hierophant,

reciting with zeal and fury

much bigger than everyday rounds of expression,

character, being.

It’s one way of saying—

Come firewalk with me.

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Window Dressing

Out the window

worlds come in,

flashing in doses and quarters

 and nickels and slices

and geometrical swaths.

Out the window is wealthy in examples and suggestions.

When looking out the window, when sailing,

we become a pair of eyes multiplied by siege—

we see we see we see we see—

and something essential in us sinks joyously

into the mud and sky simultaneously.

Out the window is an invitation extended,

taking you wherever whenever,

the tracking of time aligned with vision.

It is distance made intimate.

Out the window is an instant painting always changing.

Out the window, I saw myself looking in.

Outside of me never existed.

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Fool’s Play

To take the plunge is, or can be,

an act of willful trespass,

courting the Fool as you merge

with his flagged archetype while

plunging down into a ravine,

your life tomorrowless in its abyss

and calling.

The plunge is synonymous with fall,

which midwifes you into the realm of the mythical

and sublime.

Except someone needs to record and interpret

you-falling as someone and something mythical,

a metaphysical second is required,

a phantom scribe—

the plunge as experienced by you,

and the other as recording the plunge

experienced by you as mythical passage.

Both things

and then some

are true.

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Post-Scriptive

Something about the air of absence,

its titillation and gravity.

Ghosts are highly seductive when revealing their apparent lack.

Beck sang about gravity shackles going wild.

Genius is childhood endowed with virile maturity.

Baudelaire said that. Or something to that effect.

Everything is, in its truest essence, something to that effect,

or a P.S. turning the page

to become the header

in someone else’s text.

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Neverland Noir

Hot off the press! Neverland Noir has been released and is represented by Heuer Publishing, serving the theater community since 1928. This play is available for licensing for schools and theater companies: hitplays.com

NEVERLAND NOIR
Classic noir meets Neverland mythology in this timeless tale of light and shadow. Peter Pan’s dreamer has been stolen, causing him to fragment into multiple Peters. J.M. Hook, metaphysical private eye, is hired by Wendy to venture into Neverland and find Peter’s lost dreamer, as Hook’s investigation becomes a shadow-play of illusions, intrigue and supernatural suspense.

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Autumn in F-Sharp

In her long distance gaze,

unblinkingly chaste

and running,

the bayonet plunges

between a rock

and hard place,

and I, gasping,

to air on the side

of trespass

and empathic fall.

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Runway for Taxi Dancers

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Jazz

The work as in the dreaming,

as in the dreaming-doing,

as in the beat drumming at the core

underscored by silence and dark

spooning.

In the dark we bump into walls,

clumsily grope,

and tell ourselves stories,

sometimes all at once.

In the everpresent holydark

aligned with its slow burn sibling,

Silence,

blessing the clumsy

and clamor of occurrences,

phonetics wired to a magnanimous source,

a marvelous opera in miniature

and measureless grandeur

and all that jazz.

Sentences as underground covens for ritual members,

lo-fi temples for speakeasies and orgies,

vaginal enclaves for hermetic bent.

All in all in all

compounded into a single sentence,

gorgeously stunning in its complexity and depth,

its capacity to sunder and bewitch.

One word playing with another

and then the next,

parlaying kinetic boogie-woogie

and taxi-dances

into shapely and seductive

rounds of yes and tender and yes-again.

In other words,

what is there to do in this dreaming-dark

except cherish and bless?

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Cosplay in the Dark

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One Good Word Deserves Another

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