......The Poetry Of.
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Bill Campana ....................
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another blue print ....................
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see me through the curtains ....................
from the neighbor's window. ....................
i am the pea in this shell game. ....................
pass me from the opposite direction ....................
until my features become ....................
a speed trap court appearance. ....................
sit in the dark and watch me ....................
on the other side of the sofa fire. ....................
my mysteries are normal ....................
but i have to wonder ....................
if you look as beautiful standing still ....................
as you do making a left turn? ....................
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sometimes i like to bend and twist ....................
my portable halo to receive signals ....................
and eaves drop on cell phone conversations. ....................
sometimes i take it off ....................
so small dogs can jump through it. ....................
let's hear it for function. ....................
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focus your attention on the ....................
dark side hot shots dumping burden ....................
onto your eden-like garden ....................
where the sun don't shine ....................
quite like you'd like. ....................
walk away singing love songs ....................
while the ones you leave behind ....................
assign music to your footsteps ....................
trampling this year's perennials still in bloom ....................
fragrant...pungent as last year's love. ....................
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rotate your portable halo ....................
and tune your radio to the station playing ....................
this may be the last time ....................
this may be the last time ....................
it may be the last time ....................
i don't know. ....................
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consciousness and the gizmos/keeping word
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2:45 in the morning... ....................
sleep schedule pleasures are a blast ....................
but when those pleasures leave i am stranded ....................
in a suitcase on a bus to device and chingadero. ....................
another cup of coffee at the sadom and cremora ....................
another bear claw rolls the dice. ....................
it's a scramble for fun in the pit of my stomach. ....................
church key and shoe horn and crow bar charisma ....................
cannot out sparkle the cellophane crackling ....................
of another crisp desert night ....................
or pull me out or push me back into routine. ....................
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all the free agency without all the cash
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now that i am without expectation ....................
now that i am full of exception ....................
i can close my eyes and dream of the fragile undermine ....................
below the subtle undercurrent ....................
close enough to intersect ....................
desperate enough to intertwist. ....................
now. ....................
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later i will stare from my window ....................
watch the sun fill an afternoon with fear. ....................
after i die i will return to walk through the glass. ....................
i will thread the needle ....................
that pierces my eye ....................
and follow that thread ....................
out of the womb ....................
into the finite. ....................
through the flume ....................
with a bullet ....................
blasted into flakes. ....................
later. ....................
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i will stare through my eyelashes ....................
float ghost-like without motive ....................
through a stained glass mural. ....................
after i die i will return ....................
to dismantle ....................
re-arrange ....................
re-assemble it ....................
into a supernatural comic strip panel. ....................
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