Circa 1990 Three Pt. II

On tour with the moon

as night swallows the sun and drowns her tongue in the sweet suite

of interstellar drums, she licks infinity onto

the blackground of my mind. with her inspiration, mine able

hands skilled in the post modern malice of turntable instrumentalism rage

silently with driftlessly discreet limbs fingers running wind sprints in jet streams

of consciousness around two plastic orbs evolving at

thirty three and a third revolutions per minute

speaking thru tongues of well-versed drums transform shadows of

the past into rays of rhythmoods refracting doldrums into

shouted hums, sermons into song. from beat to beam. from optic noise

to aural scene. as mine fingers fandango along the tracts of her maze thru days of night and dawn draws the blinds of light the sun sprouts like a dandelion

in a frenzy of blue. and the hands of time etch unconscious

treasures into a cloud of what could b/rain as I play at rest.

sleepwalking thru winter sadness into the palms of summer madness.

surrounded by the temptations of spring and the thoughts that they sing

come summertime in ballads to fall, leaving behind crescent moons.

In response to the wild natural prompt from J.D. Harms:

scrupulously scribbled in 1993/reconstructed in 2020 MDSHall is a poet and a creative, who is the creator and curator of The Bazaar of the Bizarre and a submissions editor for The POM, living in Illinois, also writing in association with the Writes of Passage, “forged on the wordwrights’ anvil,” and Lingua: Ex Libris Life, because as Albert Camus said, “to create is to live twice.”