Light Eyes to The Blind

Thread Thin Like This

abrahamharping — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 04:06:12 +0000

Cross red-rusted drawbridge over small golden stillwater,
sit crouched among fruits in fruit-freighter pick-up.
Arrive in crop bowl, a sun-formed crater.
Lay at the bronzed feet of wise men; smoke their pipe.
Watch black ants marvel at your alien feet,
watch cattle constellation, watch natural shift;
watch fences keep their integrity.

when the stars and the people and the mountain peaks stare at me I will be the nucleus piercing of thousands of long wooden stakes, a husk long cold and pale.

abrahamharping — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 04:26:21 +0000

Today, life is cut into an infinite amount of parts, and within each measurable quantity of these parts lies an immeasurable quantity of possible outcomes. Today I walked downstairs to get a drink of water and changed the course of history. Today I am proud to be one of the infinitely small yet infinitely influential shapers of the universe.

abrahamharping — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 03:21:39 +0000

“It gets you closer to God”

abrahamharping — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 01:41:21 +0000

Today I took a walk with two lovers in a vortex of snow shavings

Today I watched a single speck fall from the sky to the midview to the earth

Today I consumed the expired fruits of my labor

Today I ate maple sugars from forgotten lands

Today I received mixed messages from a bearded servant

Today I contemplated dimensions and how to climb them

Today the universe expanded

Today I spoke to dear friends who I will speak to forever

Today I did not meet a single attractive woman

Today I laughed at my grandmother’s lonliness

Today I slipped under the torrent of philosophy

Today I read the first chapter of a book about myself, and maybe all of humanity

Today I wished a person to leave the room

Today I was a lion bathing in the blood of attractive lambs

Today I heard sounds that were long hidden under glossy paint

Today I felt cement in my head

Today I felt it go away

Today I pictured a beautiful woman drinking Bacardi in her hotel room

Today is not over.

Rinse

abrahamharping — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 04:00:43 +0000

Go downstairs
(it’s half past midnight)
with flashlight in hand,
sewage waterlogging the brain
feel seasick on land, feel hypnotized.
search for your weed,
repeat to yourself:
I have no common sense
I have no common sense
I have no common sense
I have no common sense
I have no common sense
find it in the wash; find it ruined.
hide your materials in different places
(spread out the package so it’s harder to find)
check on the kids: one is missing…
…don’t care, will deal with it in the morning
(we’re at it again, damnit)
roll into bed don’t wake wife up,
roll into sleep don’t wake wife up,
roll out of bed don’t wake wife up,
roll up the window don’t wake wife up,
role up a joint, don’t wake wife up.

Southgate, The Parking Lot

abrahamharping — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 03:03:25 +0000

Streetlamp illumination pockets
show snow in dark dreamscape
bring your face to the light and taste.

The Image In The Window, and What She Did With It

abrahamharping — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 22:32:45 +0000

At a window, flat-faced from eagerness
she yearns to appreciate the coldrock snow,
and the sweet fire rolling in the sky,
dissolving clouds in its wake,
to blow kisses into the air and dream of their end;
their end: when the winds carry them to unsuspecting strangers.
she yearns to be cocooned by a flock of butterflies,
to carry this burden up to the highest mountain,
and when she reaches to pointed peak,
to release them all in an explosion,
colors in streams reaching out to the earth the sky the ethereal worlds beyond,
undressing her, the pale beauty.
In her cabin, the door gives way to the elements.
Desperately she sends her body to stop it.
Desperately she is a shut-in.

Today is valentines day. I have slept most of the afternoon. Here’s hoping I get the house to myself tonight.

abrahamharping — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 21:16:13 +0000

Some Observisions

abrahamharping — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 23:11:59 +0000

Set against an orange horizon, atop a blue lake and in the center of the frame lies a spinning, wooden temple, each independent circular layer spinning on its own, in descending size as the apparatus boat got closer and closer to piercing smokey thunderclouds. From out of the darkness, a single drummer sounds his echoing, solid beat. Suddenly, thousands of blue, phosphorescent cats emerge from within the temple walls. Standing upright, they walked to the very edges of their platforms. They conjoin hands, and from their mouths (which were taped shut) they begin to sing in loud, soul-shattering chorus, the words to ancient memory. The levels are squeezed into view, and the rows of felines are assembly-lined across the field of vision. Soon the image of the cats is engraved into the sky.

In Your Cocoon You are Helpless as You Fall From the Treetops

abrahamharping — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 21:27:39 +0000