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alphabetadeltacharley

Submitted by Esker on Thu, 2017-01-05 12:08

Mike One..Key niner..Over..

damned daylight
backscatter be damned

I remember the crystal set
with ear bud
laying towels down at the
door to stifle the sounds
pulling the wood sliding
screen from the window
Watching moths spin
about the yard light
wind in the elms outside
the windows at night
Knowing winter was
going to be somewhat
better.....Frequency
Modulation worked
well....Till I got my
hands on the old
shortwave set..
a better earphone
set up...No mike
then..no license..
too sickly with the
lung ailments to
join the Scouts like
my hardier younger
happy brother..
admiring his sewing
on his sash with all
the badges..
Major Tom as they
called the thin
leader...everyone
knew he liked what
he liked..they snickered
at him...but he was
their "C.O."

my brother got kicked
out when he a band
of renegades rolled
burning tires down
hills during a lull
at one of the retreats
He laughed it off..
Done with that group
then,

a vital tube burned out
and I could never afford
the replacement for
the set...the ceramic
insulators and ground
wire blew in the wind
for a few years till I
needed the copper
strand to repair
something....
By then I owned a
sixties minature
pocket transistor
I took everywhere
and worked my
way up to scanners
till that fad wore
off...Never did
get into the CB
craze like some..
to open..too
utilitarian..

all that interest
faded and I just
sit among the public
crowd at the food
court or beach
catching the verbal
dialogues enjoying
the nuance and
thoughts in patterns
like light waves...

FM died in the eighties
as far as I was concerned
but I miss the static and
hiss and overlapping
ghost text feel of its
natural mystery

there was something
to be said of the matte
blurriness of sound
music and television

high def hurts my brain
I would rather listen
to a vinyl record with
a clean disc...

the days move by
I watch snowflakes now
dripping drifting by
streetlights on the nite
patrol with the dog
peaceful..quiet..

carry my little cell phone
with its various sixties
cover songs...
Gimme Shelter
and Under my thumb
from the blazer pocket
as I tour the mall
auditory white noise
to admire the beauties
in its populace

found a brand new
apple I phone and
turned it in...
intel always goes to
the brass...they know
how to deal with it
I just go out on the
search and find
still...

another day in
winters paradise....
2017

eleven hundred hours
twenty six minutes...

roger that!

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Esker

Thu, 2017-01-05 23:22

Esker's picture

the countryside flickers past the factory sunshade windscreen
shift hand on the eight ball into the top gear
beneath the long Mustangs Hood the motor purrs
my Camels in the shoulder pocket on the old aviator jacket
my mother bought me....Direct from the factory..
no one ever actually bought from the back door..
there was a motorcycle with dust parked near the loading
doors...FUCK U was fingered into the tank on dust!..
My mother loved it!

I dated a blue eyed blonde haired intelligencia....
we rode the backroads at night with David Bowie or
Doors mix tape shoved into the eight track radio...
holding each other at cross roads in the middle
of nites mystery taking a break....

I crank out LOST LITTLE GIRL now...trying to
remember who I was in my twenties....
stripping the plastic decals all off a brand new
bike I found in the Bin..black and red..
sawed off the old lock..aircraft cable grade
just need a damned good lock...bike thieves
like coyotes in LA hills...

donated one of my new winter socks for xmas
daubed in varasol...cleaning it up....removing
the thick grease on the chain...In winter the
grit on the sidewalks and road collect and
act like cutting agent to the bearings..
gears...One winter and most bikes are half
dead....But I gotta ride em...food..paperwork
carrying sixty pounds from the food banks
in tins...dry goods....Kick ass pack...We have
had since when I met my baby mid 2000's
she had Rickys motorcycle jacket..a genuine
one...then..she was thin and lean with cool
hippy jeans...taught me Linkin Park...Tool..
Korn...Marylin Manson...Another world..
just as strange and cool as every other
woman I found...

I crank out poetry...here and there..and
there....I got muses and little angels on
the sites....got my kiosk and coffee
help....Lah Lah Land has never been
ever closer and I dont give a f****!
Jims dead...Kurts dead....
Im still here...
still out there....
and my freinds from the eighties keep
writing...house kid mortgage...cars...
but never will they find a bud like I!!
not with my visions and thoughts...
so few truly dream....
in the cookie cutter followers realms..
UNHAPPY GIRL

coffee colored iris....I remember December
waking up beneath the quilts
her red hair across my arms
the crows in the black pines on the edge
of the ravine....Glendon College an old
mansion..a dorm building..
Stetson cologne still in the old then worn
out aviator leather...
we still write...we still used to meet..

True sailing is dead....great line

not its not Jim...just U are...

a day full of running tomorrow...
world tilting..more then our times
a slow progression of madness
full with its beauty...

over and out...

xo

..

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