Jim White

art/photos by the author

old love letters tossed on cold basement floor

that unspeakable wordless invisible spark

time makes a disappearance

abandoned broken brick shack

vibrant bloom overwhelms senses

walking on cloud formations

canopy of pine needle warmth

like first time holding a snake around your neck

our life a backwards machine perpetually purring

late night bonfire dance in trance roles

a miniature projector screen on expanse of milky way

in the valley of lava lamp and smoke machine

ceiling fan stare down from moon systems

questions answered from the sewer loudspeaker.

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photo by the author

Spoken like butterflies from down under

rise from the moss, where we once slipped and slept

visionaries commence intoxicating shadow play

blurry is beauty quickening heartbeats to ache

before the street cleaner comes

that melodious avalanche of distortion, slithering

there is no line in sand

that withstands the surf

in awe of your endless reverie

crossed over

kite above sandstorm.

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art/photo by the author

After all the rain

I heard you can’t dam that river

and who is the giver

and would they open veins

it must be a sick man

to dig in that dirt

I’m certain they hurt

as they say, hate to feel

for real, it’s wild

this rooster awakes the child

from the angry chair

with crazy hair, all out of whack

is it to cure the junkhead from god smack?

or maybe something beyond

as if them bones will travel forever

but you and I know, no one stays down in a hole for eternity

how about we ask just one more time

is it going to rain when I die.

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art by the author

a glitch in the system, now override

slide under tide fluctuations

with open hands, arms and bones

whole bucket overflow

river like

spiked end-zone celebration

balloon ascending moments

that airport arrival

anticipation

regeneration

a new chapter to dog-ear

in your space, a face to remember and place

like photographic imprints…

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photo by the author

Details drive attention

off road release

putting foot to sand for the rush of acceleration

tombstone laughter

halfway to twilight hours

stuck in tree stump

like fast rewind, sign

out

the smell of old library books

to transport your lifeline

spine tingle

wrinkle on t-shirt

soaked under sweat, I bet

you come back to

smack true euphoric heart tack

like cotton ball flights take you over

mountain air

prepare

for take off

roadin’.

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renewed

a sense of bloom

phoenix rising, in tune

so soon

coming back to climb

hills

and will

power on time

speaking our own language

the most rare connection

in a random saloon

so soon

yet hours feel like days feel like weeks

and how ancestors plugged in

with long-hand and horses

on sand or snow

to know

this madness, is flow.

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art by the author

This grand canyon of life

doused upon our sense of who

we are

or who we’ve been

or becoming, like drumming nude in the woods with my people

the aborigines

this society, a destructive combustive scar

maybe there’s a good story behind it

or could it be that it’s time to roam

the fields

with the horses and rattlesnakes

to shine divine

just once, maybe

and you open your eyes

to a tapping at your door

it’s time

what will your final words,

be?

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photo by the author

big sky wave like whale-tail smacked the surface

sipping on falling wonder of world fluids

wherewithal a hall of echoes resounds

crooked patio lines, I climb atop

here and now logical season, subconscious treason

we speak in rungs of tongues developing thumbs

downstream mirage alone pilot zig-zag journey

tunes in bloom that contrast a split second of doom

storm cloud surrounding your raincoat sanity

you can shift at will, without approval ratings or thumbs up

pulled invisibly in canoe, your own venom unearthed

overwhelming horizon resolve

imagery and sound barrier mixed like concrete

signals from the weeds.

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photo by the author

the sun also advertises horizons

trace the contours of lines back to pyramids

layered soul dust speck dimensions where oblivion flows like river intuition of communication gone beyond language

in the riddle of fingertip universe detail

naked zone of rain dance exuberance

bed frame to cloud plane, disappears

a sigh towards newspaper under kindling

extracted evolution from tadpole interpretation

magazine gloss like distraction

mind galaxy directions sold out

under sandcastle thumbprints

in attic storage dust mindset

horseshoe trampled gargantuan muse

one long sunset blink of perspective.

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artwork by the author

Communication shakedown

satellite rooftops buzzing sounds

and with elephant on back

return to sender

gone dark in hibernation zone-out combination lock rock and roll

speakers boom from clouds above

like universal movie scene, scrolling credits

all aboard your waking shaking from slumber thought drip-drops a faucet of feels peel layers

forth whether you weather the crashing waves or not

to be diverted from invisible clarity

like you, the rarity

solitary cell in absolute union

at eternity’s doorstep, ringing the teeter-totter bells

peering over shoulder, it’s a spell

you fell

four paws, in jaws

of abstract pieces

big picture

leeches, upon beaches.

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Jim White

Jim White

Creation is the way. Transformation today. Metamorphosis play. Onward. To lay out in desert degree.