Aj-Jinnia of drunken poesis, my words find their freedom in you.
I almost forgot how to touch you with the tips of thoughts and feeling. I remember seeing,
When robo-tripping on cherry-syrup cough medicine,
Words and thoughts circled and dove like pigeons flocking,
Flapping in star-vast birdcage, aviary dome of brain.
To catch them in mind-nets and push them from nest
Out across the abyss to vortices of other ears,
Seemed violence done unto you, and made not much sense.
Words seem more profound when words are rare.
In true poesis, these same words can find
Truer destinies; lyre-birds sounding for mates;
Quetzals cooing in polyphonies of brooks;
Can wing it if they want to,
Can fly straight to you, beautiful lady,
Surprise you on the mundane, concrete sidewalk,
Tangle in your skein of curled hair like flirting bats,
Alight on unsuspecting lips like spirit-kiss,
Charm you like a pretty hummingbird that zips,
Tickle your inner eardrum with pheromone tones of foreign tongues,
Of ‘brz’ and ‘tsk’ and ‘dzxh’ and ‘czsz,’
Or whirl in your heart and head like fey-ring dance in suspense of linear time.
Aj-Jinnia of drunken poesis, she notates the unspoken hopes of words.
She gives to language a blossom and a bee.
Her poetry thus moves speech from pollen to honey,
Gives life to old man’s gait in vintage suit,
Sprinkles light in apple-girl’s galaxial circled eyes,
Provides the antidote to consumer-driven poison,
Refutes the ad campaign for coca-cola,
Replaces them with propaganda for ambrosia that spouts and flows from the heart of nebulas’ star fountains,
Provides the antidote to the verbal fleas and
Ticks of the politicking time-bomb promo-speech,
It gabbles good of pub-brewed beers and meads to honey-ooze over all jaundice-stricken ears.
It hand-delivers antidotes to academic science stifled air of over-reason,
It breathes reviving tones harmonic with tantric rose and lily
To linen-bandaged mummies monotones in eon-dusted crypts and tombs.
Her poetry springs artesian from source of power from caves deep and damp within,
To tumble over jack-booted clowns, brownshirted goose-stepping clods, Keystone clod-hopping cops,
‘Til they fall, they all fall down,
Language freed from freezing climes
It flies to where the eagles spy
On green and blossomed fields
And, white and golden in the sun,
They scree and tumble, hairpin dive and wing
In noble, airy mate and battle.
