from "somewhere"
somewhere a washed up torch-singer
bursts into a spirited version
of "when i lay my burden down"
hitting notes she hasn't nailed in years
somewhere a psychedelic time traveler
pours through his high school yearbook
& doesn't recognize a name or face
somewhere a lost soul is playing every record
in his collection backwards
searching for a sign
or at least a punctuation mark
somewhere a confused indvidual
throws caution to the wind
& it blows right back
in his face
somewhere a psychosomatc paranoid
checks his wiring for bad connections
to reinforce what he's known all along
& burns a pile of papers
in the kitchen sink
before anyone can punish him
for what he thinks
somewhere a former alter boy
weeps into a chipped radiator
like its a sacred icon
asking for forgiveness of sins
somewhere a fugitive from injustice
prays for the forgetful
as sirens & bloodhounds fill the night
with disbelief
somewhere a heartless bounty hunter
with an itchy trigger finger
searches for illegal substances
in the blood of the lamb
to justify his powder burns
somewhere a strung out musician
establishes a rapport
with an old, discarded bell
somewhere a faithless traveler
is riding shotgun
with the holy spirit
but both barrels are empty
& the gas tank is almost there
somewhere a mule
who's been kicked one too many times
sharpens the plow
into a shank
to cut mister charlie
down to size
somewhere a wayward saint
scratches at an old tattoo
trying to erase the past
& balls his fist up tight
trying to squeeze some future in
somewhere a scatter-brained mystic
pecks at a typewriter
hoping to be redeemed with words
but settling for surprises
somewhere a forgotten son
with all the time in the world
& no forwardng adddress
swan dives
into li po's moon
"alfred north whitehead, peyote buttons
& the gospel according to thomas"
trying to piece together a larger meaning
bigger picture, even a grander illusion
from scraps that seem to have little connection
can take a giant leap of faith
when slapping together a world-view
depending on the advice of others
can be dangerous, downright suicidal
if our frames of reference
are too small to accept certain premise
& trusting our own instincts & impulses
though preferable
can lead us anywhere
from a dead end
to straight off the edge of a flat earth
if they haven't had the time
to stew awhile
to develope their chops
& following your bliss
can mean stepping on a lot of toes
make it necessary
to move quicker
than you think
some resort to purposeful disordering
of the senses
when all else fails
for a variety of reasons
to create a new perspective
in order to envision & create new art
or out of sheer boredom
& in some cases
as one last chance
to get it right
"bodhidharma, neal cassady & aesop's fables"
a vertical take on the usual position is needed
when all you can remember
is that you want to forget
when you need an intimate shove
in another direction
as opposed to shaving points off the old I.Q.
more a temptestuous exchange
than a compromising give & take
an acidic scratch at smooth logic
a willingness to color exclusively
outside the lines
a crack in logic
large enough to slip in a crowbar
prying into no one's business
too much guidance can result
in robotic nature
dictatorship of circumstance
spontaneous improvisation
is less apt to lean on history
which is often nothing more
than recycling process
a maya wheel to cling to
afraid to get carried away
there's as much wisdom
in surrealism & abstraction
as in linear persuasion
an ambiguous plotline
can slip knots in flat-lined perspective
an ever-changing profile
can throw those off your trail
who try to sell back to you
what was yours in the first place
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mark hartenbach is lost in appalachia where he makes daily offerings to
saint ishmael, the patron saint of the misfortunate, misunderstood,
misjudged, mislead & misbegotten. he is currently in love with a woman he's never seen, met or imagined.
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