Ghosts of Arco               
(To be considered while listening to "Ghost of Arco"   on
Blue Nebula's            second CD      Sightings       )
---------------------------------------------------------

           A slow,
             white
             storm of crystals,
fresh powder from the sky.

(   raced in snow shoes,
  dragged each 's sleds,
   packed all the snow in the driveway to
    uncer
         tain forms.)

                    (  made muffins,
              wrist deep in streusel,
   wondering if  'd done something wrong,
             if  'd overlooked an ingredient
         or stirred  the batter too long.)

(  broke in a new pair of slippers with    negative space
                 up and down the stairs.)
Is this    life?

                 drank hot chocolate
             and smiled at each other
through all the sweet impressions
                   'd been assured
                           of
                        by wise men.

                           Jeff Boughner 
           hops from shadow to shadow:
           hot lava     in the sunlight,
          cool promise  in the shade:
                                    ?
                        child's play:
     to stab that lance of attention
   into the world however it lays   .. ? ..

(  got the car washed for the showmanship:
                           brushes slapping
          black clods from the undercarriage,
                            the thrill of it.
                                What a blast!
                                            )
No spool rewinds,
the tape rains down
                                 (why pause?)
         records to the floor
   in a brown         and sure
                      catastrophe
                      chrysanthemum,
                    a slender shush:
                 some swampy splash of hips
        or something true like arch
                                aeo
                                 logy
                       trying its charms
                                     among
                                      braggarts
      everything in proper proportion:
                                      just
                     "happy to be here,
whatever
                      bluster stands between
.":
                    the list of moments,
              every word
     the negative
                space of some
       burst of sadness
the impressions shatter
            and
                rewrite.
A ghost lingers
              off the tail
of a powerful hook:

      Take a drink,
      take a drink,
fall
           on
                  the floor.

      Take a drink,
      take a drink,
fall
           on
                  the floor.

There are no lies
   or compromises to the dark down here.
                                   Hear
a voice echo from the ear
                                  -th,
without sadness or knowing,
                                   sing,
to the blue nebulas if   must.
                               (I) dream
    of blue nebulas as well.
     It's a knot at my heel,
    a sharp pain in my knee,
         a hunch in my neck.
    I grow old with this
                 on this
    deer trail over sand dunes,
               the water looms
                  (in the ear
               before the eye.)
                  for the love
           of the fog
      and the sparrow,
         blue nebulas in infinite space
                 (singsongstonobody)
               like insects
       dappling the water's surface,
     straddling their own reflections,
nearly one with the dawn
   in some
             too far gone Summer.