Improvisation

a man walks by in a brown plaid shirt
he is more real now
that the visions of last night
a clear monolith full of coffee beans
an aerial spin of a frog
a swollen clitoris
even more real than Bruce Willis
in Live Free or Die Hard
when he launches off a spinning out of control
F35 fighter jet like it were a skateboard
and shoots a bullet through his own rotator cuff
to kill the main bad guy strangling him from behind.
There is a certain passion
and madness being programmed into the collective
now a woman with a green shirt walks by
and a woman with a pink shirt walks by
a white car drives by
a brown car drives by
the piano on the satellite radio
even in the 1 sqaure foot of tile
that my right foot is resting on
is enough detail to occupy a life
trying to harness the moment
rides the line of terror and ecstasy
as all great improvisations do
but steering your improvisations
to resonate with something much deeper
than your own needs
shooting yourself in the rotator cuff
letting your improvisations out of your own control
and into the control of a greater force
where forests are burned and planted
at the same time
an apocalypse of genitals
where the golden thread is glimpsed
like an animal or a river of lava
striking some kind of mutualism
or parasitism with God
where you affix your barnacle diorama
to the will power of the whale
and then your barnacle has temple status
that is what Coltrane does
his breath like water
in the whale
that is the terror
breathing underwater
living in spite of death
making music
even if it means nothing
seeing the world
exactly as it is
without the desire to change it
the matrix
the white room
where you can ask for a library full of guns
and then you are surrounded
by darkness.