Trackless Tracts Revisited

no train of thought on the track
of chain reaction

to the cafe
called abstraction

where age is
a broken record skipping

just for the hell of it

as jazzmen sometimes scream
buoyant riffs that tiptoe

through the tulips atop roofgardens
like birds at play

until the future is

a retrospection
on apocalypse

in antiquity’s
private collection.

no train of thought
or inherited

just rumbled rambles

of revelation
riding an escalating

squall  shaping

into a streaming storm
of consciousness coming

& going like zephyrs
zooming in a zealous flurry

at the zero hour

of earth waking
to the flight of a newborn

chasing the clouds away.

no train of thought
or sanctimonious

merely moments

on the montage
of mynd, remembering

the corridors

to everywhere from the edge
of nowhere. no train

of thought, just ordinary
moodswings, & hearts

with standing room

only between moments
of night & day

sundry as the soular
paths ahead of me.