posted on October 18, 2007 at 2:33 am

a magic realist must have a fertile imagination, si?
a south american magic realist where things are more unreal
really unreal
magically real
the musical rain sings the ancestral songs
water slides down the window invisible yet seen
the rain on the glass silver like argentina
oh the garden in the deluge
heads of flowers droopy and plop plop plop
splishy splash in the pond
salamanders writhing in joy under the domelike bubbles
thunder cracks the sky like a faltering bridge
reality opens itself
the smell of tin
the sensation of numbness
the feeling of calm resolve
the meaning of it all
the transformation of mundanity to insanity
just like that
roman elegiac strains fill the air
a whiff of ozone
a flash of sulphorous lightning
the pain of remembering all the stupid things
lovelorn sunny days in stillness
meaningless adventures in the flesh
the realist confronts the magician
the shadow meets the light
the fire meets the ice
the spirit must wrestle with the beast
magic realist both spirit and beast
magic of reconciliation
let the spirit ride the savage beast
the great beast
the dumb beast
the magic realist is connected to everything in sight
he feels the fledgling struggle within the shell
sudden movement within the chrysalis
widows terrible tears softly fall on pillows
he hears all
he watches the lines deepen on beloved faces
he sees the triumphant dawn blaze over white cliffs
he imagines the atmosphereans in their lofty eyries
he tingles as the hyperborean winds begin
the magic realist observes the blooming stones primitive moves
planets out in deep space have their pull on him
the magnets align
the poles are moving
the action has barely begun
the spirit names the beast
the beast names the spirit
the universe watches on in case
the magic realist fuses fact and fiction
he lives his love in his life
his lofty principles often slide into inchoate anger
he hurls himself about crushing velvet evening
dressed in midnight blue
he walks down by the sea in summer
where (a) little magic is needed
in the black n white night and marine light
the taverns and the bars
women called scarlet dance in crimson dresses
and the music is romantic and sad, hombre
and the castanets clacketty clack clack clack
and the guitars only play minor tiny songs
admidst the smoke and beer
amidst the sweat and the noise
out into the open air again
burst into moonlight by the train station
come down the stairs to the rolling tracks
all the debris calls out
broken champagne bottles whine
burnt bits of newspaper and an old syringe
whispering used tickets flap uselessly
a bottle top squashed looks like a gold coin
sombre sounds of huge wheels turn round
travel away as the night bends and refracts
the tracks like castanets clack and clack
monkeys in trees in the rain scream past
in treetop canopies they never leave
as train blindly hurtles itself
in a compartment
some beautiful stranger
she mysteriously is in love with the magic realist
she removes her clothing in the mirror only
she lays down with him but shes on another train
she kisses him without any touch or intent
she caresses him handlessly
she loves him without her body or mind
her spirit mounts his beast
the tracks go clack clack ricketty rack
the carriage shudders as it rushes on steel
the lightning goes flashhhhhh
the thunder goes booommm
the story stops here

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