Bridges

the far-eastern bridge of oil in orange
god-like
flows into the western bridge of sanity
blue-spotted gentle
crossing madly
the delirious bridge of yesteryear's passions
flavors
ornaments
street specimens
delicate voices of amber
death-angels
frozen in benevolent ashes
praying over restless bridges of amaranth
echoes
filled w/ jumpers & trombone masters
dildoed whores panicked
of the frequently damaged
White Corners
where poetry's jazz and jazz's poetry
neitherway
and anyone chooses trumpets of fervor...

blow!

bridges are
what bridges see
& what can we make of'em
with diamond-hands
and hair of gasoline
burning
fanatic circles of flat notes
perfect

have I just heard the Blue Kantata
orchestrated
or was it just a vacant point
in the sweet time-ravaged
Hollywoods of glory...

it's all so jimdandy
dear Gina of honor...

and now
we're hitting
La Paz...