exquisite simul-fish corpse

here is our collaboration - this is an exquisite corpse - this means one person writes two lines, folds the paper over so that only one line shows passes it on, the next person writes two lines and folds the paper so that only the last line shows then passes it on; repeat. this can be done with any number of people and often each first line has to rhyme with the one before, but as jenn see will surely point out, i cheat.

the lines in italics are jenn see's.

Boulder, CO - August 12; 5 p.m.ish
an automated voice thanks me for a series of numbers
"Rhyme if you like" she says, & i go under
to follow fish in my tiki-torch submarine
but i was thinking of this ahead of time
& there are rotations of songs, her voice singing sublime
slightly atonal but sincere, turning conversations
tuning realizations but there are songs in the leaves
and creatures hiding behind colors playing trees
mischievous in their hues, determined in their decrees.
solid & 3-D in this mutable temperature & light
transitional before the alter of fracture, and i am
still waiting for the sun to soak oils in this canvas
& always crossing fingers that combustion escape the endless
summer sundown, but this afternoon the threat of thunder--
summer sundown, but this evening on the tundra
the butterflies have ceased their chaos-heart beat
distinctive wings folded in the mountain altitude heat
posing for a moment in the trials of tiki transformation
"ah, back to the sub," she sighs in imminent illumination
and "i've never been much for rhymes" i think but
on exquisite occasions I wonder, without them, what
continuity would persist but the unlikely schedule
and errant flings, conspiring against our different level
of trying out puzzle-piece symmetry and old connection
& the essential jigsaw of reminiscence--I look to the resurrection
of understandings & these talismans of lavender hard-cover
so we strive to discover wire-sewn butterflies within
pages and pages of past we've created, to gaze at
mile-high cities that are not so high, after all, & an ancient cat
winks to me that all quiet times have an end, & many doors still open
into history's future--but we will still share this pen.