Kit Robinson

What Time Is It?

Through windows of crisis a new freedom
Resolved beyond jangling
Vinyasa cycles up the yin yang
Instead of practicing we now request therapy and/or drugs
Strange panels request non-existent authorization codes
On verges of wireless radio
Sea serpents hide sutras in undersea mountain caves
The whole she-bang is one bright pool
It is as necessary as it is one
Two interrupted nights in a row

11:58 AM – Winds WNW at 25 MPH. Noon is The Time of the Horse
Extra legroom costs $260
I’m still trying to peel myself off the floor/ceiling
Four-hour round-robin with execs popping in and out
A series of imaginary girls, all nattily attired, each labeled with a number indicating
her age – 3, 6, 1, 3, 8, 6, 10, 31, 70 (granma), etc.
Manage to get her to brush her teeth (I help)
As we detach carefully from the mother ship and float silently off into space
Who is doing what? And where are they? And who will be there? Did I miss
anything? Is it happening now? In Chico? Choteau? Kyoto?
Sufficient unto the day is the funk thereof
As it is only ever now

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Y’s Have a Way

Y’s have a way of cozying up to you
The plastic mid-century, the silicon earway
Don’t travel much in Amazonia anymore
In dreams we write the rules we were born to break
Voices signal the unseen other side of a dark fence
Push push, syntax is alive with urge, the human integer adding up to day
Air travel is all noise, the united flavors of time
You get it, you’ll do it tomorrow you say
All decked out in the air of another matter, with every place to go

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