skip to main |
skip to sidebar
But who will
tell the will
what to do
if not the heart
having been
confronted
hopefully by
the head
what the
will wants
at a
particular time and place
won’t fit at
any other
good and
evil move
to a
danceable beat
though the
dance be death-like
and the hermit
head retreat
and the heart
be left there
screaming in
the street
The bones from
long
before the Big Bang
look almost
human
settled in
next door
beside the
local government’s
violent
histories
while the
unbotchable sky
gets a nose
job
to look more
like Russia
non-events
with a bail-out
for access and
engagement
address
community affairs
the way the
heart
may or may
not care
for a queen
bed
with en suite
and au pair
Death
relieves us
of the
weight of matter
hardly felt
till then
when we maintained
its
inherent
unsustainability
like a close
friend or
like at the
second-hand store
one realizes
there was a better life
with a
different deeper sense
for
appreciation and despair
for all the
things that don’t
matter
anymore the proof
is in the
wear some stranger’s
shirt fits
me fine looks like
he only wore
it twice
dig the
price
Now it all
just keeps
getting better
riper
strangely
more bitter
than sweet
the scent
shifts then
the color
all this
beginning
at a
microscopic level
before
desire creeps
in hollowing
out
a den an
emptiness
of gaze in
case ice
blaze or
face lose
all trace of
fire
all love of
sin
I’m watching
a bird
who is
watching God
or some
shiny thing
when even
your angel
won’t return
your calls
which is
simply not done
during the
night my house
walked down
to the lake
and just
floated away
it was one
of my boyhood dreams
but luckily
it was still summer
so I could
sleep in the canoe
life is
watching things die
some quickly
some take a little longer
but we weren’t interested
in that
The green in
the rainbow
is not the
green in the meadow
but what fell
to earth like a blow
darkening
into the bruise of matter
from which
the earth was made
hardening
into emerald and jade
the offspring
of yellow and blue
who kept
their spiritual value
while fallen
green agreed to die
after a long
vigorous life on earth
sweeping the
nations before it
only if after the
glory of autumn
and winter’s
abysmal blue
yet some new
green ensue
You have a
United Nations
for which no
nation is ready
you have one
people
trying to do
to another people
the same heinous
thing
a prior
people did to them
you pretend
religion is science
and make science
a religion
you keep
having children like selfies
born into
spring blight
with the sun
at midnight
shining on
all sleepers
the moon at
noon
on all
losers weepers
Spend your
life
fighting
dying
moving
matter around
taking
evasive action
striving
from strife
life-boats
our bodies
clinging to
mental debris
clinging to
machines
or take
death
out of the
equation
not to live
according to it
to have
caught on
to the magic
trick of the world
the mirror
stepped through
into the
realm of the real
What a thill
is
coursers knew
in earlier
eternities
we thundered
through
let’s pull
up here
under the
last few lies
let all the
old symbolic birds
and flowers
ransom back
the light’s
declining power –
the seed is
formed
unransomed
life
whose sun
must
shine within
some other
hour
When the
truth comes
and knocks
at our door
like a lost
child
we don’t
have to
let it in –
this is one
of our great
freedoms
we can say
no to it
apparently
the plan
includes that
possibility
and the
world doesn’t
immediately
end
the child
still stands there
or somewhere
else
but one
notices
if left to
our own devices
we ourselves
would end
I’ll just
have
another toddy
I won’t beat
myself up
I’ll
monopolize
the quiet
I won’t
start
anything or
go there
I’ll sip
the afternoon
to bloom
I won’t
wrestle
darkness to
the ground
I’ll let the
moon
take my hand
I admit I
was shocked
and a little
frightened
at first
grasping
how
idiosyncratic
we each are
I had
no
conception who
would have
thought
out so many
variations
on such a
simple
hummable
theme
as if Bach
had just
gone on
writing
the Art of
the Fugue
a
Contrapunctus
for every
single
human being
I could tell
how the succulents
glared at me
I was in for
a serious grilling
but first they
wanted to sing
for me if you
can imagine
the music by
which each
leaf was formed
and left behind
empty at first
but then filled
in with joyful
worrisome matter
I caught a
pair
of mourning
doves
in the
middle of it
high in the
Palo
Verde tree across
the street at
sunset
thankfully
they
didn’t see
me
naked
standing
masturbating
in my own yard
my cage with
its three
trees
at first I
thought
it was just
one
dove but
then
he trembled
up
off her and
there were
two
sitting side
by side
with their
backs
to nosey me
As more
leaves grow
they shade
the younger ones
isn’t this
the original
morality and
altogether
practical if
nature
has found a
way
you can be
sure
it’s the
only way
that works
like a
cow-track
or a river
which never
runs the way
it wants
unlike us
but always
the way it
must
There is a
turmoil
in my thumb
after I
slice it open
trying to
sharpen
my pruner my
scraper
and a gush
of that
magic red
fluid that
is always
wanting out
so it
saturates
the grass
with rust
under which
its iron
heart is
still visible
risible
Looking at
you
as though
you were
a thing over
there
when you are
already
in my heart
and I
astir in
your leaves
feel our
roots think
down through
darkness
for the will
to flower
to float
transfigured
for a few
afternoons
deceptive as
youth
carrying the
earth
to term
It was when
we finally put
the birds
out of the body
when we at
last let them go
fluttering
out from our joints
and muscles
as we had every
beast and
creature when we
didn’t need
them anymore
filling the
world with objects
and the
traffic of life
when we
traded the soul
for the body
when we lost
the difference between them
when we
forgot the time
before birth
and the time
after death
only then
in the
darkness could we
speak the
first words
out of our
own human hearts
Don’t kid
yourself America
is still a
nation of slave-holders
and slaves
capitalism is just
another word
for slavery
nothing
could be more the anti-Christ
than money used
to control
the lives of
others
the gross
national product of greed
and
collective smallmindedness
aided by an
inane version
of freedom
somehow devoid of love
tolerance or
forgiveness
o say can you
see
when the
immigrant and refugee
love you
more than you deserve
Poetry talks
about it
but prose
gets it done
if something
is happening
it’s not poetry
or in poetry
which is
always pulling off the road
suggesting
we have nowhere to go
let’s sleep
here in the grass
whereas
prose is on cruise
control in
the fast lane
as if
pursued by demons or rather
as if it
could escape from the demons
who are our
constant companions
whom poetry
makes friends with
marries and
settles down
in the
barrio on the south
side of town
while prose
gets famous
richer more remote
his own
religion God knows
As old as
sitting
in a garden
watching a
cat
hunt lizards
unsuccessfully
and then go
flop
on the cool
bricks
startled by
a motor
next door I’ll
call you
later
abrupt
hauling ass
down the
alley
impervious
my
hollyhocks
inconclusive
all my
clocks
When love
which is
suffering
suffers
a struggling
knowledge
is born
and grows
or is
strangled
abandoned
left out on
the streets
to mourn
he who finds
it takes it
home to
sleep with
everything
and nothing’s
alone