January 2, 1995
Long discussions with pigs
and fish; laughter scatters
the way. The poem
grows within me; wind
shimmers a lake with light.
I open a door and stand aside.
(from “My Book of Changes,” 1994-1995)
-
(of complexity)
by
of complexitysystems,, as holistictreats lifenatural computationapproach translatescomplexityas chaoshelp us tonestsroutinesto work, and whyday phenomenathe most basicthrough the vastships of the earth’slifeunderstandingaround us,(from “primogenitive folly,” August 2001-April 2003) -
18: Identity
What lunatic spends nightswriting poems to people whoexist only in imagination?Not that they are not real- –the people are, like Blake’s angels,very much of flesh and blood – –conglomerations of desiresof what he wished to saybut could not say – – thenswirled with all other’s wordshe’s wound within his day,‘til he’s howling at the moon:A song I sing out of tuneto create my me and you(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 14, 2013) -
17: Thales: All is Water
by
I, too, am water,absorbed into the dry earth.What more can I give?(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 13, 2013) -
16: hubris babble
“You built your tower strong and tallCan’t you see it’s got to fall some day”–Townes Van ZantLightning’s flash and crackagainst stone portends a fall.Atop a promontory crag,I’m lost in my storm surge;the sea waves clash about melike arabesques of smokerising above a funereal pyre:my pyre—so even amidst my destruction,I cling like drowning sailors to my hubrisin hope I can save something of myself.(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 12, 2013) -
15: control’s temptations
I worry beingcontrolled andpredicatedby my clichésand desiresas much as bythe whisperedfears of othersit would be easyto submitto the passionto stop the self-eviscerationand troublemyself no morewith doubtsand questionsbut I wouldrather danceprecariouslyalong a wireeach step mineand only minebloodied and maimedthan chainedto the hedonisticwhims of comfortor hollow fame(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 11, 2013) -
14: inaction
water stillsLao Tzu wrotewithout youclose your eyeswait withoutwatching the wateror counting the secondsbefore she returnsyour kiss(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 11, 2013) -
13: door
by
the breathed sighseemsto remainyour mouthhangsslackas in aweand thenyou’re notlike an openingan absencethrough a wallan allowed momenta movementa second-hand tickfrom or towardbut not hereanymore(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 11, 2013) -
12: Runes in the Ruins
he hangshis headabovethe bookeyeswithoutglassescloseto the pagein the dimlight sohe mayseea worldbeneatha worldlike rootsburrowingthrough painto the centerof all being(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 10, 2013) -
11: with all equanimity
by
as if any given can be divinedas to its true justificationyes no yes no yes separated untilthe true binary collapses to onewhich is squarely seen to be nomore than what is said to bestripped clean of any tacitobligations to more than nowwithout causality’s shades cloudingstark judgment’s clear sightas she lays her lidless eyes upon my lifethen turns upon the detritusto make similar claims upon it all(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 10, 2013) -
10: Spin Again
by
fall despite yourself oranyone else to blame forthe turn you made insteadof straight to the top whereone drinks champagne andfeels secure for the durationof the bubbles rising fromthe glass we all drink tohide the delusional senseof control we dance withina frenzy spinning and spinninglike spiral arms of galaxiescolliding and transforminginto shattered atoms of dust(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 9, 2013) -
9: In Solitude I Walk
I move within the tattersof the world knittingfrantically alone beneatha fractured light:A candle allowsa small comfortagainst the dark,blinding its auraalong night’s edgelike beads of bloodacross a knife’s blade.(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 8, 2013) -
8: The Beast
by
As my mother’s soft touch upon my father’s armstilled his chronic fury,I place my hand within my anger’s gaping mawto placate its serrated voice.(November 8, 2013) -
7: a hand on the rein
by
all my passions all my failingsall the fears and blind arroganceall the contradictions of my lifehave brought me here as if Ihad had some control or planother than to read another bookbegin another day write the next poemuntil I arrive at a newer statewhere I’ll have to continue onas if nothing that I did ever matteredbecause it didn’t and still does notand to be concerned will eventuallycause me to wind up somewhereI’d rather not be right now or everrather than the place I was meant to bewhich is always where I am becausethis is where I am in this momentdespite the pull and push of the world(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 7, 2013)
