to Lisa, 1978
there is so much
I want to know
about everything:
art,
books,
music ,
wine,
your lips.
(May 11, 2013)
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Lilliputians and the Post-Modern Dilemma
to construct a visionfree from fearwhere any orderlike syntax cancontain and doesthe little chainstying you to the floor(May 11, 2013) -
to have empathy is to love
by
he listens for her wordsshe has not saidbut he hearswithin the crevicesof their conversationslike echoesat a cave’s mouthwhisper the secretsof the earthfor he hears withinhis thoughtsher irradiances fallabout her as she movesbetween sentence and spacelike snow slowly shakingloose from the maplesthey walk pastinto their nights(May 11, 2013) -
Too Much Noise
I need a silence to absorbthe noise of all the othersto regain myself in a quietmy words can be heard throughso my mind slides back a bitfor a better parallax to seethe convolutions of my thoughtcontort about this vision of you(May 10, 2013) -
slivers of silence
by
“What I want to show in my work is the idea which hides itself behind so-called reality.” – Max Beckmannthe real is hardto move pastshe is alwayspresent waitingfor our scurryfrom timeto timeto subsideso she maymanifestlike a glintof lightoff a sliverof glassa flashof coincidenceof the angleof your headand the timein our day -
Into the Outside
by
Perplexedin an empty classroom,a sparrow flewfrom wallto wallwantinga windowto escape,like my thoughts,intoa morecomfortableworld.(May 9, 2013) -
If In Dream Lies Reality
“the only realism in art is of the imagination”–William Carlos Williamsthen I’ve lived a libertine’s lifewithout the emotional draina thousand thousand nights overfor when you speak of the mundanetrivias which comprise our daymy mind watches your lips traildown my imaginary chest untilwe fall giggling like teens into bedbut our imagination cannot save usour mind’s a negative space of the worldeither too soon or too late we learnnever are we where we think we arefor even in imagination lives rebukefor every action inaction and thoughtfeeds our self-eviscerating scold(May 8, 2013) -
How We Go On
to Hope and BaukjeThey are such a part of usit becomes unbearablewhen they die—They are such a part of usthey bear usuntil we die—(May 5, 2013) -
Dream Journal #9: Afterwards
in Vermont the next morning we eat grapesshe lies next to me on a couch readingshe rolls over lifting her knees to her chinher brown hair tangles about her faceshe smiles open to me like an offeringagain I bend into her with a kiss(May 7, 2013) -
Mere Wax and Flame
by
A quick hissand the match flares,a violent transformationof earth into lightbefore the fallinto a domesticated glow.I touch the matchto a candle, then lift itaway watching the flameleap into smoke.I lay the burnt matchlike an offeringupon the table,then turn to watchthe flame dance the shadowsabout the candle’s aureole.The room vanishesbehind the flames flicker:the dark’s made darkerby the flame’s small light.A spelunker into a pastwhich is more my ownthan some ancestralrite of culture,I explore the shadows:sliding through the flame,my eye, like a handsoft along a cave’s wall,curves deeper with eachbend and twist in the fire.What will I find?Some mythic transformationlike the caves of Lascaux,Or shadows dancingbefore a perplexed Plato,or just the blind dazzlein the glass of Sainte-Chapelleradiating a deeper vision?Yet, there’s no shamanchanting in the candle’s waxNo paintings on these wallsof fire – – frustrated and a bitdisappointed, I snuff the flamebetween forefinger and thumb – –a burning residue of wax and ashquickly cools coating, as in an alchemicaltransformation – – in an ephemeraof difference – – an inverse moldingof my fingerprint’s swirl, quicklycrushed and discarded.What has this exercise broughtother than a slightly burnedfinger and mythic pretensions?What was in the flamewas the flame and whateverwas in me: the flame burned;I reached withinby drawing into the fire,desiring the fire: to existin its annihilation.To be the other:the jaguar peeringbetween jungle leaves,preparing to pounce,the tension and terror,the sharp apprehension of decision,any decision, to leap or walkaway, like a tooth at the neck – –the warm tang of appetiteenough for now, which is all.The desire, the future,constructed and reconstructed,shapes the present.Like the still warm waxat finger’s end can bepeeled back and molded,transformed from its thinreplicating skin into somethingbeyond the remains ofmere wax and flame.But in the end – – the transformationwas inconsequential- – me into me,all else a romantic projection.As Nietzsche said, what you seein the abyss is yourself – –Scary thought – –especially when what you seeis the abyss. Nothingfrom nothing, and all that – –Whatever “that “ means – –The paradox of smoke without fire:The candle silent, the moonlight whispersbetween the smoke’s last curls.I sit in the dark, quietly.The shadows grow and take shapelike clouds floating above a field,a tumult of incoherencewhich coheres, nevertheless,to the dust of the thoughtswe play across.(from Ambiguous Demarcation, 1997)
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Dream Journal #8: The Spaces Between Light and Dark
Somewhere else other thanhere it is light while hereit is dark I wake into thisdark from dream with youwho were an other insteadbut now here like your handonce briefly upon my armonly these traces hold meagainst the darkness I driftback along long silver threadsthen fall out of this darknessinto dream where friends blendinto others until the cats’ curland call through the darkpulls me from warm sheetstwitching tails lash my anklesdown the stairs to disappearthrough the door into moonlessnight and somewhere not hereit is light yet here the dark drapesover the cottonwood’s whisperssmothering the susurrationsI want to hear in other’s words untilI return to sleep safe from the darkbut not dreams where plants disguisedas people rise from the groundaround some other dark houseand pry at the windows moaningmy fears into dark bear like shoutsinto a faceless half darkness fromwhich I wake curled into the safety ofyour curves next to me as lightignites the room into love(May 5, 2013) -
Autopsy
by
you think in a lineeach step must be ponderedpredicated upon a pastdiscomfort now to avoidleap a step and possiblyfall and falterso nocareful caution holdsthe foot above the floordo I dareor do Icontinue tolive in fear -
departure
by
all is wornlike a rugat the doorthreadlessbare floornot welcomeanymore(May 4, 2013) -
Cloudless Day in May
They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fills,And dances with the daffodils.–William WordsworthSorry Bill but a bourbonin the backyard amidstthe Chocolate flowers nowin bloom before memorycreates more peace than anyreflection later by the firein dead winter could provideso much romanticism is selfconceit—oh, I am uniqueamong all the uniquenessof the world! Please! Ibeg – look at the lighton the flower before youthere is only a now.
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