The Moon floats in clouds.
Go outside, look at the sky.
See more than your self.
(August 20,2013)
-
(startled several crows)
When once I spoke and startled several crows,the birds shot up and circled through the trees.They bent about themselves then settled downmore interested in the ground than me,or what I had to say about my world.Unlike St. Francis, not even the birdspay heed to my gibbering after light;to expect more than that would be absurd,yet to expect less, would be to acceptthe futility of speaking at all.With silence, the birds would remain close by;with speech, they circumnavigate the field;until ending where they began, they land:my cold words stir like wet wind upon sand.So, nobody listens; what’s that to you?Is it so damned important to be heard?But even as I speak these words, I knowI won’t listen to the ironic cryeven if it is uttered by myself.I twist in anguish like a worm pulled frommoist earth to dangle above still water.Take me, please. Anywhere, but here. I pray.The only answer comes from a quick cawand a sudden quiver of dark black wings.The speaker cocks its head and stares with onecontemplative black eye, “Who dares disturbmy world now?”(from Primogenitive Folly, August 2001-April 2003) -
(events in a field of light)
events in a field like lightfrom a star bending about the suneach affecting the other in infinite exchangea bee drifts with lackadaisical precisionlinking flower to flower before heading homeacross an open meadow covered with dewthe sun the flower the bee you mebending toward each other collapsingin a field radiant with lifein a field radiant with lifebending toward each other collapsingthe sun the flower the bee you meit’s all so succinctly repetitiousanother day, like the orbiting moonits tidal force pulling on the sea(no thought or will to dissentthe current catches all like a net)then releases to wash freely along the shorewater light time you me flowsquick slip twirl and fallslow meander to merge with allwater through water air through airevents in a field suffused with lightseparate yet bending toward each otherlike the sun hurling toward a pointa somewhere beyond the center which holdsnothing but all in a twirl we turn towardlike a bee in a meadow covered with dew(from Primogenitive Folly, August 2001-April 2003) -
Hints, For Example
by
He drops innuendo like fairy talechildren, a bit more to allowfor a deniability — No, thosewere just crumbs – reallynot signs for you to follow –than for the realistic hopethat she would find him here.(August 18, 2013) -
Implosion
I’m drawn toward doors and stairs:ways away (through out up down),ways toward some place other than here.My shoulders cramp against these walls;the ceiling crushes down from the weightof the sky. I can no longer stand here,but walk bent double like pack mulesover-burdened too long upon the trailuntil their legs snap cleanly beneath them.Doors snap shut at my approach;stairs bend back upon themselveslike ever-twisting moebius strips,leading me into deeper corners,into rooms collapsing upon themselves.(August 18, 2013) -
if dreams die
apologies to L.H.Silently askewthe bird liesat the bottomof the cagethe thin wiresdistorted and bentas if brokenfrom withinlike the snappedribs around afailed heart’stransplantnothing leftto do but mourn(August 13, 2013) -
(space between)
In the airbetween treesbelow the grassbetween light and shadowbefore dawn and duskbetween thought and wordThereit flows:not pyroclasticengulfingnot truthwith its myriad meaningsnor our talesfraught with interpretationsthe observerthe observedand the space between(August 2001-April 2003, from Primogenitive Folly) -
sufficient’s dissolution
the last consonant crisp echolessas if a rock dropped down a wellclacked once against stone wallsthen arced into black silenceempty you suggest and I seebut that answer does not seemsufficient enough to satisfyso I stare down the well waitingthere must be something theredeep within the earth’s crustyet the dark silence dissolvesany hope clinging to the nightthe words do not matter now or thenwhat was heard what was said vanish(August 15, 2013) -
(nodes of meaning)
. . . edge;Tracing a finger slowly down the skin of words,crossing scar tissue, nodes of meaning left behind,I determine the depth of what I have to say.Yet, the surface contains more than I can handle.The storm rages across the Atlantic, waves clashlike mountains into continents, while below fishswim aware of the air only as an absence.A foolish thing to rely on memory thus:I scream when alone comforted by echoesthat return altered enough to seem no longera part of me. The difference between myselfand the world balances upon a nebulousfulcrum. The words I use provide the scale’s armwith indecision: an agglutination ofviews, shaping my sense as a rasp drawn ‘cross the grainrips the natural inclination of the wood.A foolish thing to rely on memory thus,so we call out one to the other hoping thatwhat we say will transcend our ephemeral trust:(from Primogenitve Folly, August 2001-April 2003) -
(say it three times)
a foolish thing to rely on memory thusfor when one repeats oneself so one forgetsjust what was said when, if at all, and then by whom,or if the story, you embellished so, was real,or simply a way to hold the listener’s earthen repeated, like the beating of a drum, ora ritual chant, inspiring the teller – –you , me, some other, to believe in what we sayto the exclusion of all that would contradicta foolish thing to rely on memory thusthe words were written in order to preserve thembeyond the attention span of the listenerdistracted by lunch or what he saw at the barthe night before he sat to listen to your talewith all of this gravity spinning his mind offalong tangents unrelated to what you sayIt is a wonder he can gather any sensefrom the mosaic of words that catch in his eara foolish thing to rely on memory . . .(from Primogenitive Folly, August 2001- April 2003) -
saftey’s risk
“say fear is a man’s best friend”
–John CaleCaution’s warm fear
provides comfortagainst the fireshe foreseesif set free;risk promises nothingbeyond the possibilityof not failinginto a procreant worldurgent with hope:stay safe, sitdown, stay home;origniteinto life.(August 11, 2013) -
vanishing point
by
to disappearfrom the sarcophagusI have built of myselfto float like dustfrom the demandsof friends and loversto fall between the fluxof dark and dayfree of time’s measured graspto fade into lightas if standingat the edge of dawnas if nothing matteredas if I were not here(August 10, 2013) -
Subject Object Dilemma
by
“Subject and object are not as distinct as most people think. If the boundary separating the two isn’t clear-cut to begin with, it is not such a difficult task to intentionally shift back and forth from one to the other.”of course the poem is about a younot necessarily you but an othernot I although perhaps mein disguise as a she or he or a youwho needs someone to address otherthan a me since talking to yourselfonly leads to a narcissistic echowhere anything said is believedfor why would anyone lie to someoneunless to hide the uncertainty of whospoke in response to whose antecedentpoints back to a first gasped syllablethe divide between my mind and notparticles flow in waves from all stars(August 10, 2013) -
what a poem can do
by
not a storywith a simple plotlaid out preciselywith all markers clearnor any plotfor that matternor symbolas a guiding staracross the desertof your lifebut yes alwaysmetaphorto move youeven just a littlefrom complacencyto leverage youfrom your broken thoughtsto translate youlike a transubstantiationinto a new worldperhapsif you’re luckyenoughto causea shiftso minisculeas to derailyour destinyas it wereunremarkedfor yearsand yearsuntilit arrivestoo lateto changeand youare no longerthere(August 9, 2013)
