4006. SENSE OF BEARING

SENSE OF BEARING

'Got none of that: have only the way

out : one of those is more than enough

: if one has the tools, one must somehow

use them.' You'd never understand that I

found those words, beneath soot and pumice,

on a cave wall at Lascaux. I too was amazed,

just as much as you just were. No cars, no

ambulances, no lightbulbs, no way of

communicating except in these dreadful,

strange couplets. But there it was. More telling

than a lotto jackpot, more enticing than some

naked porn star mowing a lawn. I stood transfixed!

What was it I'd just uncovered? Egads! The stars

above had not as much meaning! We were never

alone on this Earth : some strange Mankind

consciousness has always pecked at out feet.

4005. UNIVERSITY

UNIVERSITY

(the reading)

Offer me a cloak then, or bury me,

for I am a harbinger of light, but gone

dead; and there is nothing left. So

little happens in the space of a street.

The raider wearing plastic boots comes

by  -  he holds a shovel and nothing more.

'Everything once in the water has now

come on land  -  those mystifying monsters

and the fish I cannot understand.'

-

Then the poet enters the scene :

He takes down the sign announcing

his presence and dictates : 'I am not

here, and I am nothing. I am old.

My fourteenth book has just come

out, yet it only works if you buy

it twice.' We are listening to 

T. S. Eliot on a recorded disc.

He sounds like a dry, dour fish.

-

I hold the microphone cord  -  

just to remember to what I'm

connected. My voice has no

bounds, and someone is 

giving all this to me.

4004. SKINNING TIME

SKINNING TIME

Oh lord again : They have now

burned out the Indians on Meinjor

Hill Road. We are such a perverse

people. We try to resuscitate them 

with casinos; 'yes, yes, that will

work', the little politician says.

Give them an edging along 

the land and the river, but 

never say it's there's alone.

I want to be invisible. I

want to leave this place.

I want to come back

here and  -  like them  -

die an unheralded death.

4003. I AM JOHN BROWN'S BROTHER

I AM JOHN 

BROWN'S BROTHER

I am John Brown's brother; one cannot absolve

another. I am John brown's brother. Do not

forget nor throw out that ameliorating sense

of succor over what occurred. No, 'Specimen

Days' this is not, and I hate all sentimentality.

Melville spoke : 'shadows present, foreshadowing

deeper shadows to come.' And that so it shall be.

Discard your symbols and dismantle your country

churches' steeples, for I am not a simple man

and I will shoulder the burdens of others.

I will carry your death on the lam. The light

of burning farms, can you remember that?

4002. THE PLEDGE

 THE PLEDGE

I took you by the neck and broke my

words upon your fledgling altar. Do

you at least remember that?

4001. OF DOING TIME IN A NEW COUNTRY

OF DOING TIME IN

A NEW COUNTRY

The bread is green, the people are stupid, the air is

dense, and I can't understand a thing. Even the autos,

out on the street, seem willing to run backwards on

the whim of a walker. It is all so strange and distant,

yet here I stand. The limb of this overhanging tree,

I swear it's so old that Attila swung from it.

-

All around me, the debris of three thousand years:

people and their babies, their dead, their homes and

all their coy possessions. We drink tea here with a

constabulary courage and then run to a cafe to get

quite drunk. My Campari has a badge and my mouth

can't stop from smiling at nothing at all. I am in two

places at once, but  -  really, really  -  nowhere at all.

4000. REGENTS

REGENTS

Just like old age  -  I never thought I'd

get to this; the number four thousand and

what a stirring bliss. I've got enough words

here to stuff a stinking cunt, strike out a blind

man's frenzy, cut off the hangman's hands, throw

his babies from a cliff. I'm tired enough to hang

wash from that milkman's asshole. Listen up!

-

All you who tire of everything else, give me

your huddled masses; line them up on shore,

pass their bread and honey fragrance back -

bring me Belgium, bring me Mars. I take it

all, and I give nothing back. Untie my laces,

let me fly asunder. I am ready for the fight.

3999. ALREADY A SEMBLANCE

ALREADY A SEMBLANCE

Already a semblance of too many things has

hit me right between the eyes : that shotgun

Jesus riding herd on the masses, that fish with

no lungs, and too many ties; everyone's got a

line into it. I turned around once, on the deck

of a ship, and people already thought I was

mad. Now, years later, all the flowers are gone.

-

Those things which are left are empty echoes

and memories of what I once may have lived. I

said this, I did that  -  you said, this, you said that.

Everywhere, the jumbled snake of happenstance

runs on in this manner. We bury memories with

every dead body interred. Now, look away,

there is nothing else at all.

3998. ENTERPRISE

ENTERPRISE

I want you to know : how the lamplight beckons

a heart to run, how the firestorm created bellows.

Outside of this small domain, I am looking around -

there is a Cadillac limping by, as in days of old.

No one carries such features these days. The

monk-ship lists in this harbor, where three men

are spitting their juice into cups as they talk.

Tired, hard-hammer men, bolstered of steel

and strong stories. Yes, even they know - all

those days are pas us now. Another man is

dragging a pail full of dead fish, it would seem,

from the boat to the boathouse, dragging a

clang as he goes. Only noise. Only money.

These fish will sell by the pound.

3997. JAGGERMAIN

JAGGERMAIN

Let us leave it be. The soil and the sky,

those hills beyond, and that old and tortured

barn. It twists its tired wood; dried and

dead and peeling. No more the bright-red

color of a newly lit barn.' Old Ironsides' the

tobacco ad on the broad side once said -

not that glimmered paint is old and ghostly,

yet I still can make it out. But (then again)

I am parched for things, so much that even

this will do. I am looking for birds in the

morning light. It is late November, and in

spite of all this goodness, hunters abound.

By now Bow Season spritters their reason :

I swear they will take aim to shoot

at anything that moves.

3996. SETTLED BACK

SETTLED BACK

I am reading Hart Crane at the

window's edge. Near by, the sill

holds my coffee cup. Adhering to

no logic, we somehow together ride

the soaring seagull's wake on up to

that broad and ravaging bridge. I find so

many words and phrases here to be just

right. I settle in, like a bedlamite?

Stars scribble on my eyes the frosty

sagas. It is getting late, and I am

headed now towards the dark

of night, past evening.

3995. MEANING MALICIOUS

MEANING MALICIOUS

Ice freezes the portly man as he tumbles down

and life laughs back at circumstance. The wiry

trim of the applesauce scene makes mincemeat

out of season and jolly. My God, I hate this holiday

bliss - all that joyousness dead, the Thanksgiving

fed, the minions all munching on holly and mistletoe

too. The fat Santa is falling, on me and on you. I hate

all the things all these people do. It's so early, and

the shit's started already.

3994. TICKLING THE FUNNY-BONE OF LIKE

TICKLING THE FUNNY-

BONE OF LIKE

There's a man over there, walking on his hands.

He talks loudly of God and all his angels : but

didn't God make man to walk upright, isn't that

what all the prattle says? Isn't that the pride we

take, that we the best this 'God' can make?

-

Yes here a clown before me stands, trying to

disprove, by walking on his hands, that (perhaps)

we are the best of anything at all. 'Oh, yes, I forgot',

he stops and says, 'let me introduce - my helper's

name is Mr. Ape. Let's give him a hand,

and I'll go back to my stand.'

3993. SEARCHING MY HEART

SEARCHING MY HEART

Takes my mind off things, moves the material

in a brand new way, dishevels the neatest of

fools : all that crazy stuff folds like an utter

garment in a concrete wind. Here I am,

understanding all this. I clasp me heart

and go forth. Atop the bluff before me, I

am able to step out of time - an old

railroad car sits dead on a siding, its

red door slid open to reveal the contents

within : there, on its floor, from who

knows when, the intact, rotten

skeleton of an ancient cow.

3992. MY DISCLAIMER

MY DISCLAIMER

I have a perfect right to myself : my dislikes

and opinions are mine. I have a perfect right

to what I wish to say, and no man can tell

me different. The soil I stand upon is sifted

and clean; I tolerate no others debris within

my rocks and sand. I hope you hear this and

can understand. I have a perfect rght to the

living I do - I need not explain,

and I don't need you.

3991. THE TOPLESS GLIMMER OF YOUR END

THE TOPLESS GLIMMER

OF YOUR END

One theory a day makes it all happen  -  the

moon is strung like a pearl in its own darkening

firmament  -  with nothing really much to show.

All those people from a million years past, they've

said pretty much the same. The blessing of Jacob

in Genesis 49. No, no, that's nothing at all :

'Benjamin is a ravenous wolf; in the morning

he consumes the spoils, and in the evening he

divides plunder  -  this, while a lion's whelp

is Judah.' All that tribal crap has now

gone so wrong.

-

I have known the wind, and I have

known the fire, and  -  in so many ways  -

they are both the self-same things. The

country has such a languid energy, and these

spoils should be divided. ('you were righteous

in your ways, from the day you were created;

until Evil was found in you')...

-

I shall demonstrate sadly my love for the

willow. I shall lie down with lion and lamb.

The topless glimmer of your wild end, I

shall caress this with my hand.

-

'The scepter shall not depart from Judah,

nor shall the staff from beneath his feet,

until Shiloh comes to him  -  and the

obedience of the nations shall be his.'

-

They wanted a craftsman to take over

this town, and they got it. He comes with

his tally board and his arches. The watchman

may be watching, yes, but he sees nothing.

I entreat. I have known the wind and I

have known the fire, and they are the

selfsame thing, and there is nothing at

all to see.  I've grown tired of all this

lily-white fuss. I seek to vacate my

place at once : initiating at least a

leave of my own accord.

-

How apt is all of that for this day

and age? I am the closer, and I shall

upend all of your doors and lintels.

Up on high, the opaque black sky

glimmers on : I have known the

wind, and I have known the fire.

3990. BIBLE HOUSING PHASE

BIBLE HOUSING PHASE

I've always thought I'd remember

everything I've forgotten : gone like

some chaff blown free in a heady wind  -

and too bad too, because the times were

great and the rhymes bore treading.

-

It's said that both Shakespeare and Lincoln

knew biblical cadence. I think not  -  and in

either case a force of bombast runs the day.

In Shakespeare's case, more worthy; in

Lincoln's, thrown away. What more can

a man want in this disparity? The deadly

display, the logic in words,  is only

useful as they subjugate others.

-

Mankind shrivels things by thinking :

the oarsman on his river, skipping

through rapids - he thinks - by the

heaviness of his oar. No, instead,

just stop and listen. It is the river's

roar that keeps him afloat.

-

I grow tired and weary of others,

and tired and weary of myself.

All the same, this sky and this

Earth and this land all together,

all the same they are, together.

3989. CONTINGENCIES

CONTINGENCIES

It was when I saw Lawrence Welk's people

singing Old Black Joe that I knew I was

distant. It made me sodden and angry.

That's somehow worse than sad. The

conservationist John Muir once had

said : 'Going out, I found, was really

going in.' I somehow knew what he

meant, and all was well  -  until.

Until I heard poet Wallace

Stevens say : 'perhaps the

truth depends on a walk

around the lake.'

3988. I WAS WATCHING

I WAS WATCHING

They jumped that guy at the siding as I watched.

I saw them bash his face with that sawdust broom.

It was over so quickly, three against one  -  the brooding

call of violence always makes me wince. The something

heavy fell from up above. A skylight brace in this old

warehouse shed had broken loose. It fell straight onto

one guy's back and shoulder. He went down like a

silhouette and never moved again. The others ran

off, even the nitwit bleeding to death from his face.

How is it that some men can be so stupid? How is

it that others, even if considered smart, can still

act as if the only crucial thing is life was

breathing and breeding? The fact that

they sound alike means nothing at all.

I watched as all this transpired.

3987. MALADROIT PROPOSALS

MALADROIT PROPOSALS

I posted any footnote needed and you still were

unable to read me; I saw the stars fall down until

that time that needed an ending. This was the

spectrum I lived in : the place and the power of

poetry, above and beyond the call. When I was

born, I had no eyes, yet I was already not blind.

3986. JUMPER (yesterday now to me)

JUMPER

(yesterday now to me)

Who has said anything about juice, and have

I dreamed this place? I have been here before,

I have walked these lanes and hollows, and only

now this all comes back to haunt me? No, not

haunt any longer for I am here. I know every

turn I take, and every move I make. It is all

like yesterday now to me. My hands tremble

just to think of what I am touching. All is so

silent. The old, old buildings, painted in a

handsome way, still relegate the future to

their past  -  they are good enough to be

seen in both ways. I can jump time with

them, I know. For I have been here

before, when everything was new.

3985. CONVINCED

CONVINCED

I am convinced the world is a beautiful place;

not real, not tangible, just beautiful. Possessed of

its moments, in charge of its own matter, and imparting

to us the reams of precision we sometimes need and

other times demand. There is nothing like it in the world.

-

The spinnaker spins, and the weaver weaves. The gentle

flow of salvation gutters us and throws us down, heaving

undulations like a ripple to the shore; steady, slow, regular

and gentle  -  possessing a rhythm all of its own. I've seen

the red-tailed hawk, in swiftest dive, bow to agree with me.

-

The surface of yonder river, it ripples and glazes,

reflecting a light from the heavens yet of the

land. The pure, faint drive of its energy pulses,

forwarding the push of its way, driving the silted

channel. In the center, years of accumulation have

made a small island  -  trees took root and, caught

in glory, grew. Now, its stands apart from, yet part

 of, every other thing, as we are here watching.

-

I am convinced the world is a beautiful place.

Not real. Not tangible. Just beautiful.

3984. ALONG THE TRAIL, WILLIAM BLAKE

ALONG THE TRACK, 

WILLIAM BLAKE

Makes no matter, differs for little,

drips like blood, makes words fly -

to distant lands, away. We are all

the same. Felpham Manor, can

you save me now? I wonder.

-

I do not always know what I am

doing, though I do it nonetheless.

Stand fast, shout back, illumine

my plates, walk these chartered

streets. Salvation comes from

sourcing at the source.

-

The cat that I have is an apron cat;

one filled with a quietude I envy.

Just sit back. My pounding heart,

by contrast, runs off the track.

3983. THE BROKEN LANCE

THE BROKEN LANCE

Those who, having shed no tears

over the land, go on their killing ways -

and went  -  must pay. There is no

broken lance to save them. I will

commingle with all their tomorrows.

Now, as it is, I sit back : not truly

thinking of them though they are

on my mind. Instead, while the

land screams, I sharpen my knives.

They have come and destroyed

all things : heaped dead Indians

'round their campfire rings; blood

red ran rivers with decimated things.

Someone, alas, must pay for this

horrid mess they've made. Someone,

alas, must pay. There can be 

no broken lance.

3982. HARMONY

HARMONY

I have the harmony I need : the

apples are on the bough, and I

am in between. The rise of day

is heralded by sunlight  -  the 

bright and the radiant; one and the

same hard rain bringing itself its

very own day. Need I always

listen then to Heaven's dictate?

Listening instead to men, I learn

how to list, and separate, to

differentiate and hate; all in 

all, a very glum business.

3981. A DIET FOR A PEACEFUL VEGETARIAN LIFE

A DIET FOR A PEACEFUL 

VEGETARIAN LIFE

I will consume you? Heart blood

lungs liver? Shall I eat all parts of

you then, and prosper? Nay, nay,

the wise will say  -  avoid this flesh

and organs all. The world is but a

dream. I will prosper and live, and

eat nothing at all.

3980. APPARENTLY BEETHOVEN

APPARENTLY BEETHOVEN

Never handled a grenade, never heard the

percussion of staccato death, never was

blinded by light, nor ever used a buzz saw.

All these things, it is well known, I know.

What he did do was step back and

hear a music in his head.

3979. POWERS OF PRAYER

POWERS OF PRAYER

I buried my babies in wet mud, first

smothering them with the moistened

soil  -  like a fine burial, sacrificial, I

made amends to my God and atoned

for all things. He had asked this of

me, did He not? For once in my shitty

life, I obeyed. Somewhere in all this

grief and effort, there was a sacred

moment  -  of sacrifice, of obeisance,

duty and salvation. Yes, yes, they now

are gone, but I have saved my people.

-

Sadly, I ask  -  Is this how mankind

saves his world? Guns to butter, and

back again, propped on the dead and

bloodied backs of all Mankind. Oh Gaza,

and oh River Jordan, why all this bluster?

Everywhere I look, nothing is agog

but death and blood and dying.

-

Abraham to Isaac, and all down the

line. We sacrifice or friends and our

brothers, our sisters and lovers, and -

this time - there is no lamb to take

our attentions away. My stomach

growls, with its own intentions. I

am Moloch, seeking new foods.

3978. WINDLASS

WINDLASS

So much all much all together once.

I have only now stepped forth onto this

grassy carpet, and already realize my love

for this land : we are wayward, cast ashore,

blown here and abandoned. The Captain

has left his ship, and is at sea. Yet, so are

we, and oh yes, so are we.

3977. SINGING OF SO MUCH

SINGING OF SO MUCH

You have broken all these people on your

rack of doubt and hate  -  while others

look away I start to hum and sing : all

those songs of love and goodness I may 

once have learned, they're coming in

handy now. There is something heard

shattering high, and the wind is blowing

the curtain. Everyone looks up to see

angels. The sky is a border between

the light and the dark.

-

These are the ages we've read about:

that glum and stately age does seem now

upon us; we can do nothing else but let

it be. 'Arrive slow, depart fast' should

now our motto be. Lit in lights upon 

some high and mighty tower, inked on

children's shoulders as they're born.

-

It seems, these days, as if the only

sounds one hears are the sounds of

distant things  -  how that can be, I

guess, is because no one any longer

watches their present moment : always 

something else, far-off and far away.

3976. THE ALHAMBRA

THE ALHAMBRA

There are things underneath all of this that

even I yet don't recognize: the bellboy still

hops his hat, and the lamp-bulb hobbles.

Seeing 'The Scream' is all it was meant to

be, and I want to get back to do duty there

once more. My established verdigris is the

cabinet the Mayor leans on  -  he doesn't

know much else, just talks of his people

and his rye whiskey. What the difference

is, I am not sure. Yes, yes, this is a very

small town, a place where the walls

even know your name.

 

3975. PHILADELPHIA

PHILADELPHIA

I have walked about six miles now :

Penns Landing to Old City to Chinatown 

and then to Rittenhouse Square. It's been 

a pleasant afternoon thus far  -  and I am

now festooned with happiness and coffee 

and food. All that can be good, seems so

to be. Shall I sit then? Let's see.

-

Outside my view, the purview of an artist

of words and of color, I note the grand

composition of this ever-blooming world.

Those people, passing by, in their mighty

fields of color and style. The ponderous

and stately weight of the buildings behind

them : were I to paint or sing of this scene,

the pleasure would be all mine for sure.

-

My hands are magical things as well:

as they touch and manipulate this world 

around me, they  -  in consort with my eyes

and mind  -  create another world of still

another kind. Pleasure and lightness and

all joy and all good. I shall go now,

get up and leave, and  -  yes, yes -

preach to the masses once more.

3974. WELCOMING THE GRAND REVOLT

WELCOMING THE

GRAND REVOLT

I came from your Heaven like a drone :

pre-assembled and ready to fly. Mastering

no mischief, I was never even seen; a random

jalopy, sketching the skies and the clouds with

my hands. That was then : now I have retired

from such active duty, and I do my work directly

instead. I can look into your eyes and see love

and affection. I can learn your new tongue and

realize I'm talking. White Cliffs of Dover, be

mindful now - I'm taking over. There's never

a minute to waste.

3973. THE CENTER OF NEW NEED

THE CENTER 

OF NEW NEED

(journey through age)

All this accounting for nothing

and now look at where you are

bound : the girl sitting at that table,

staring back at you as if you were 

Lord. Her heralded pink brushes bat

back nothing so much as desire. Oh

where am I, and where are we to go?

Waiters bringing singsong pastries on

a wooden tray. From inside, I look at

you and see it is me : we are all these

things, and that fey fellow, Harold, he

will bring us a check. But must we tip

him too? There is no solace here, not

in any of this idle hotel chatter. Park

the car, take his bags, ring him up,

get a key and find the door.

-

How many floors has Heaven?

How many stairs its stairway?

Is there room at the top for another?

I and you, I and me, we and they,

they and we. Words. Oh horrid and

tiresome all these things. How many?

I will sit and read in this big chair.

I will sit back. Your breasts are quite

lovely. Yes, go ahead, I will wait.

Finish your tasks.

-

I first read the Bible at age nine -

what hideous stuff past the start.

All that lineage and all those names.

Oh God, fearsome fire-bringer-of-fury

but God of desire. Yes, yes, I know and

I don't see  -  your naked beauty is a

thing to me. Your naked beauty

is for me to see.

-

In writing your will, old woman,

leave me nothing at all. I will scratch

off your name from this headboard -

and look, just look where you are now

bound. An old face, and dried and

wrinkled as well. (I do remember

things, and still have much to tell).

3972. TOMORROW

TOMORROW

I would give all this up tomorrow

if a break would just come my way :

those crashing waves, those reeds, these

blithe and sunny days. I envy your 

escarpment  -  how that cabin in the

darkened woods absorbs your

soul and provides for your heart.

You may listen to me, as you choose,

or turn your good ear off and walk away.

I am willing - you understand? - to

light a match beneath your kindling,

and stand and watch this all burn down.

I have no investment here. There would

be nothing more to say : watching embers

smolder, would you then shrug as well?

3971. DEFTLY O'BRIEN

DEFTLY O'BRIEN

I make my own way as a

well-oiled machine  -  sending

stripes and chevrons wherever 

I please. My shop mittens are

made of a hare's fine hide. 

Nothing happens twice : 

I do it once, and I do it right.

3970. THE SPOILS

THE SPOILS

I happened upon a place called

'Bookbinder's'  -  I cannot remember

where, exactly, that it was. I was east,

in the low names, somewhere : Clinton,

Stanton, Orchard Street. Somewhere

all those ghosts still gather. People were

lined up actually, but not for it : instead

for coffee and some open-bushel grains

and fruits and nuts. Like this natural-living

stuff is now all the rage. But yet, it seems,

the animals talk  -  all the animals

talk. In fact, they do not shut up.

3969. CONTINUANCE THROUGH COMMEMORATION

CONTINUANCE THROUGH COMMEMORATION

This morning's white fog, stretched thick, 

was heavy on the land as I crossed old

St. Paul's graveyard. Amidst the natural

smoke, I spied the crosses and the angels

of the graves. In that whitened half-light

they seemed still pure, ephemeral even.

More pure than ever before. Yet, I 

held no lesson from it but  -  

perhaps  -  a vague idea of 

continuance through 

commemoration.

3968. WATCHING

WATCHING

They've kept looking back, haven't stopped

yet. I've been walking this desert since the 

morning's blue light  -  and so have they. Who

are these people, and why? This swirlstorm of

sand around my bare legs is annoying and

hot  -  I wither for water, or the lack thereof,

and only seem certain of this : I shall keep

walking, an unencumbered man, and they,

with their camels and feeders, will have

nothing on me. This is all illusion. I know

I'm cracking up. Oh desert heat do not

leave me here, alone and crazed,

and - just now - seeing things.

3967. LITTLE EVVIE

LITTLE EVVIE

I marched with Evvie to Chartres,

and she was a boy  -  dressed as one

anyway, to fool the cavalcade. We ran

through that province, no change in a

tide, and managed to stay fit. A Joan

of Arc would have done no better;

and no one ever found out.

-

Sunlight bore meaning : when along

the river's edge the sidelight pushed

the water, it seemed as if ringlets

of a gloried light were our only Truth. 

We carried our arms and bullets into the

woods. Evvie wore her manhood well.

-

Characters arrive  -  the desultory type,

the ones who drag and complain, those

whining of something new each moment.

We took them each out, singly,

when Evvie was a man.

-

She wanted more, she wanted more.

'I hated my Father, and that abbot too - 

he handled my breast as if he were making

a meatball.' Would that be hatred then, in

even a fair country? I wondered, but I

knew I'd never find out.

3966. FINE MEN

FINE MEN

Fine men are reading country

newspapers  -  sipping their coffees

at an outdoor cafe. This little French

corner has someone else laughing to

himself mysteriously. The butcher has

his cleaver, and, across  the lane,

some beautiful girl spins pasta.

-

On the overhead, all I hear is

'get back home, Loretta' and

'Jo Jo was a man.' Funny, how

the years stetch and elongate,

drooping over our everyday

things like gauze. Zero Mostel,

Paddy Chayevsky, here, and me. 

Lone percurser, staggeringly

dull, and with no way out.

3965. ALL VORACIOUS APPETITES

ALL VORACIOUS APPETITES

What's come to the fore, what are 

they? Tailfin chrome and sixty-year-old

glitz. Henry Ford, it was, said  'Cut

your own wood, get warm twice.'

Yeah, like he would know : 

and all that mortal fever dies.

3964. THE LAST SUPPER

THE LAST SUPPER

What can I count as I am counting?

The brave and stalwart painters

and all their portraits tell. Even

Leonardo altered his perfect

perspective with a nail-hole

where Christ's head would be. 

He drove a nail into plaster, and  -

though not flesh  -  made the point.

For the practical purposes of all

the Earth, it was the very same thing.

3963. IT WAS MY MATTER

IT WAS MY MATTER

(madness again)

Stabat Mater Dolorosa, prime factional dispute,

incarnated absolutism, phantom limbs and fireworks

too. My Father God Almighty, we are living now for

nothing at all. I walked the heath, tasted fresh water,

drank all the raw milk from your cows. In Norway, I

swabbed the circular barn with blue paint from a pail

the foreman had given, never saying a word I stayed

to my task. The river was running frozen, and all those

ladies had lost their nerve. We chased down the

tortured rocks, recall? Out peat fire hinged on your

looming disaster. Four new Kings from the outer

lands kept us company for three long days.

-

And now, the loving respite having summoned my

soul, I lounge back and think of your daughter  -  yes,

yes, the fairest one, with that twinkle in her eyes and

her face. Her hirsute boyfriend, I can still see him

too, leering at me like some engineer on a badly

running train; looking down at the rails beneath

him, trying to see what passes, and how.

3962. TO LAUGH AS I LEAVE

TO LAUGH AS I LEAVE

I am woefully inadequate to be happy, yet I

am happy nonetheless. I smile in the face

of aversion, oppression and hurt. I could be

alone with my collar, and probably manage.

Eke out a reason for some higher charm.

Look at the way I live : I never look outside,

never visit the outer world, yet I smile  -  but

maybe that's why. The things others call

opportunities, I define as nuisance; a real

dearth of clamor, a pitiful stance in a

nonchalant town. Board up my houses

and huts. I want to laugh as I leave.

3961. FREE FALL

FREE FALL 

(Fennel and Tataiyana)

'That was the storm's gravity shift

you felt  -  just like when out amidst

the stars, where you are anyway  -

things expansive seem moreso. 

Funny thing is, we are all, and 

everything, just falling through 

space  -  every minute, and

each moment that is.

3960. ABSENT THROUGH LANGUAGE

ABSENT THROUGH LANGUAGE

And this is how we re-name things  -  

marigold peace love. Peace through

strength. Man lives, man loves, man

loves meat. Animals die, happy to be - 

and happy then not to be; to be sacrificed.

We eat their silent death, not knowing

their screams or their horrors; we say.

-

I'd like to do a real installation inside

your brain  -  hanging my pictures with 

nails in your skull. From the inside out  -  

you wouldn't even know. Absent through 

language. Absent through language. Absent

through language. The death of a scream.

3959. TWO-HEADED BABY WITH A ONE-TRACK MIND

TWO-HEADED BABY WITH 

A ONE-TRACK MIND

The day is over : they have

collected the brine and the

winners amass at their logical

borders. 'Now is the time for

all good men to come to the

aid of their country' - or 'nation' -

or something like that. My mother

used to type that as she warmed up

her hands in a practice-typing lesson.

She used a lot of funny phrases in

that manner  -  'fermez la port',

'10 to 1', a betting term of odds,

and she never gambled a thing, 'garcon'.

-

Now all these years later, I am smelting

her words like a fire-port mad man,

stirring a cauldron where she no longer

is. A memory, or a remembrance  -  some

other bullshit phrase. She died at the polling

place; already a long. long time ago.

3958. CONSTABULARY

CONSTABULARY

You may call it out, and then you

may change the calendar page  -  

flip and rip, or rip instead of flip.

I do not care. This is the time of 

roses : for the dead, for the slave,

for the American Indian we forgot

to save. The lights have grown

dim now, in the anteroom of

something. That constabulary 

guy is watching, bears watching,

has a gun. For Christ's sake,

put no flowers on the table.

3957. MAGIC TEXTILE HANDS

MAGIC TEXTILE HANDS

My meditation on the periwinkle and chickadee has

now passed away, and I remember nothing at all. Time

seems to pass so fast. When I was young, a young man

that is, everything seemed to take forever. Now, it's all

gone in a blink. I see so many things in a reverse

sort of blur. Trying to reach back, pulling things forward,

my hands grip for anything at all. The magic of time

is a carpet never tacked into place. Look out, I ask

you  -  see that old barn window now broken and

covered with a plastic that has torn in the wind  -

it too was once new; cows and sheep and a herdsman,

all sorts of things there. These days, it's more of a

ruin than even a shelter; a relic, a shrine to that which

has gone. My old Fordson tractor, tires flat, sinks into

a mud that first comes and then goes. The tractor,

alas, stays put. We are  -  all things  -  as old as

the hills. My very wistful manager tries singing

for me  -  the voice is as coarse as a saw.

3956. ANDALUSIA

ANDALUSIA

When I was last there, she was wearing

no clothes. I kissed and embraced her dearly;

my mantilla of love and affection covered over

her heart. It was paradise in a foreign land.

I rolled over and saw her coming. I watched 

and endeared her to myself. This was a new

miracle, and I didn't really even know the language.

So many things are truly wond'rous in this world.

3955. 500 MILES

500 MILES

I have traveled, good God, I

have traveled  -  500 miles for love,

500 miles for hate, 500 miles for bad,

500 miles for great. Look at that worn-out

muscle, the one that ambitions my hand. I

have turned a million handles, I have seen

a million lands. Let me turn all this over:

I am not you, you are not me. Though we

kiss and mingle, though the flesh of our bodies

merge and tingle, what results is still a one-on-one.

I have traveled 500 miles, and I've now only just begun.

3954. CARTMAN BY THE SEA

CARTMAN BY THE SEA   
Take the life from my heart and arms, shield

no longer my soul and feelings. I am bent with

sickness and I walk the land, staggering. I am

watching the sea; it is spread before me, with a

rumble and roar, pitching forward to then recede.

What are these waves but the tenets of my own

pale life? A battered presence, a ram of indication,

everything occurring at once, as if I should really

take note. All these little men, waving and raking

their seaside leaves. I shall leave them here.

-

To tremble, I walk away thinking of cities instead

of this sea  -  I find firmer stuff in the concrete and

glass, than whatever meanings these tired, old lands

of the harbor conceal. Old wooden boats, a listing

surfside lighthouse, the cocktail lounge of a tired

yacht men's clubhouse  -  all those aged yet pretty

ladies, walking on their Sunday heels and out for

dinner on a prance. Some singer up front attracts

nothing as much as the flies and a cat.

-

No one listens anyway. I am sorry I ever came here -

just another foolish man, seeking solace and wine,

coming out to dine and squander some money

where others, in need, could have used it more.

Take the life from my heart, and cart me away.