Friday, November 30, 2012

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?

Thursday, November 29, 2012

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?

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

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.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

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.

Friday, November 23, 2012

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.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

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.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

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.

Monday, November 19, 2012

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.

Friday, November 16, 2012

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.
 

Thursday, November 15, 2012

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.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

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.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

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?

Monday, November 12, 2012

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.

Friday, November 9, 2012

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.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

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.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

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.

Monday, November 5, 2012

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.