Trapped in strings of
rain, like the
blind bard's dulcimer.
He can't tell me
the name of his hands.
Rain like this dings
ting jing leng beng
I watch
chasing
Then I see between
the strings.
The brightness.
The no object
some light
that throws open iris fists
so that I wonder
and know
how long I have been
squinting
into life half closed
half dark
eyelashes out in front.
oct 30, 08
Lost So
Lost so far
from the sky
lost deep
from the day
that can find out
dig up smash open
for the air to lick wounds
for food.
Buried or dropped
or slipped
into a pool
some cool or warm
some colour complimentary
to this dung world.
No smell of piss
of smoke or worse.
Own hands unravel
unbraid
uncomplicate
into stones
and sink so lost.
0ct 30 , 08
from the sky
lost deep
from the day
that can find out
dig up smash open
for the air to lick wounds
for food.
Buried or dropped
or slipped
into a pool
some cool or warm
some colour complimentary
to this dung world.
No smell of piss
of smoke or worse.
Own hands unravel
unbraid
uncomplicate
into stones
and sink so lost.
0ct 30 , 08
Bowl
I want to gift them.
Why should I love
these thirty faces?
They ripple, and my blood jumps.
I'll break my hands and lips
over them
to let gifts run out.
To see their naive
eyes close
in baby joy.
To never see their eyebrows meet
To lose my hands and lips
in their lostness.
10-30-08
Why should I love
these thirty faces?
They ripple, and my blood jumps.
I'll break my hands and lips
over them
to let gifts run out.
To see their naive
eyes close
in baby joy.
To never see their eyebrows meet
To lose my hands and lips
in their lostness.
10-30-08
Willing Suspension of Disbelief
You are not the woman
who talks of rape in giant art,
who makes us squirm and wish
we had not ordered gumbo.
You give and take hearts
daily under a vow of
slow silence.
But you can't keep such faith.
So you fill a circle of
open hearts with only talk,
and stony, sickly talk,
You take the night out.
You are not the woman
like the things you say.
You sit quiet in your home,
saying good morning as you slip into bed
to your lostboys the world over.
10-30-08
who talks of rape in giant art,
who makes us squirm and wish
we had not ordered gumbo.
You give and take hearts
daily under a vow of
slow silence.
But you can't keep such faith.
So you fill a circle of
open hearts with only talk,
and stony, sickly talk,
You take the night out.
You are not the woman
like the things you say.
You sit quiet in your home,
saying good morning as you slip into bed
to your lostboys the world over.
10-30-08
Baptism, Devour
Didn't we all die in a soft desert?
Didn't we walk under the cloud and go
through the sea? Didn't we all
eat the same spiritual food and
drink, the same drink which flowed
from the rock that followed us?
Didn't we all watch a rock
follow us. And feed us.
And drink us when we were
too dry to spit.
oct 30ish, 08
Didn't we walk under the cloud and go
through the sea? Didn't we all
eat the same spiritual food and
drink, the same drink which flowed
from the rock that followed us?
Didn't we all watch a rock
follow us. And feed us.
And drink us when we were
too dry to spit.
oct 30ish, 08
You Come in Disguise
You came disguised in your clothing
what colours is the skin between hems?
You came disguised in your silence,
and your leaving.
You sit by, leaning over some fire
stirring until your eyes water
in its coaly brilliance.
You woke a moment ago
wearing no clothes at all, no silence, no leaving
not brittle fragile as stirred ashes
but a body of cloud
feeling yourself whole, as all particulars touch
particles through the ether.
You go no where
but wrap yourself in new found arms
a waking, most coherent, child.
oct 28, 08
what colours is the skin between hems?
You came disguised in your silence,
and your leaving.
You sit by, leaning over some fire
stirring until your eyes water
in its coaly brilliance.
You woke a moment ago
wearing no clothes at all, no silence, no leaving
not brittle fragile as stirred ashes
but a body of cloud
feeling yourself whole, as all particulars touch
particles through the ether.
You go no where
but wrap yourself in new found arms
a waking, most coherent, child.
oct 28, 08
Boy Hips
He likes me here (when he arrives)
but I've ducked through a crack in the bricks
to the other side
of him and myself
to the other side of us.
I climb a path I found that climbs the sky
or knifes through bedrock
a dimension I don't know how, just know.
Brambles tear thick canvas, thick indigo
the skin of bald feet, still perfumed.
I planted them here to keep me away
until my skin can take and heal wounds.
I wear stripes to measure my breath,
but as my belly grows they seem to cross, twist , switch
My spirit's a boy's, not grown
should I slide jeans over hips like a boy
or should I lie in wildflowers
I myself planted.
Caring not the contradicton
caring not my belly's growing,
my hips always showing.
They climb a mountain I,
I myself, planted
to keep me away
until I willing climb in hips
to lie in wildflowers.
oct 28, 08
but I've ducked through a crack in the bricks
to the other side
of him and myself
to the other side of us.
I climb a path I found that climbs the sky
or knifes through bedrock
a dimension I don't know how, just know.
Brambles tear thick canvas, thick indigo
the skin of bald feet, still perfumed.
I planted them here to keep me away
until my skin can take and heal wounds.
I wear stripes to measure my breath,
but as my belly grows they seem to cross, twist , switch
My spirit's a boy's, not grown
should I slide jeans over hips like a boy
or should I lie in wildflowers
I myself planted.
Caring not the contradicton
caring not my belly's growing,
my hips always showing.
They climb a mountain I,
I myself, planted
to keep me away
until I willing climb in hips
to lie in wildflowers.
oct 28, 08
those i know
the birds are flying
i'm drawing them in
we're learning
the grass burns
the old stalk burns
we're up in this smoke
we clench our unused arms
our hands and bellies
and open our noses and mouths
the birds line up
and swell our ears
they're drawing me out
we burn in our unused bodies
we're learning.
i'm drawing them in
we're learning
the grass burns
the old stalk burns
we're up in this smoke
we clench our unused arms
our hands and bellies
and open our noses and mouths
the birds line up
and swell our ears
they're drawing me out
we burn in our unused bodies
we're learning.
a long time since
it's been a long time since
a burnt tongue and sleep
held each other (one moment
from totality).
only twenty-five percent of my life ago.
that time will only
shrink
and shrink to nothing.
but it may be a long time yet.
june 7, 08
a burnt tongue and sleep
held each other (one moment
from totality).
only twenty-five percent of my life ago.
that time will only
shrink
and shrink to nothing.
but it may be a long time yet.
june 7, 08
Mosquito Mass
Mountain come.
hard winter.
Take what covers. our negligence
leave only. Green needles
above and brown
below. to take our blood.
Treat us. Leave us clean.
empty cold.
to every season's nausea.
oct 13. 08
hard winter.
Take what covers. our negligence
leave only. Green needles
above and brown
below. to take our blood.
Treat us. Leave us clean.
empty cold.
to every season's nausea.
oct 13. 08
Hell is Other People
a blue dragonfly
a red one
in a nothing colour city.
no mind that it
could not find another,
(a hell),
like itself.
pure heaven in my
city, full of hells,
full of people to
look and say and
stand next to me.
to say I Am this.
Are you or not?
I Am just like the
blue dragonfly
a red one
who's whole paradise
is itself.
but I must also
drink blood from so
many other heavens.
a red one
in a nothing colour city.
no mind that it
could not find another,
(a hell),
like itself.
pure heaven in my
city, full of hells,
full of people to
look and say and
stand next to me.
to say I Am this.
Are you or not?
I Am just like the
blue dragonfly
a red one
who's whole paradise
is itself.
but I must also
drink blood from so
many other heavens.
What the Shadow of Tree Knows
The meaning of us
that even the big shadow of a tree knows,
That our essence is unlimited;
it cannot be spilled. It has no well.
But existence
means an eternal breath
touched a page, and we are left
knowing we are breath
but unable anymore to breathe.
In moments of dreaming
or laughing
we lift from the page.
We gasp in unused essence.
We are breath in the universe;
then we are not
We are wet paper.
We mourn. That I were still essence.
This existence is condemning.
But we moaned as breath,
crying like children who cannot find
your face behind your hands.
Do I exist? Do I exist?
And somewhere, there is probably God,
completing our trinity.
oct 13. 08
that even the big shadow of a tree knows,
That our essence is unlimited;
it cannot be spilled. It has no well.
But existence
means an eternal breath
touched a page, and we are left
knowing we are breath
but unable anymore to breathe.
In moments of dreaming
or laughing
we lift from the page.
We gasp in unused essence.
We are breath in the universe;
then we are not
We are wet paper.
We mourn. That I were still essence.
This existence is condemning.
But we moaned as breath,
crying like children who cannot find
your face behind your hands.
Do I exist? Do I exist?
And somewhere, there is probably God,
completing our trinity.
oct 13. 08
Return To Your Senses
Where should you be, God
if not in me?
What should occupy you,
distract you
from your senses?
Walk in your nature, God.
Walk among your eyes and ears.
Walk among these tongues you confused.
What should you wear, God
if not skin?
oct 11.08
if not in me?
What should occupy you,
distract you
from your senses?
Walk in your nature, God.
Walk among your eyes and ears.
Walk among these tongues you confused.
What should you wear, God
if not skin?
oct 11.08
Everybody Whistles
The country that has a landscape like gods' knees
slathers road side ferns and tile tops
in sweat and dust.
The country that grows a man's
hands hard and weighty on his wrists,
fingertips swollen,
scissor curls a perfect magenta ribbon
from lip to every baby lip.
Their faces don't wrinkle when they cry.
The country that squares bricks,
so dives for coal,
stacks it
beside giant, alien chrysanthemums
They burn used vegetation like us
They bring down mountains like us
They say, no thanks, even when
they're curious like us
They puke like us
They whistle like us
Everybody whistles.
sept 27, 08
slathers road side ferns and tile tops
in sweat and dust.
The country that grows a man's
hands hard and weighty on his wrists,
fingertips swollen,
scissor curls a perfect magenta ribbon
from lip to every baby lip.
Their faces don't wrinkle when they cry.
The country that squares bricks,
so dives for coal,
stacks it
beside giant, alien chrysanthemums
They burn used vegetation like us
They bring down mountains like us
They say, no thanks, even when
they're curious like us
They puke like us
They whistle like us
Everybody whistles.
sept 27, 08
Perforated Lifeline
The palmreader
said my lifeline is perforated
like my heart is a skipping stone,
a heavy, flat one,
good for long distances,
many skips.
oct. 15. 08
said my lifeline is perforated
like my heart is a skipping stone,
a heavy, flat one,
good for long distances,
many skips.
oct. 15. 08
How Reality
One day you must come. You must
see just what you want to see. For why
should we be concerned with reality. And
what is it?
Plastic stools, paper cups with tea leaves limp
in the bottom?
Is it me who emptied five of those cups and now
must pee?
Or is it the ancient, immovable, undrownable, un photographed
mountains sinking and soaring
in mist. And the feeling
that behind the sky there are not
stars but more of such giants hidden.
Is it phone lines and how they got there? Is it
rubbish swimming in a soup of our exhaust? Or is
it the river that really is a dragon and we shall
never tame it, laugh nearby as we may.
Is it rock, touchable, slapable? Or is it
the suspicion that I could swim
towards it and never make it. Is it that
you are nowhere in reach, past, now, later, but
I can't leave you there.
I think of you, someone I don't know, and what
you would not say. What you have not said,
but maybe we share?
Is it the acid smoke from the man leering near me, or the
pallable absense of your face, blank and taken away by such
mists and clarity?
Is it the passengers watching, always and especially
when I raise my face (or watching nothing but the cards
they've bet change on?) Or the man in clothes the colour
of his land, straigtening up as if to watch us all, clowning,
passing his constant home from which
he cannot, will not ever move,
and is not seeing me, but the ghost
of mountain and cloud that has led me like a pillar
and covers me. These? Whose people are they? Are they
not mine?
How I have to blink slower to breathe.
How I wonder at warm tears and thus, selfish, stop them.
How reality.
see just what you want to see. For why
should we be concerned with reality. And
what is it?
Plastic stools, paper cups with tea leaves limp
in the bottom?
Is it me who emptied five of those cups and now
must pee?
Or is it the ancient, immovable, undrownable, un photographed
mountains sinking and soaring
in mist. And the feeling
that behind the sky there are not
stars but more of such giants hidden.
Is it phone lines and how they got there? Is it
rubbish swimming in a soup of our exhaust? Or is
it the river that really is a dragon and we shall
never tame it, laugh nearby as we may.
Is it rock, touchable, slapable? Or is it
the suspicion that I could swim
towards it and never make it. Is it that
you are nowhere in reach, past, now, later, but
I can't leave you there.
I think of you, someone I don't know, and what
you would not say. What you have not said,
but maybe we share?
Is it the acid smoke from the man leering near me, or the
pallable absense of your face, blank and taken away by such
mists and clarity?
Is it the passengers watching, always and especially
when I raise my face (or watching nothing but the cards
they've bet change on?) Or the man in clothes the colour
of his land, straigtening up as if to watch us all, clowning,
passing his constant home from which
he cannot, will not ever move,
and is not seeing me, but the ghost
of mountain and cloud that has led me like a pillar
and covers me. These? Whose people are they? Are they
not mine?
How I have to blink slower to breathe.
How I wonder at warm tears and thus, selfish, stop them.
How reality.
Birds
Pistachio shells skitter
and we are birds with droppings
not knowing when to go to one another,
how to talk without lips.
We sing trapped songs
come come come
come to me.
And we don't go.
We wait for lips to move
We spit pistachio shells.
Oct 2, 08
and we are birds with droppings
not knowing when to go to one another,
how to talk without lips.
We sing trapped songs
come come come
come to me.
And we don't go.
We wait for lips to move
We spit pistachio shells.
Oct 2, 08
Before This
before this
i was small
but hard
and unaffected -
i was fight
and round and fetal.
but i spill i spill
now i spill.
and i don't know what you'll say
to such
a me.
What you'll do.
it's careless
as uncontrolled yet difficult
as birth.
i'd do it in another room
but i don't have one of my own.
oct 1, 08
i was small
but hard
and unaffected -
i was fight
and round and fetal.
but i spill i spill
now i spill.
and i don't know what you'll say
to such
a me.
What you'll do.
it's careless
as uncontrolled yet difficult
as birth.
i'd do it in another room
but i don't have one of my own.
oct 1, 08
I Leave
your kiss there
a bit of pie i haven't
napkined off
a sip of dreamshake i
don't swallow yet
a foreign stare i don't
glance from.
I let the cold red leaves
fall, holding my jacket.
sept 30, 2008
a bit of pie i haven't
napkined off
a sip of dreamshake i
don't swallow yet
a foreign stare i don't
glance from.
I let the cold red leaves
fall, holding my jacket.
sept 30, 2008
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