Sunday, February 7, 2016

traversing, or 'the water' (dream) [2010]

I am strapped in 
to sleeping
and ever
going on

(these are certainly disparate ideas...

                                                                             
t  d s m f o
h         r h y o r
e i o r
p r c m s
v p t o i w
i i n n i
v n r d g m
i g e e m
d d n a i
f s n
d r h e d g
r o a d r
e m i o p
a r b w o
m t s e n o
h a i l
i e o r n
s f d g
                                                                             
...collecting at the wading feet of the body)

d.
no shoes can support
the weight of my 
unconscious treading
(brown here reaching green there)

r.
no man can drive me
to saturation
when dirt is his road
(the grass is where I am)

e.
no traveling can be
without breathing
a dank education
(the campus is fertile and awake)

a.
no path leads to
the cross-over
that is visible
(the other side requires the water)

m.
no growth can happen
on any morning
without getting wet
(a dew is forming on me)

[!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

  the alarm has
          sounded
          and I am
          going on

Friday, February 5, 2016

lists [2010]

I have had
another's hearing in my ears
Bronko's leather in my hands
gold medals pinned to my chest
a well-focused landscape before me
a series of moments behind the wheel
and a dip in Olson's sea

I have had
nocturnal fits of animal rage
showers that have failed to rinse me
inferior efforts given recognition
a face-to-face with an eight-point ghost
a carbon-copy of enlightenment
and a thoughtfully emptied bowel

I have had
no way to get back to the center
my gut scarred by forbidden gravel
the curtains drawn for months at a time
a recurring dream that is not true
a full season of restorative health
and a hopping pair of gifts

I have had
1 legitimate brush with death
2 instruments touching God
3 years of enlightened solitude
a saintly approach to taking
a friend who would not betray me
and a slow     gradual awakening

and

I have had
more lists than I've had hairs on my head

Thursday, February 4, 2016

cadence [2009]

atop teetering stairs
                  turned right 
                           then right
                            behind right 
                                      and there
                                             in there 
                                                self-piled 
                              in piles of teetering self
                                                          atop self
                                               turned to right self
                                                        itself turned self
                                                                              is self 
                                                                          turned right
                                                                    atop teetering stairs

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

sprung [2010/2016]

limbs like sails 
drop
never confessed poems
to God

in ignorance
one manifests many

naked
they might be nothing

or I
a confession of them

                                     (stop
            and spring into 
                           the wind)

we are only alive
in the past tense

Monday, February 1, 2016

The Good Green Earth [2012]

          I have been walking in circles upon our Good Green Earth, one inhabited by Rabbits and Squirrels and Dogs and Birds.  I am dressed in leather the color of the sky, and I am blue beneath it.  Everything is going according to plan.  However, after some equal distance, I am exhausted beyond the ability to rationalize my place in this system.  I have forgotten what the fur on my arms used to feel like.  I begin to sweat Dogs, from the mouth, like a Dog.  (This is the work of God, I am told, and I would howl to him if I were a dog.)

I have been scratching in the dirt, tugging at my
chain, and snorting in frustration every time
the Man walks by.  He notices me, but acts as if
he does not; as if he does not know that I am
hungry; as if he does not know that I'd tear out
his throat; as if he does not know that I need to 
fuck; as if he does not know that I am 
thoughtful.  Give me but one opportunity, God, 
and I will reduce him to me.  I will string him 
behind me and fail to take notice as he makes 
less than shit.

          The Man Man replacing the roof beneath the Good Orange Sun has been sweating Dogs and Cats since early this morning.  His mouth is broken open, unhinged at the jaw, and his Cats have entered our system.  This Man Man has begun to swallow our simple house whole.  Whole, his Feline Men are predators, and the Rabbits and Squirrels and Birds, having suffered innumerable losses, are not.  The Rabbits have burrowed beneath our Good Green Earth.  The Birds have taken flight above it.  But the Squirrels, they cower, perched atop a telephone wire, piss and shit dripping from their underdressings, as they wait for the predator Feline Men to throw rocks at them and bare their nubby fangs.  The Man Man is full and belches beneath the Good Orange Sun, upon the Good Green Earth.  God is smiling down in beams to him and his Feline Men.

I am not wearing pants, as had been previously
stated, and I am not shitting upon the earth
and Feline Men because I am frightened, but 
because they are beneath me.  They are one 
with my fecal matter, and they are one with my
urine, and they would be one with my nuts if I
had any.  If I could, I would nest in the hollow
head of feline man, move in my grass, wood 
chips and acorn tops, and yank his limbs
until he assumed the dumb stance of a tree.  I
would then dress myself, head to toe, in his 
hide.

          I am peeling off my leather the color of the sky, and I have become black beneath it.  Everything has strayed from the plan.  The hair on my arms has grown black, thick, and coarse.  The Good Green Earth is laughing at me.  I can smell the Squirrel from his perch, which is quite a distance away.  The Man Man is fat with house and coiled around a nearby tree.  The Good Orange Sun... GRRRR!  What?  What was that?  What is happening to me?  I feel like... ROAR!  Where is my shirt?  Where are my underdressings?  If only Man Man had not eaten my mirror, I would make an observation of myself.  Wait...  What are the Feline Men doing?  How did they get up there?  Squirrel!  Look out!  This is... AHHHOOOOOOOHH!
This, as my animal, needs to be in a designated
place of me, which is my belly.  I have cooked
and eaten me, and I have assumed the
ignorance of Feline Man.  I have cracked the
little plastic container, and Africa is a dream
beneath the good orange sun.  God is with me,
and he is not a disagreeable fellow.  I am no 
longer positioned between my education and
my creative process, and the loneliness I feel
can be assimilated into a more precise action.
Posing?  Learning?  Reacting?  Not anymore!
I am free!

Man Man: SSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
Feline Man: MEEEOWWW!
Man: BARK!  BARK!
 
                                               Flying above it all, I have seen many unusual 
                                               things.  Man is no longer Man.  Man Man is no 
                                               longer Man Man.  And Feline Man...  well, let's 
                                               just say I won't be landing any time soon.  I've 
                                               not been able to reach the walls of this cage,
                                               no matter how far I've flown in any direction,
                                               and I'm beginning to wonder what this might
                                               mean.  Am I now Man?  Is this now my domain?
                                               These animals below me sure are pretty, but
                                               I'm getting awfully hungry.  Perhaps I'll just
                                                    swoop down for a quick snatch of food.  Yes.