APPEARANCES

October 21, 2019

EDVARD MUNCH

“SOME KINDS OF NIGHT ANIMALS AND PEOPLE THAT DON’T FIT IN WITH OTHERS AND THAT NOBODY REALLY BELIEVES IN. THEY KEEP OUT OF THE WAY ALL THE YEAR. AND THEN WHEN EVERYTHING’S QUIET AND WHITE AND THE NIGHTS ARE LONG AND MOST PEOPLE ARE ASLEEP
— THEN THEY APPEAR.”
TOVE JANSSON, MOOMINLAND MIDWINTER


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the night fills book shelves

of  newselves

and ghosts ancient  that go silent
 
after you dare to glare it down.

the night fills full boxes

of hoaxes

all honest, bold-faced hazy facades

and full frontal epiphanies

BETTER BET

October 12, 2019

Maybe I can meet you

After my shift, hell after all my shifts

I’ll come to you from the usual dark

The black from the outside

Will brighten some on your skin

We’ll be less dissatisfied

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If  when  we  go  off

With all of our ghosts, when we lift

We’ll come to ditch the usual dark

That black from outside

With more tempered dreams to venture

To be less dissatisfied

STILL, THERE WAS THAT LIGHT

January 24, 2019

She won’t remember when  without a word we wandered
Dark collegetown neighborhoods.
Where were the dogs & cops? I wondered.
We were thrilled for the night still.
Still, there were all the satellites.
And very still, there was that light
In a candlelit picture window.
It gave a silhouette, a shadow  readying a bed.
Buffing up a sheet, she showed us,
(My sister Janny and me),
Her heart-stopping Beauty;
A silent ballet shadow show that
We acknowledged.
Her walk-stopping ethereal naked lines.
Then we  continued on, still wordless.
Then got stiller yet.

BIT OF A RECLUSE

January 23, 2019

It could be I got bit
Three times by a recluse spider.
Here in the sub-tropics
Where recluse spiders are a risk
But I’m a bit of a recluse, too.
I like the dark,
My own time, & whiskey.
Oh, the friends and kin they call me;
They go “Cool Guy!”,
Man, they might  “Night Falls”  me.
When  there’s  three red moons on my arm,

They all do enthrall me,
Almost with their own flow chart.
It’s dangerous art,
Three red, full moons on my arm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My uneasy manner may wear
Against a midnight and on
Persistent are
Green bottle shards

again & again
Against a reef

a Lighthouse
over sees

yet overlooks

G A U G E S

September 11, 2018

 

 

“Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.” -Hippocrates

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.“In the fog you are sheltered against the outside world, face to face with your inner self. Nebulat ergo cogito.” (fog therefore I think) -Umberto Eco
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There’s fog.
Then, there’s people landing planes at all hours.
There’s dogs chasing birds
on runways. And one way those people in those towers
can plan to, and see to, land planes is
the guts to go with the gauges.
They heartfelt  dealt with data,
Trusted all they’d seen
on their farforeign &; onlyman-made monitor screen.
As dogs flushed their fog,
hands hover over lights
and cover their old bets,
their usual action.
,
, from 2009

Splash something stronger at the base of my pint glass

It’s  more  fertile  earth

For to birth the guts & gas

One might need at night

To go on   & drive clear off

Dark  high-wire  highways

Onto red dirt, rolling on cooling red dirt, to dead ends

So bleak  a laugh comes out as a clearing cough

My Lofty Thoughts

November 24, 2017

It’s not been my story   to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even fake  the worry

About what I have, What would I want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead/

I said/

It’s  a body afloat, & its solid thoughts  float too, y’know/

& My Lofty thoughts  not  caught  oughta ride

On all tides too  High and low

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.                                                                        (from way back)

SHE WAS THE FIRST TO GO

August 18, 2017

 

 

 

It might have been one long neon light

In the laundromat that set her off

When it flickered & popped

At us/ All of us up late

Our eyes were hypnotized some

All bets were off

On what might happen

She was the first to go

To distract us from our books & hand-machines,

Pull us from our puzzles, also  our magazines

Her  saying all that nonsense  fouled by fire

Interrupted  that late night scene

Her  calling  names  out

All intense,  Her pleas

We stared some  & stuck out that someone’d stop her

Her call to fallen reveries

Her  own  effin reveries

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(2012)

I SEE MY PRE-DOOM ROOM

July 24, 2017

 

 

I sweat my bed.

I do all  but dread  there,

One hundred undraped  dreamscapes.

I’d replay and replay

Heaven’s elevator tunes on tape.

Is it true  I did

Fluid-loss & exhaustion,

All that turning and tossing?

I sweat my bed.

First thing is shower head to head,

It takes cold water to weigh

This old man awake to stay down,

Away from high ground.

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I’d  walked  hard

To find my feet,

To find a way unled

In this far town.

Winds of that farthest town

Of hers are zephyrean dread.