“THEORETICALLY”

“This  ole  sot

Theoretically  is   empty,”  he went,

“Momentarily  anyways.”

Faces death, & all that rot,

Not to say, not so long before  he’s meant.

He sifts scenery…all Regret.

But m’Lord of Mercy. .That scent!

 

“More of whatcha  got,”

Forwarding his fine glass there,

“Don’t stop  just yet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HOW THEN THE HEAVENS POURED

“I took a nap and wept for no reason”
~ Jim Harrison  from Songs of Unreason 

 

Should I get older

I recognize me,  more blind,

Crinking my neck back, there, as

I look up at the cliff terrace

And at a windowed hideaway behind,

It’s not so unapproachably high,

Fixed over our Pacific, finally,

That we thought might couldn’t be.

Hard rain, hell, wept down  a wet

That mixes well w/regret, on my shirt

.

2

.

One can look past all our four shoulders

From inside the glass wall,

(We sat back in our Adirondacks)

And maybe just make out

What we’re watching and talking about.

A man closely following his own footsteps

The long stretch of the shore,

But looked up at the both of us,

Hand in hand, and how then the heavens poured.

.

.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHE WAS THE FIRST TO GO

 

 

 

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

.

.

.

(2012)

IF I MINDED

I’ve been biding my live time

My trivial “real”-life trials

All the challanges this chuff can ignore

All the more he might’ve  imagined

If i minded any more

For somehow here  and not

For somewhere not

ASSIGNMENT BLAME

Still nights I will not change I will cringe

I’m tightly bound to make  my inner fringe

Break down  in private next door rooms

They’ll up & drop tears  from my say  they assume

I’ve meant no harm  though my charm

Might be misplaced /  an anvil fills my frail arms

.

.

.

 

 

“The Artist’s Dream” by Emil Holarek

CHOSEN PRE-DAWN ALCHEMY

 

 

There’s some/
Confusion/ some/ frustration
Smack immersed  in blue smoke,
Go check up the projection booth.
“I couldn’t  and  shouldn’t
Have ordered this show.
And that’s just  truth.”

Way  wrong epic screenplay
Is not long enough.
If there’s subtle subtext
It’s lost in the rough.
We know how helpful laughtracks go,
My own master is so diasterly low
It’s just too private a joke.

I’ve known
You’ve drawn yr own conclusions.
My own solutions are silly as  shepherds are  asea.

Desires and Go-forth fires   I’m put out.
Dire old deserts. It’s cold certainly.
I’ve a drought to drink about.
For me, chosen, pre-dawn alchemy,
Actually,
Chosen, is  a good chaser.

AT TOMORROW’S WINDOWS

By Thursday

I should, surely

Feel  fully  aware.

.

They’ll mull some, say,

Seeing his stare.

There, unascertainable  hazes

Of tomorrow’s torrents of rain

The throbs & throes

At  windows

There, torments

There, painfully free

 

 

 

 

“Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
~C.G. Jung~

 

 

 

Like Consequences, Early

 

As rising tides of daylight’s ocean/

Slice wide  through the blinds & the shrubs behind the blinds,/

The sun,/

Regretfilled notions/

Upset upon me   1  by  1/

Apparitions

Frozen Rhyme

Sure I can

Be shy of  decision after decision

I can   stay still

While  all the world

Will whirl as it will

& when it’s all done

I’ll stay stiller yet

But not inside  I bet

How Then The Heavens Poured

Should I get older

I recognize me,  more blind,

Crinking my neck back, there, as

I look up at the cliff terrace

And A windowed hideaway behind,

Not so unapproachably high,

Fixed over our Pacific, finally,

That we thought might couldn’t be.

Hard rain, hell, wept down a wet

that mixes well w/regret, on my shirt

.

                                                  2

.

One can look past all our four shoulders

From inside the glass wall

On the backside of our Adirondacks

And maybe just make out

What we’re watching and talking about.

A man closely following his own footsteps

The long stretch of the shore,

But looked up at the both of us,

Hand in hand, and how then the heavens poured.