“THEORETICALLY”

January 30, 2019

“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.”

 

 

 

20190130_161954_Film4.jpg

 

 

 

 

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

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it can permeate a world around

it that can see it then re-see it new

and adapt it to the stage.

The symbals clash, the lights rush up. Both astound

A staring crowd.  So start up yr. casual

stroll from the wings, not forgetting yr. casual

role.

C R U M B L E D

August 29, 2015

When my time’s up,

I bet, When it’s time to settle up,

&  I’m front & back  up against the barricade,

I bet, I dare  to gawk and glare

Past the barricade.

.

I’ll scarcely be scared

Or  ever

The least bit biblically

Humbled by heaven.

.

I would

I could not  certainly see

The  foals  and fawns there,

Pups,  piglets,

&  All our infants.

Eaglets  soar  there

.

uncharacteristically,

I would not mind waiting.

still

.

.

.

“Very little grows on jagged rock                                                                                                                                        Be  Grounded                                                                                                                                                                      Be  crumbled                                                                                                                                                                   So wildflowers will come up                                                                                                                                             Where you are”

-RUMI

FORELOCK

August 13, 2015

Some girls forget what they get.
Some know,  but don’t know enough,  to go  let it go.
Some girls might save & hide it all night, then days
Bite the bullet. But I know
It could come off in their face.
The first thing/ I’m home/
All the tall drink I own/ & breakfast/
Down the hall,to my own  in her nest.
She lets me in, secretly signalling
In our speakeasy codes, a speakeasy knock,
And I’m in.
A lock.

IN OTHER WORLDS THEN

August 11, 2015

Mostly, I’m the first out
Or the first to close out.
The long cold walk to the studio I stay at,
Mostly, truth be told, steadies me alot,
It’s Then,  I woulda been  in other worlds then,  and not
Fixed   in this one
Here, Where the shadows come shifting too near &
Become way too clear like day-glow on moon-lit snow.
S’ real trick to outrun

NIGHT CURRENTS

December 10, 2014

I’m turning & tossing

For yr talk/ yr noise/

Take my private call

Of the wild/

A must call most primal/

& y’mustn’t fail to stay ’till

My tail falls off.

.

.

teachers to small children the world over,

pastors to parish,

they all will tell the pretty truth

(aside the pretty lies, “pretty lies”)

that crystalline snowflakes

are unique. unique.

and maybe later

in both

secular schoolrooms

and sunday school classes

( the world over)

small children might make snowflakes for themselves;

they’ll fold lacy paper exactly in half,

with a good crease,

and taking their round-ended scissors,

they’ll cut their very own unique cuts

so that when everyone unfolds their lacy paper

and lifts it above their heads

everyone can laugh  at their uniquenesses

.

but one thing that ministers & mentors,

rabbis & nuns will not add

is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes

are  all

alone

in their descent

on icy black currents

all their night fall

.
.

AMPLE-LESS CAMOUFLAGE

November 12, 2014

Disorder  this hour of night

Is not uncommon, alright,

This is the time & place for chaos,

For doubt, for film noir  fog & shadows.

I doubt  you get

To forget  you’re lost.

.

Disaster  at this time of late.

Unless you’re used to this ruse that states

It’s  actually  AOK,

When that’s really  some mirage

That can just mask  ample-less camouflage;

These intense trees  set against a jet black cloud storming,

A warning, in any language,

this morning.

3d7b9ba4df091060327b62bf3e51e89f

Of Final Nights

April 4, 2014

 

 

 

The taste of the spray,

Back splayed against the lighthouse wall,

Is saltier/ The roar of  final nights

Saddled on sea wall gusts

Is Fiercer/ When strength one requires

To withstand, understand, such threats

Is steadier/ The beacon’s cliff path

Is grounds for  light/ 

.

.

.

.

.

                                         (from 2011)

A P P E A R

March 3, 2014

“THERE ARE SUCH A LOT OF THINGS THAT HAVE NO PLACE IN SUMMER AND AUTUMN AND SPRING. EVERYTHING THAT’S A LITTLE SHY AND A LITTLE RUM. 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

.

.

.

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

.

.

.9acfb14d8b02cb0856dedaa081028c1aWhite Night Edvard Munch – 1901