Archive | December, 2014

first this, then that

29 Dec


first breakfast in polka dotted pajamas

then on a highway in the rain

without remembering the transition

in between.

first walls closing in

then wide open fields of marsh grass.

the same for so long, as far as the eyes can see,


to a hospital emergency

or shattered glass in 10 million pieces

requiring immediate attention;

how miraculous – preordained –  all appears.

grasping the immenseness of the mossy rock’s world,

clutching the car keys in a fist,

dropping a towel that was being shaken out,

a shoe not fastened, a cell phone in the water,

forgetting to go to the bathroom for hours,

until like a child running to make it in time.

all the same –

the clear blue sky,

nothing but blue and sun


on the horizon, a wall of gray, now navy, now black

marching clouds – an approaching army of mountains.

now, flip flops in december and stripped down single layers


around the corner a character with icicles on his nose

dances to his delayed entrance,

hoping to lick the bare skin

of those who dawdle,

with his frozen tongue.


what is there to do?

soften the gaze

and let the mouth hang open:


as is clearly mandated




inside job

25 Dec

Where I am x and  x is = to ∞ ,

why do I ever go around as if

x is = to all that I can see with my eyes and finite?

What sort of geometry and algebra

has to be proofed

again and again –

the same problem in different words –

for a pupil who refuses to draw on the board?

That we are christ-ing

seems suddenly clear.

We are learning to see:

the potential of endless –

the true value of forever –

the reality of all possible –

instead of counting the change in our pocket

and calling ourselves poor.

The same flame that lights the

brightest –  largest stars

somehow resides immaterially immortally immensely

within the material

of us.

A miracle such as this

is overlooked;

we glance beyond our own pregnant

emptiness into plastic dime store glitter.

We squint through blackened windows

shouting out,

who is there?

Who has come to save me?

Today, I feel

like wearing a white

robe, closing  my eyes,

my hands facing out to bless us all,

while I withdraw

to the fireside gathering

in the middle of my dark hollow chest.

From here,

rises the Titanic –

from here

the budding of all flowers opens –

from here I hear –

the pop of  the champagne cork

of endless joy

for what we make suddenly appear from

within our black magician hats.

Tonight and always now I am hiring myself

for the job – that I used to hire out.

I am just beginning to see the irony

of the inside job.

What a joke I play on me.




11 Dec

We have circles under our eyes,

us night shoppers.

We smile sheepishly at each other

for being discovered to be the dark dwellers

in search of our day-to-day

at such unseemly times.

An old and familiar menace

on my shoulder under Target lights

on the toilet paper aisle at 9 PM,

Hello, demon.

You have climbed on

and pinched me

in a tight fold between

my shoulder blades

for far too long!

You come with the to do’s,

the have to’s,

the then and then and then

listing of life.

You shove must at me!

Your discordant chord incessantly

in my ear,

with the drop dead finishing I have created for myself,

yank me out of the moment

and back into the dream.

I say, if you ain’t going to dance, demon, you can fly on out of here.

I will sit in a bean bag chair for the hell of it

on aisle 54.

You night shoppers,

and you

the devastated man buying to supply

a whole kitchen tonight,

Here’s how we are going to do:

You know the sale on printing paper?

You just write it all down;

get all your doing on a list, then

fold it up into an airplane –

See if you can hit me on Aisle 21B where I am buying cat food.

That starving stray cat will cry no more on my doorsteps in hunger,

for he finally made it to the list that I airplaned over to you.

transdimensional linguistics

8 Dec

Of course there are runes, bones, stones; look no further than your palms, stare at those sip kissed and wasting leaves, peer into a clear glass of water.

Of course little pictures are etched out on rock walls.

Everything speaks.


Space is never still but you can get there in the language of the quivering air, off just enough from the drone of traffic and incessant human talking,

—–to where even the dead, tall stalks of grass release information and recognize you as their own.

All at once you know.

These words are not quaint, or primitive, or simple and they are produced not in syllables made from breath over vocal cords, but in seed pod packets and pockets of not yet birthed insects

dormant in the cold season, yet still knowing,

in a place where the wind and water and salt and sand swirl into inky caldrons, waiting for you in this form.

yo no sè

6 Dec


I don’t have a plan.
I don’t know what is coming.
I sometimes forget my age and my name.
The unconstructed parts of the self
are laid out on the floor
not matching the diagram pictures.
I’m missing two nuts,
one wrench;
Part A doesn’t easily slide into Part B.
The counter-clock-wise arrows
on page two must be wrong!
Perhaps the technical graphing
was composed in the southern hemisphere
where water drains
in reversing tornado swirls?
I’m beginning to question
the whole process of composition.
Perhaps the parts that make a whole
can linger for a while

in parts

all acting on their own accord.
A little corporation I am
with an accounting department,
a culinary wing,
a corrupted think-tank
with no conclusive evidence to report.
The cosmic broom
sweeps eventually
into the dustbin
whether I am put together
or not
for recycling.
This composting
is no tragedy,
this trip back to
flickering light
in its smallest
intentions for goodness,
to build
again and again,
from Aphrodite
to throbbing amoeba
crushing on the slimy mould
next door.

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