SELECTED POEMS
the clocks’ hands
This fools the faithful
lost in their timelessness
working forever
to nostalgic music
But when they awake
I am ready and move the moon
Gravity changes
and the sun starts a new journey
The earth speeds up
as I choose
The constellations turn at my will
illusion sent to my believers
as I sit on my throne
bask in golden destruction
the ancient prophecy fulfilled
History—Me
resting from work
at the nuance factory
to regain their original nature
after a life time of time and a half
Outside flocks of poets lurk
nets in hand, ready to flick
wrists and capture
the brightest, the starkest, the most subtle,
to compose poems with them,
if life doesn’t intervene
If it does, there are always butterflies
and flotillas of clouds drifting by
the tide has churned
up for your delectation
has no body
You crack its shell
and sand pours out
What’s hollow
was heavy with promise
when you found it
and carried it home
ignorant that the gulls
had feasted first
The sun has wings
which three high hoops witness
Pastel streamers celebrate this
A green railing
near dreamed Venus
curves with its long echo
orbiting the moon of her moon
It’s really a happy kitchen
Each worm in the cabbage
is joyous
Each saw-toothed form
smiles freely
Even the question mark shimmers
flexed to new functions
On the fluid staircase
an eel sings
accompanied by fruit
configured in the polychrome sweep
of music’s new clef
If you wish to dance
the collapsible stage
put on your mock mustache
and hold the strings tightly
We’ll say the globes are balloons
and you the anchor of their universe
or when you sleep
that the floor rises to give praise
under the green banner of exhilaration
Frantic to beat the hour
Always a moment late
Never arriving to meet
the number you pick
You call out your bid
but it’s not high enough
You chase it till noon
then pay twice as much
in the press of auction
but you get it you have
it in your hand that promise
of passing it on to one
not as smart as you dumb
money the sucker you were
Surrounding yourself with light
whenever the devils arise
to suggest the ceiling may fall
and crush you as it did
when you started these speculations
you banish the thought with a sneeze
try your meditations
but the living air and the flowers
can’t quite prevail
Your plans for tomorrow intrude
Even the cat’s better off
testing the door with grace
lulled by the rain
while "you" pace the room
deaf to it all
a scowl on your face
A chair beside to extend it
More narrow than a pullman berth
I ask how I never fall off
Or do I? My dreams break
Open before reaching morning
From a napkin bits of toast
Fall off yet there ’s a closet full of plates
And when I type a letter
The sheet prints short
With pen in hand I try again
The letters wend their way to a corner
They’re cramped and I can’t read myself
so I lose food sleep and words
But when a sudden sun bursts forth
I’m so happy I burn bed ink and paper
My fingers catch fire
I ordered
the ground salted
after the houses were burned
the woman taken as slaves
How could I live with the image,
what was there when we entered and found it?
Returned to the capital, crowded and filthy,
I’d be left longing for that beauty,
not to be held, not to be had
Split between continents, I’d never survive
longing to hold what was only memory
Restless, unhappy, I couldn’t be,
for all the pheasants and oysters offered
That’s why, triumphant, I destroyed it
commanding my scribes to record it
so that all could see how it was
Nothing to grow there for ages
my boot and my flag had been planted
now that his scythe has vanished
autumn is high
and the ripe land is ready to bend?
Will everything stand as it is
as he frets and neglects his appointed
tasks, his responsibilities?
Everyone laughs—it’s a reprieve!
The flowers will last through winter
the grasses keep growing
the sedges resemble forever,
—Happy holiday! everyone giggles
as the old man bangs around the shed
and cannot find it
that curved blade with the plain handle,
his empty hand trembling
See them!
Looping clouds around dawn’s blue
They go forever magic and wordless
Hearing transcends itself
And they become realer than the first
Arithmetic...five
Finger integer toes
And the kingdoms
And the planetary progressions
If they began singing
They’d be applauded by everyone
But popularity is not their goal
Look!
One Two
The glass of volcanos
Magnifies the dreams
They shower down
In their silent presence
Arcing the sky
With great happiness
settling back to themselves
as the water stills and the dream turns to rock
Now you know your body’s heat exactly
Now you know your equivalence in stock
what the banks invest in starving nations
to keep their money breeding
Soon the sky will be plastered with dollars
soon the heavens will rain
thermometers, gauges, clocks and computers
Only the most agile birds will fly through
to the distant mountain
where law, light, fire, the word
once served
where, though the golden age was long past,
slavery was not, yet, the norm
I wore pretty blouses with no pockets
That’s why I’d never find a pencil
That’s why there’s no record of my wisdom
Still, I was almost happy
Food was plentiful
and that brought contentment
a cliche, you comment,
as I breath the June garden,
life of ease, you say,
as I linger through dawn in my bed
Correct!
I stay
and eat comfortable bread
as the world’s bombed
in my name:
Freedom
So I streaked to the nearby reservoir
Its heaven of fading stars
Truth is nothing was there
As dawn’s mild weather drew me from the car
I traced a path east from the Dipper
Leaned back to see the celestial shower
Nothing availed. And I couldn’t wait
Cold in the rising light I drove off
Impatience the reason
I’d have to imagine the unseen
Content with terrestrial music
and folded back with the bed
at the advent of clock change
and vanishes into the couch
you can bet your moon it’s time.
Yes. But there’s no need to cry
“I’m crushed” even though
the coils press
Just sing out like a good ghost
and when the cushions
muffle your voice
Sing louder
that star
from the horizon
I thrust my hand
through the frame
The sky crumbles
I pull out
the twisted arms
of a galaxy
that once
turned and burned
This proves something
The hole in the picture
is a constant reminder
of IT
their lives return
They are written back
to existence
And their razed house
stands reconstructed
From room to room
they walk
fulfill what
fire aborted
A special ink
has achieved this
Each day starts in a new country
Where is the foot fleet as mine,
the tongue able to twist to any letter
except for the Polish violin’s?
Give me some company and I’ll
ping pong words over the net of the void
We’ll descend to invisible mountains
with open arms bless the earth
whose wraiths are wailing, unheeded
I do not forget
though I’m happy
The roulette stopped where I stood
I’m not to blame
If I am alone on the page
or on the boulevard
nothing is lacking
despite the compromised air
and his guide dog is superfluous
With uncertain balance
he walks towards the bus
sunglasses askew, tilting left
New to darkness
that thick featured hulk of a man
hands of a laborer
and nose that is pure scar tissue
is blissed by her sweet attention
and grins broadly
walking slower than before
There are some compensations
they fall
into the destined bottle
each one revealing
a verse
joined to the next one
lying over and under it
rounds of birth death birth
they tell where they are going
and their dark original home
Listen!
Each common bean of the epic
constellated sings
its secret
and I give her the meat from my mouth
to keep her happy
She gives much relief
from freedom’s space
so you could say she earns it
And there’s more than enough for both of us
It’s not a question of starving
Still, at times, I do it grudgingly
confusing myself with the truly hungry
mired, as I am, in a pond of delight
with all refinements
yet calling myself generous
as I give her a tidbit…
gone to the dogs
and do a tap dance
On the street men were loading crates
or emptying garbage barrels
and I’d saunter along
with a song in my heart
voicing to the pavement
when no one could hear
I was shy
Sleep is interrupted these days
a cat jumps to my back
eager for attention
The radio never is on
to keep hell out
which filters in when I drive
expecting music
or renouncing it
I’m not a slave
Though it’s noon and I slough along
as if time were infinite
That’s my gift to the god of waste
It’s my freedom
I even complain
Meanwhile, over there, I know
starvation proceeds
that Killer is King
that Nightmare is no longer a word
in the language..that it’s only background
the wall paper of existence
where some of us eat
I can't find my speech
Where is my face
the one I believed
guessed or imagined?
Dog Town was where
my language was broadcast
tones for the moment
commands or cooing
as required
But years have passed
I’m breathing, yes, though I could not
talk with my fellows
I had forgotten how
or never knew how
could only say
“The coffee is good”
or
“What a waste this war is---
lives and time
the accumulation of human treasure”
though the beverage varied
There’s nothing new in these assertions
and such talk bores the many
seeking thrills
and the speed of stimulation
I won’t attempt to provide
As my dog licks her paws
and the other one sleeps on her chair
I close the book of my day
tongue tied
and happy
and began zapping
The wordless power of light
would annihilate demons
How else to subdue
the approaching hoard?
I had faith in the word
but it was weak
I couldn’t recall
when it didn’t exist
The animals gave hints of it
but they were vanishing
gone or in zoos
like some of our forbears
My fingers
would trigger the light
Its power would do it
I was told
But the ray gun was gone
and I couldn’t find it
My inspiration continued
nevertheless
The apparatus of my
body required it
saying nothing
Breathing in
Breathing out
at the expense of the others
But it explodes
under your finger tips
And it’s done!
Home was the prison
where you were watched
and the word was
exchanged for the curse
Did we know?
Should we have known?
I don’t know
but my guess was educated
Death’s is not
It always swears