Monthly Archives: September 2011
Back Pocket Book Entry 19
Maybe he’s a listener
but probably
not to these words.
Perhaps he can see
the thousands
of fingers
pinched
around many
writing implements
to defend, destroy, defy
his very name.
But for no longer standing,
he’s a better dam
now than ever before.
Holding in all those dreams
to not fall
on barren land
but only
irrigate the crops
worth saving
and sometimes
that’s the whole plain
and sometimes
a single
dandelion.
There is no waste.
And in leisure
play in the pool
And in school
take the swimming lesson
And in old age
wade out a few feet
for memories’
sake.
The specter above and below
and certainly before
knows,
guides and forgives
with wit
and a phrase
turned just such a way
for all folk
because sometimes
there’s a certain accent
that sells
a joke better
and pulls tears
down
to the wells
of the cheeks.
(For Langston Hughes)
Back Pocket Book Entry 18
The snake and sepia-tone
reduced by use and age.
A smolder or restoration –stoked
and blown upon,
retouched to no avail.
The eyes find no warmth
anymore.
Only the history of heat remains
the hands
have been lowered
from where the flames leapt.
Still, askance the view
after all these years
all the familiarity
was of no comfort
Even after the color faded.
In Progress
Don’t lose the sun.
The trains depart
in a blink.
The compass can reverse-
needs recalibration,
clocks stopping
means nothing
to the wheels
and the rail
and the conductor
which understands
every hill
is a dial
tuned into
time
And shadow
is petal come off the bloom.
Run-off
and blazing, its
tail
shows the path
it went
before resting
here-
for hydration,
for a breath-
to allow the scenery
to be
under it,
smothered and suffocated
for the purity
of
entering into evidence
its guilt solely for the passion
of being free.
The light drives this slave
to drapetomania,
to hide
to go unseen-
until momentarily,
it shows arms
and renegades
out of bound
in tow.
First the butterflies
will die
as it sets
up home
behind the mall,
Then the grass,
the ponds
won’t fight back,
And only the cars
will go
and stay
under bulbs
insufficient for battle.
Then the line is pushed
as expansion comes,
the trees
fall
and more the dark
overtakes day.
Cool respite from the summer
cigarettes are lit.
To stop squinting,
the black
is found
and also for screens
to be read.
Then stories of photosynthesis
fade away
where the beams
are most bright,
And the block is applied to skin.
One Of My Favorite Pieces
And all will pass
into the indivisible love
Andre Breton
Remember that -oh so long
ago when we were
ships whose sails
were not made
that day hour by
hour
And ‘oh these things happen’
But now, the winged
octopus will no longer
guide this —!
For life is not always a cabaret
Sometimes it’s just pitching
coffee cups at the trash
after consuming endless days
of creamy middles
and no wafers
in sight.
* *
Or incognito
as the signs
we’re waiting
to receive
while the unspoken words
are put out to sea
And what a shanty they’ll make
And the scurvy they’ll cure
And the doldrums they’ll surpass
And oh the cargo hulls
they’ll begin to fill
So soon they’ll
throw unnecessary passengers
overboard.