If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

to killing time.

If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands,

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less

Jesus

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R E D H O U S E

October 11, 2016

I  can  do  candor

My favorite secret

Reads & takes stock

On a Miami-lime rocker

Far, on a Vermont autumnal

Calendar’s glossy next month’s

Promissy  call.

 

1010161718

 

 

 

 

“There’s a red house over yonder/ That’s where my baby stays..” -Jimi Hendrix

M I S C A S T

October 1, 2016

 

 

If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

to killing time.

 

If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands,

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less

Jesus

.

.

.

.

.

.

(from 2009)

 

I’m no man who takes stock

Or should be shocked by

Omens.

But I bet it was  one day

Or less,  I honestly met

Two unlucky others having,

Both, unlikely christian names..

Both  “Heaven”.

I take it I’m not too long

On this old

Achy world?

Just because I joked

Last night  at friends

Arthritis in my hands

Might makes it easier

It takes not so slow

To let go of the rail?

 

 

 

AFTER SHE LEFT (Excerpt 1)

August 23, 2016

It’s nonsense you live on

As a sensitive one

False walls should fall

As you give pause to yr farce

I doubt insulation bubbles

Pop so fun  when you can’t stop so

And  open  up

Wounds  et al.

 

 

 

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truely unaware of

(is  ’truely’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine

(is  ’current’  the correct word?)

the stolen ones, emboldened lies

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

are all born, arabesque,

of an open pen pumping onto paper,

.

from nothing.

A D A P T I O N

July 31, 2016

 

 

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it might permeate a world around

It that can see it then re-see it  new

and adapt it to a 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.

 

 

.

.

(from 6 yrs ago)

I B I S

July 10, 2016

“Just be quiet and sit down/The reason is you are drunk/And this is the edge of the roof”                                                                                                                       -RUMI

“…And be prepared to bleed”   -Joni Mitchell, from “I Could Drink A Case Of You”

.

They spin me ’round  one time, two

At three, they scattered then, their laughter

Left with them, leaving me to

Compose  myself

To something that may matter

.

2

There’s Ibis outside, on my back lawn, my rain.

And I have

To photograph them there,

Then, stage the image at DeviantArt or Flickr,

Where some drummer will steal it

(good eye & hand talent, w/the accent on eye)

Then, those Ibis will be  re-staged

On their “releasable” CD cover,

Or maybe on his big bass drum.

Maybe if I was loaded or dumb

I’d upload it to Facebook

So high school “friends” (we kept it mum)

May be bored enough snoops…

They’ll  see my birds,

Then back,  Away.  Poof

I’ll snoop myself/ Craigslist for free

“Missed Connections” is the only place

To see who’ve noticed your face

And wanted you,  destinyly.

 

 

UNBURDENED (Unfinished)

June 23, 2016

One  way  to  be  unburdened

Might be   small talk, not hearsay,

A  Big-hearted  acumen,

Bare  arms,  &  mercy

 

BREATHING EXERCISES

June 12, 2016

 

 

She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take,

When I dream (or wake).

to take  another Breath before

The scene fades, before

lights go up

then down  to more of a zoom.

She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.

II.

We went to go to a yoga class.

Where a barefooted, hairpleated group leader;

beautiful, and calmer than a

merciful last coma,

She insisted that our deep Breath is

the gist of all of it  (within, & out).

We rearrange the short & tall of it.

The Gist to change the depth, see,

of our sea of possibillity.

When we inhale

we rememorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To that.

III.

When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

This one will disrobe & run so,

I’ll try out the drink,  1st thing.

I’ll try not to think when I try to let go

&  sink when I deadman’s float all day,

into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.

I’ll hold onto my Breath,

face down,

head down.

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