s t I N K
.
of all the lies
in the air
that this liar
is truly unaware of
(is ’truly’ the right word?)
of all the lies
casual and caressing there
the air currents n
night blooming jasmine
(is ’current’ the correct word?)
My golden ones have come from…
(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)
emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,
from an open pen draining onto pages,
.
from nothing.
.
.
.
I’VE IVORY
.
Shiny gold pen when an old
Shade-off light bulb
(it can be a candle)
Best Klieg-lights this crèche ,
Best showcases this birthplace.
.
On my knees
To lure verities, (surely, scour our trees)
To cure maladies,
Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,
Whisper one less lonely
Wise, recognizable incantation.
Take this shiny gold pen…!
.
It’s nearby, go forth, go further.
I clear my path,
& Go over…
& I’ve Ivory!
Simba’ s mammoth cemetery!
(they must go in deep)
Precious sunned bones poised on as symbols
Archetexture actually
I take a sacred see of symmetry

 

20150727_090324

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June 21, 2018

“I see today that everyone on earth
wants the answer to the same question
but none has the language to ask it.”

– Jim Harrison

.

.

.

I’ll swear I’ll answer

To some other

Gruesome monster

Than me,

& my gal,

Higher powers,

Et  al

In fact I’ll face up

Soon as the sun’s up

E D G E S

June 9, 2018

 

Realer!   I like light now

Up upon this  here theatre

Wake  upend  my mists

I dread this dreamy

Why can’t I come to?

.

Pink & peachish Cecily swirls

Boisterous moistness will flow

Within this frame, in this inside denied

I dread this dreamy

Why can’t I come too?

.

Paths for barefeet, in time, will lead some

Down to unknown & full blown Utopiatown

Fixed up & finished  for fun and contentment

Far back in bed from this dreamy

Why can’t I come too?

.

.

.

 

image: “Choreographed Flesh Breakdown”    Painter: Cecily Brown

NIGHT SWEATS

June 3, 2018

“I feel my failure intensely
as if it were a vital organ”
– Jim Harrison

.

.

 

It’s more than coincidence how

That “pillow” rhymes with  “shadow”.

If I had to,

& the sense  to know,

I’d set dark dreams aside.

If I lied some, & thought things

As tied up,

I’d fake it some, I’d hope

For another wide enough break,

& more loose rope,

& this broken cup

I hold my spirits up.

.

.

.

C A S K

April 6, 2018

There’s a cask of Chianti

With Leo Da Vinci

On the label like it took from a notebook

But my curiosity sought the imagery

My  thirst  might  evoke.

.

The cask stands upon a piano

Like a candle in the window

Not a word about the new chords

Almost heard in the darknesses, a solemn oath

Not a word about the new chords.

I’m finding  the fix is in

 

The re-regrets  &  vexed reveries

 

Prove more pronounced this evening and

 

Soft  beats  a  sleeplessness

 

That only a cozy unsolved misery

 

Can sidle up too

ADVENTUALLY

February 8, 2018

 

“..the inevitability of

heart death and heart soar and heart sick and heart ache..”     -EvelynAdams/

 

https://tenaciousiceberg.wordpress.com/2015/12/04/writers-wall-as-tall-as-the-sky/

.

.

.

It could be worst

When I would hear

It from good sources,

Maybe a back-alley liar.

His last words.

.

Not a sliver as clever as Wilde,

But ever so slightly, absolutely abstract & absurd

His last words

Might all have been,  “I’ve waited.  Awhile.

All night. Save dawn. I’ve waited.  Until

Watching was silly.

No cues came. No signs sang.

No news hit the front porch.

I waited & watched.

I still wait for bell rang.

I still hold a torch.”

SHE WAS THE FIRST TO GO

August 18, 2017

 

 

 

It might have been one long neon light

In the laundromat that set her off

When it flickered & popped

At us/ All of us up late

Our eyes were hypnotized some

All bets were off

On what might happen

She was the first to go

To distract us from our books & hand-machines,

Pull us from our puzzles, also  our magazines

Her  saying all that nonsense  fouled by fire

Interrupted  that late night scene

Her  calling  names  out

All intense,  Her pleas

We stared some  & stuck out that someone’d stop her

Her call to fallen reveries

Her  own  effin reveries

.

.

.

(2012)

from Dark

June 14, 2017

I’ll start.  It’s so dark you’ll know

Your thefts of thoughts

There  left to grow

Then grabbed!

Black  blossoms

Profuse

Still proceeding from its seeds  plus

Silence, from its silence.

.

.

Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.

.

I swear here’s where the strings swell in

 

IF I MINDED

June 7, 2017

I’ve been biding my live time

My trivial “real”-life trials

All the challanges this chuff can ignore

All the more he might’ve  imagined

If i minded any more

For somehow here  and not

For somewhere not