S W I N G S

July 11, 2018

“What you gain on the hobby horse,
You lose on the swings”
-Van Morrison, from “Thanks For The Information”
.
.
Before me, befitting my day’s end
I can make sunrise’s spray  a sandstorm
I can take salsa splayed on something cheesy
I can carry time’s weight easy
And that’s a comfort

Before sleep, I’ve always shunned introspection
An unexamined life ain’t worth missing sleep
I can forget my regrets
I downplay the way-unsound passionate
That can sorta be a comfort

.When men & women must contend
That son of man will first extend
A hand to broken men
That’s some comfort
.
In a faraway hometown here
With a faraway feel
This dream is a theatre feature
They some seem to run off track
Reel to reel
.
I’m secure in
It’s recouring

That’s some comfort
.

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AGAINST DARK

June 30, 2018

Perhaps it’s our cats
but I hear somebody sobbing
I swear
The sun hasn’t risen to rinse things
& I lock the door.
.
I’m steadily still intent on
Instilling something graceful
On all my faces
I’ll force & offer up
Some strong move
Something Nureyev

.

.

.

for Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber

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

NURSIE DEAR

May 23, 2018

I’ve dreamt of an angel nursie dear

Near  she sat and pat my brow

Her half-smile warmed me with more light, more hope here

I fell back on my fevered pillow

.

.

.

Why? Why by chance you’re my Florence Nightengale

That grows pale at my rows of wounded

& Hard-headedly disclaims, “All is tainted”

But goes on blinking out your saint eyes

All the shadows god’s light must have painted?

16F

May 14, 2018

A windowseat is great

In an all night diner

It was unfair the Airport

Shorted  me  enough

Stuffed me, a long-legged  man

With a long-winded rant

I stifled in my windowseat.

.

My legs were cropped up crinkled

Like the babies sitting next me

Their cries exited and were emitted freely

Some cries  deep inside  deep inside me.

.

I bet one windowseat would be great

In a darkened diner

My inner world would wander

That  eighteen  wheeler

Lots of legroom  not so tight

Roads to walk  upright

 

B L I N D I N G

February 27, 2018

“Ill  at  ease”

Will be one accurate way,

When  I can think then straight about it,

One apt way to shout it.

They  say  they

“Say it as it is”, (they’re pissed)

They say  ” just being honest, man”

“No B.S.  man” (slurring pissed)

They’re weak to only “speak their minds”.

And when I,

Gently as I can,

Retranslate to that guttural, but frank tongue,

I  see

They’re consequently

Hurt.

&  then there’s me  in this blinding  open lot

W/blood on my shirt.

THE IMMENSE ANGLE

February 14, 2018

 “The eternal angle
Between land and sky
Divided by the wind
The immense angle
Of the straight road
Divided by a wish”
.
                                   Excerpt from Federico Garcia Lorca
.
.
.N O   B U R D E N
it’s clear
god’s an accomplice
in our deception
the perfect crime
for the church of no burden ;
our chances,  our exchanges, our chime
 I have allowed me
my grey canvas, my grey cloud forecast,
you have spoiled me
with your spill of colour,
your display, your vase of colour
your face.
I’ll stir those blends of colour
on a broken palette piece
no burden
&  start to start to understand
to masterplan my masterpiece
it just might
be a study in dark and light
direct light smooches in a diner lot
like lovers do
the side of her that faced the sunrise, new
I cupped my hand to shade  her face, that’s what I do
Keep my love in shadow
but her cheek was hot
.
.
.
.
   (from 2006, & still, for sunni)

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)

RYE INROADS

August 4, 2017

On  inroads, scraping,

& Faced with less escaping;

One  reclamation.

.

.

I’ve  erased  all boasts

Of   encroaching  clarity.

Thought I’d caught a glimpse.

 

I SEE MY PRE-DOOM ROOM

July 24, 2017

 

 

I sweat my bed.

I do all  but dread  there,

One hundred undraped  dreamscapes.

I’d replay and replay

Heaven’s elevator tunes on tape.

Is it true  I did

Fluid-loss & exhaustion,

All that turning and tossing?

I sweat my bed.

First thing is shower head to head,

It takes cold water to weigh

This old man awake to stay down,

Away from high ground.

.

I’d  walked  hard

To find my feet,

To find a way unled

In this far town.

Winds of that farthest town

Of hers are zephyrean dread.