January 26, 2017
If I should shift off my myth-making, not forsaking my pathos,
I could concede defeat on conceits I’ve concealed,
Turn tail on my inner errant paths,
& Find my feet, for far, afield.
May 29, 2016
Where is the wound that shines?
Over 50 years on,
Over this, his day, on?
My back way against all this memorial day here,
I’ll intentionally send me to a ill-shielded shy there,
Back at again to that day where
I’m Far too young to fathom,
Or even notice Yr. Crevasse,
Yr Grande Malaise,
Yr. countdown…Yr. Pass.
It makes me madly think now
It takes the saddest thing to tell now..
Stuck in a stack of old NewYorkers
There’s this old drawing
A mere boy drawn in black & white
Stands on a step of his own basement, stares,
He did look down on his own livid apocalypse,
His lips, and the caption say
Here is the wound that shines
Tonight, a glint off yr. cracked onyx ring.
I lift it in my open fist to my lips.
For always, again, rest in peace, daddy 3/21/1929-5/29/1959
May 22, 2016
It’s not only at night
One ought to be quiet
So as not to .startle
A sleepwalking man
So you stay still
Mostly I still do
I wouldn’t awaken
A sleepwalking man
He’s steering past scenery
He’s deaf to the dreadful din
It’s as if imbedded in him
An old ghost holes up
And mostly he still goes
But mostly he’s expecting
. (from 2010)
April 10, 2016
“I swing the brush and was conducting the Chaos”
Got on my knees, needed & got grout out
I showered shame off my inner shins
Got out some to name nine or so sins I never believed in
I showed god everything I never believed
Fleshing out these precious hours especialiously their spectres
“But how many are fleeing anything to that?”
” ich schwinge den Pinsel und dirigiere das Chaos..” from
“Mais combien fuient rien qu’à cette idée ?” from
March 24, 2016
Or, I’d use precautions
For yr considerations, then.
“It’s worth the risks”, went
This washed-up high-wire act,
Misfortune forced his bewilderment,
Abandoned in his barren field, in fact.
I’m immune, y’know.
Let me get go through my window.
February 29, 2016
I should, surely
Feel fully aware.
They’ll mull some, say,
Seeing his stare.
There, unascertainable hazes
Of tomorrow’s torrents of rain
The throbs & throes
There, painfully free
“Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
January 1, 2016
N E W T H I N G S
M U C H
often it’s uncertain to see,
to see the true things through,
but certainly sometime’s there’s time
when surely much of what’s new
when noticed might matter
to you or rather
D U E
I fear I forget that the frail,
nearly unable, but
when a whisper of Will…
when they muster an incalculable
measure of reach
to straighten, and lean up
for what’s due.
That’s alot to wait for
The Freshest thing in the clearing
by the pond’s sunk boat,
near a nest, There’s this ringing
drop, possibly just now dotting
one leaf, left just new
by all the dew
That’s what I wait for