ENNUI DANCE

July 20, 2018

“And this is the simple truth–that to live is to feel oneself lost” – Soren Kierkegaard

G L I M P S E
A trance makes its appearance here  as
placid lakes pull fog up tight,
elsewhere perfect light there
sets to subtle sonatas
for Dance,
for ponderance and if
tucked not too loud  in a cloud. tonight
if OK  I guess I may  get my own drift.
Or glance.
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.                                                                                                        (old rhyme in a box,2008)
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s t I N K
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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,
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from nothing.
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I’VE IVORY
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Shiny gold pen when an old
Shade-off light bulb
(it can be a candle)
Best Klieg-lights this crèche ,
Best showcases this birthplace.
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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…!
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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

 

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“Those bells’ve been ringing now for years, Someday I’ll give it all away,

That’s how you sing Amazing Grace”      -LOW, from “Amazing Grace”

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As specified in final arrangements

The kids could only draw near enough

To temples,  & to what resembles temples,

To take big pictures, big sky country shots,

& pot shots,

For a faraway featuring of folly.

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Go down always face  down the hall,

A dawn displays holy sun rays smoke

And on the just rightly out of tune upright bass

My at rest  in peace bare-chested Daddy

Just barely jazzin up most all  of a

New England Protestant hymnal

Ones his mother Grace

Sang through  softly  over & over

Busy with handiwork  as ever

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.                                                          rest in peace bare-chested daddy

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?

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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?

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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?

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image: “Choreographed Flesh Breakdown”    Painter: Cecily Brown

ANGUISH/ RENEWAL

June 1, 2018

It’s the quicksand edge of a rain squall

It’s a sick man on the ledge of it all

It’s the shore shifting in a violent fright

In a midnight storm

In a maybe might/

A long winter before the glint and glimmer

of words onto daybreak’s birdsong,

When enough renewal’s  been suffered to,

Enough burning and churning and yearning

has been laboured through

( from 12/06)

 

“Mental anguish always results from the avoidance of legitimate suffering.”
― Stefan Molyneux

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

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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?

MY PLEA, SURE

February 14, 2018

 

 

I loved   just under my breath

Just above the collar-

Toward the back of her moon-colored sundress.

Hold on  to my breath

Hold,   & I holy hope

Right forthright for our portal opening

& if we’d once/ Go take this chance

This  achy  slow  dance is done today

This must  go & leave  t’heaven

Just one heave away

GOOD OLE COLD MORNING SONG

January 2, 2018

 

 

“Way over yonder in a minor key, Ain’t nobody that can sing like me”  -Woody Guthrie

 

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.I said  I’d sing

For you  some morning

Well We’ll wait  when we’re nearer

Near  closer your ear

I’ll sing out  without warning

It’ll be a bit absurd

I’ll hack into  newest birdsong

I will await  re-entry  then

I  pipe  up  then

(you can see his breath as he greets dawn)

Sheets down

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.”The cold front couldn’t stay out front still/

I guess you can rescue

Family plants  being killed,/

Button top buttons!,

And cheat out the chill”

MUY GOOD JOKE

December 31, 2017

picasso is said to have said

“Art  is the lie that tells the truth”.

seems  if he did, seems valid.

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(Though  some tries  along these lines

can only shine as sly & slippery lies)

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His muy good joke/

& lucky for our sake/

Actually/  the accidental awaits

us/  Fog & smoke machines make

bonfire smoke signals rise up

until unreasonably  sound  Beauty clears/

Us holding the pen? we’re  without a net nor warm blanket.

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Sure, sweating stallions are dynamic

& may have beauty

but some  Clomp! the blossoms

god & me made.

clods  now

 

I know  a show of hands

Could go help  solidify

Some  Freedom Solidarity

In  some look-in lobster  tank.

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Odds are  dismal to abysmal.

IF I can be more frank,

When the  independent  finch, for instance,

Finds her very own  airy currents home,

It’s a cinch  she might not light

(Her, broken on a branch?)  (perchance)

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When It’s one chance

We had once gone

before  on the long ground,

We  look  down.