as she lies there

amidst the swirling sheets of blue

and i wonder if these

speculative musings of a contrarian nature

are those words so desired

or if they ring untrue.

in nature’s strange math

we are the architects of our own stories

designing theories of another tomorrow

amongst reflections of a past imperfect

and the wet leaves today smelled like she

and here we are again

after all these years

and we breathe in the awkwardness

of situations created by the scenes

of memory both yours and mine

even if we rarely speak of them

because we know that this moment

is all we have for now and maybe forever.

the night and the moon in the window

mean that we are prone to

systematic misgivings and we know that

we have changed

the world has changed

and we wonder where all those tomorrows

have gone.

the illusory elegance of self denial

has slipped away and lament might

linger lightly on your lips but these

are the songs sung by traveling bards

and the stories told of yore.

the rain comes soft and light
so i eschew the pompous formality of the
umbrella from my seat
and lean into the delicate drops
rejoicing in the relief of the pin pricks as they
wash my sins away in the perpetuity of nature.

a day spent sweating in the sun
with hands and feet and legs churning
being the machine of a god design
working the ground, reaping the fruits
and vegetables of my labor
singing songs of memories
sweet and languorous longings
archetypal lovers in the heat
with a beat
as otis sings about his heart.

that old “dreamweaver”
as the captain calls it
comes at the end of summer
telling stories, singing songs, perhaps
providing poetry again from the place
where it all comes from, from the missing
muse, the heartache, the mountain, the
ocean, the open soul.

we spend days and weeks and months and years
on this planet and pretend we are in pursuit of
evil, mythical dragons, windmills, etc…
i heart those of action
and heroism who know the difference
between feeling it and fighting it.

Represents reality

That is to say

Everywhere and always

24/7 or whatever

Local standards may be.

In effect, I can visit you

Now in the future.

Keep that in mind.

Don’t be surprised.

take a breath

take a knee

let it all out

repeat as needed

nudging them from swaying boughs
where they’ve cradled since last spring

pushing them out

and down

falling into the faces of long shadows cast by an October sun

an ocean wave in the treetop
the sounds of surf
soft whispers
autumnal seascape

hurtling,

spiraling,

spinning

as remnant leaves linger

hangers-on waving frantically like school children

or long lost friends

who too soon called away

madly wave goodbye

breaking on the shore so many

rocks eaten by Kronos

nor is it too practiced prayer

benefiting no one.

Can you hear the word

moaned imploring a thousand years ago

somewhere in northern Germany?

“Hoffen… ”

Hope is the clash of seasons

warring to stabilize this thrashing

twirling ball where all of life

aims for eternity.

Hope is the rain

on bright new leaves

and the girl in the red dress

walking.

.

OK, listen up.

I don’t want to have to write this

Same goddamn poem again and again

There are other things to do

Of much greater

Unimportance.

I have pushed and pushed

Like a mother giving birth timelessly

To the same ugly breech born baby

Blue from lack of air

Tearing at my flesh

Over

And over.

Crept and cried at the door

Of experience

Rarely realizing that both sides

Were the same.

Awakened from fantastical dreams

But failed to harvest the crop

Letting weeds grow instead

Go to seed

Milkweed and mullein

The more beautiful to me

For their striving.

    If you want to know

    Man’s future

    Ask the crows.

As for me,

Society has no hold

Nor will I bow

To a king.

I reserve my allegiance

For those I have supped with

By the fire.

I have been out dancing

With the stars

In the far field.

To come back to the messy world

Of anxious inconsolable humanity

Requires a concentration

That evades me.

    I play

    Like a child

    With pretty stones.

What do you suggest

My fair friend?

I have helped the stranger

Hurt those I loved

Addressed the room

And hidden my face

While alone.

Sat at sumptuous tables,

The next night dined

On beans and bone.

Left lovers in the dark

For the solitude of sky,

Played at dice and darts

Against the grim angels themselves.

Listened to fools repeat themselves.

Sat at the feet of purported masters,

Smiled at the joke.

Some of us spoke to small folk

On the mountain.

So what would you have me do?

    The leaf will always fall

    Until the tree

    Is gone.

Please don’t misunderstand.

I hope to live

Until the spirit can’t be summoned

By a sunset or the moon

Or a woman’s round bottom

Or a whiff of skunk on the breeze at dusk.

These are no suicide notes.

Selfishly or not of course

Is all perspective,

Just another word for

Distance from the object

Affectioned or reviled.

No two orbits

The same.

The air is cold outside tonight

Only a few more days until spring

Wraps green arms around us all.

My father the sun

Accepts again our offerings,

Our faces raised,

Our throats exposed.

    Watching her sleep

    My heart and mind

    Made sad love.

But stop a moment and listen.

When I pass,

And I will pass,

I hope to walk away quickly with a wave

Over my shoulder

And no long goodbyes.

We had years for this

And for that,

Now we have only

What we have always claimed.

This moment.

There is to be no culmination

Of thought no

Do-over-wrought

Manifesto

No word-wracked

Xplanatations.

We will either see each other later

Or we won’t.

If you say yes, I will

Go along with you

And not even mention

The evidence.

    The fly on my sandwich

    Saw god’s face, multiplied,

    Yet like me, lived.

So listen.

Close your eyes,

Hold in breath,

Push your soul

Through the top of your head

And feel the silver pour.

Even now tears wet my face

But not for losses incurred

Nor my many failings of both

Flesh and spirit.

I have just wasted too much

Damned life with a pen

Or my dick in my hand.

To finally write a two-word poem.

    Ineffable.

    Unutterable.

deep into sleep, i see electric sheep leap, 

vaulting voltage, my dreamscape c.d.

a magnetic surge, the blood, voltaic,

varicose throughout my dense circuitry.

the drone and humming of my static rhythms 

drawl out the remote and muted void

with fine-tuned arithmetic algorithms 

to mask what my senses strive to avoid.

feedback advances the strangest of dances,

chattering teeth cast an electric mayhem, 

the cybernetic shimmy, fused of mind and matter

hardwired into my delicate brainstem

thus welded with organic computations, 

i print out a litany of mechanical sensations 

till my metal skin exudes a glorious radiation 

of bright colors and aural permutations

synonyms for calculated are ‘conscious’ and ‘premeditated’

our distant cousins, the ape, means to cut and paste, thus duplicated 

as intelligent mechanisms of information processing,

i swim upstream the river entropy towards my singular salvation.

and then i wake up.

i did not know birds had babies in winter
it was a shock to me
so i scooped them up
(after i filled the feeder with seed)
in the same cup
and threw them in the neighbor’s yard

something – or someone – will eat their tender bodies
and find it a delicacy

i didn’t know birds had babies in winter