hope undressed

we wander like ghosts
roaming fields
cerebral streets
neural pathways
school buildings

the clocks tick
we cannot concentrate
it is the ghosts that tick
we cannot comprehend
a word of this

and our minds
are as windows onto the rain
our thoughts
when least entertained
subside like
ripples on water
when the wind dies

we are multitudes
suppressed
but our hope
when undressed
is an education
with no words
a sacredness
with no religion

a dozen donuts (haiku)

it's funny how
we ask the donut guy
to choose for us

all points Now

pen and paper in the morning
pen and paper in the dull afternoon
turning tides
scritching out notes
in the after birth of early evening
blown by winds unseen
inside

gusts, any which
way
but where I'd like
or deem possible

won’t let me be
yet can’t persuade me
and by the same token
could never un-make me

and I have discovered
an idea leaking
from the roof of my mouth

I have traced it back
to my brain
cranial drip
eclipsing faulty reasoning

pen and paper in the brown shadow dusk
ironing out the lake of past
drowning the tidal wave of future
allowing the present to be lopsided

discreet ripples
lulling me to strip and dive into
the pool of Now

Siamese Twins

if you want Yin
feel free, take her
there she is --
your next Olympic bed-jumping partner
all you ever wanted

now, if you DON'T want Yang,
I'll tell you the secret
-- you're out of luck

here he comes
the next morning
with a shot-gun

he is attached to the mistress
they are like Siamese twins
attached at the hip
spinning in harmony
until a bozo like you comes along
and thinks you can enjoy one
without the other

and when Yang comes
you will swear off womanizing
for life

and this will last
until Yin seduces you again

I'm not saying you have to swear off romance
or pleasure, no
you'd just be inviting the same cycle
but in reverse

you don't have to forego Yin
just respect Her
while keeping your wits about you

then when Yang comes in the morning
He will come with a soft mat
for meditation or exercise;
He will come with coffee or chai

he will come as your servant
and your confidant

this is the Way
this is happiness
and true contentment

no destination

there is no destination
just infinite encasements
nested obscurations
there is no refutation

we have no proof of being
can't see for the seeing
are slow to know solutions
or see through the corruption

attempt your confiscation
lift the haze invading
choose your side cascading
out of definition

we're playing with a time bomb
pulling at its wires
call me out as terrorist
or slave to my ambition

I'll tell you one more thing
you do not want to hear
the man that stands before you
is not the one you fear

and you yourself aren't solid
an apparition vanished
in and out of being
where all the money goes

lines so sure

floating landscapes
mud-orange, radish-red
a hint of a splash of yellow hovering above
hills falling at each other’s feet
like swallows, flying in clusters
losing themselves in one another

lines so sure, so true
there is trust involved here
the artist may have been close to her mother,
a locus of self-assuredness

the jumble at the foreground
is a blood-purple march of spears – battle foliage and the sky, the ceiling – misty
regretful, like the heart of a girl on her way
to her first day at pre-school

Happy Dog

it's the throw-away
it's the sink-hole
it's the first night out
in a while,
the soul of the moon presiding

it's melancholy
how it feels and sounds
against my ear

lips of velour sadness
kiss and whisper
terrible things
that flatter me

"Peaceful Easy Feeling"
the lady sings,
sitting in with the band

and this tasty Gennessee Cream Ale,
crisp and conniving against my throat
so honorable for its cheapness

and tonight
I can be
gone for awhile here
wondering how
I've survived so long
being so fucking
correct