dear friend

it's okay
to not make your bed
or brush your teeth

your lack of motivation
doesn't offend any sense of propriety in me

your stomach
is at the bottom of an empty pool
having done a swoon
off the high dive

you, my dear
could wander the world
in a haze, nose leaking,
looking for a handkerchief
or a handmaiden
to wipe your face

let the sheets
stink with sweat

go ahead

don't worry about
getting up
to use the toilet
-- you've been through a lot
and shouldn't worry about
having to call in sick

for today,
the dam broke
and flooded
your lonesome valley
with dread

I've been there

let anyone who hasn't
reserve judgment
and just
consider themselves lucky

third way

John Lennon
Paul MacCartney
radical activism
vs. passive romanticism
change the world
--or seek to win its affection

there is a third way
a third key to the Universe
an acquiescence
a peace and a leveling
a dark horse
a quiet one
love you, too
within,
and without you
a gentle voice crooning,
here comes the sun
for all the innumerable beings
for the cowherd savior
for you, Hari
for you, blue

old monk

gentle, old monk
reads Lao Tsu
and Winnie the Pooh
listens
to Paul Simon
and Van Morrison,
songs tuned
to tautness
then released
into rhythm

he collects poems
from locals
and other notables
cuts them out of chapbooks
places and pastes them
into scrapbook

draws flowers
and other birds
aloft
on the ceiling
of his solitude

decorates the day
with sweetness
and secret charity --
the strings of yarn
he ties to his fingers
to remember to pray
for all beings

mining accident

once the explosions consume
every last breath of oxygen
we blow past
this tenuous existence,
wait the interminable wait
at the final stoplight

and we are holy now
along with the cosmic glue
and the impossible numerals

we are elements
in heaven

we settle in for one endless night
at the local tavern
the seven thousand rooms furnished
with benches and tables
crafted of incandescent wood
covered with star-lace
and candles with still flames

the corners and crevices
are immaculate,
conspicuously free
of any trace
of black soot

I'd buy a round for you, old friend,
but both of our tabs are fathomless

and it could not mean as much
as the bond between two souls
who, in the last moment
each held their breath
to spare oxygen
for the other

double matinee

the term "aliens"
belongs to sci-fi features
you pay a nickel
and for the length of a double matinee
you leave the strain of time
the whine of boredom
behind you eat the feast
of green-headed,
google-eyed,
antenna-bearing
illegal immigrants
from across the ozone

while those nickels
and those starry eyes of yours
plink into jars
collected by seven-fingered hands
beyond the seam of the Universe
in a place where they will add up
collect interest
and pay off
your soul's journey
by teleportation
to an oasis of ecstasy
on a Sunday afternoon
in the dead heat
of forgotten summers
with your best buddy
and his ugly sister

shadow puppets

having eaten
a spoonful
of suture
eclipse
the future
with shadow puppets

-- the hand dog
hides the New Renaissance

the chicken,
the Apocalypse

the dragon
covers the Redemption
and the Great Peace
with utter darkness

but the light
of the triumphant blue waves
burns on through

suffering
clears the path
for laughter

the lithium club

we need to live through this
live over this
live under this
live because of this
enough of this addiction
to swinging from heaven to Cleveland
hosannas to the salt salvation!!!

these mauve capsules
as cute as bugs without legs
dissolve in our reflux, their contents
seep into our stomach lining
are picked up by the blood industry
are carried to our craniums
persuade our brain biochemistry

and after all, they simply mimic
what is already hidden in our hearts,
what lies suffocating beneath mounds
of congealed rage, shame and grief

translate new hope
into neural transmissions
simultaneously electronic and organic

and psychic blips of bliss
sweep over the airwaves
to be picked up by the animals
by the sensitive, the innocent
by aliens and the ozone
reversing what the normals have done
to the world
the normals, with their petroleum
their pollution, their sanity