habitat

lichen, pond scum and decay
the bog, smelling musty, grotesque, marvelous
belonging wholly to the realm of the Earth

what are we to make
of a habitat of corrupt human beings?

it is just a landscape, a microcosm of the cosmic mind

knowing it as this
a monument of stink
who would place blame?
who would judge or concern themselves?

as nature moves through us
cleansing our putrid wounds
as all things must pass
not even despair can last

unto herself (for everybody's Jerusalem)

the sounds of blue and black and yellow
the sun wearing its masks
me, you, Jew, Christian, Muslim, concerned bystander
spits her rays at fate
lays down upon setting
no mask to hide her becoming
what she has dreamt
an urgency through the night to wake,
to arise to light her own path through the sky

what I learned and what I unlearned

what I learned

and what I unlearned

through a covering of sparse nettles

I was so close to breathing

to the ghost of freedom



lay your hands at your sides

the fur inside your throat

you wheeze and claw

but no succor comes


lay down

in the path of the storm

it will assault your soul

and then will pass,

your brilliant compassion,

sparkling with fresh light,

left raw to the coming dawn

three’s a Tuesday morning

a cane
with the doorknob
as a hook

an old couple
and a third wheel
drink coffee
eat pastry

the third, a talker he is
leads or commands
the conversation

demands their attention
in exchange
for a Tuesday morning's
diversion

from thoughts of
aches and operations
from children
and grand- and greatgrandchildren
with smaller worries

haiku -- snow

snow like a superhero
dives in, shrewd and self-assured
to warm our chafes and wounds

inner and outer

as inner and outer are linked,
don't let your worse inclinations
leak into manifestation

Spatchcocking (or, what we learned from Rachel Ray during Thanksgiving)

the idea is simple
take a Thanksgiving turkey
cut out its spine
and flatten it in the roaster
for a cooking time of two hours
whereas white and dark meats
cook evenly, at the same rate

the truth of it is
you have to come very close
to bruising your atrophied bass guitar fingers
cutting away at the spine with small scissors,
remove a long slug of meat that does somehow
resemble, shall we say, a spatchcock

then you place the 15 pound fowl
on the kitchen floor
on top of a garbage bag
and stomp the crap out of it
through another bag on top
until the breastbone breaks
with a sickening WHAP!

best freaking TG turkey, though,
EVER!!!!!

swept away

the portion of clay
we receive for having come to this place
the writ of ownership, forged on flash paper
the family members who are failing
the core of the incomparable Self we must ferret out
the questions we ask, the answers we evade
that something that nothing can erase
the friends we make in dreams
we tell them we will meet again
a promise we do not know how to keep
we are swept away in eddies of creation
here, now, nowhere
the fact of our very existence has no place
to lay its head

sideshow, ATL

"We got Pea-nut But-ter and Jelly,
Ma-ca-ro-ni and CHEESE!""
bald and elderly, he challenges the children
who stare back at him
not knowing what to make of him

stringy, energetic, bespectacled man of color
inhabiting the food court
in the B concourse

he will take your tip
for bringing your tray to you
but works more because he loves the circus of it
the good vibes and the smirks that creep onto people's faces
as he parades the Fresh-to-Order stand
gentle, friendly, side show barker

until the awakened come

when we were young
one-celled and so naive
the raging ocean was our home
teeming with newness
and calling us out
to be twice ourselves
to be fish and walking reptiles
Titans and men

we cannot stop
from incarnating again
desire compels us
life through life
we cannot stop as
sufferings co-arise

pranam (Sanskrit for "bow")

blue is the color
of my true lover's sari
the hem,
I have never seen above
pranam --
the secret name for love

Ed

my second childhood nemesis
the crush of my first crush
of my first date
my first kiss
she opened her mouth
a bit of a pleasant shock

she wrote him notes
in French class
envy is not green
it is white,
pure and right
rage washed me clean

his big lips
his thick accent of reasoning
his wit
goody left shoes
turned bad boy
when I befriended him

a shower of vinyl
that last summer
Bowie, Yes
Talking Heads
we sat on his bed
talked of many things
of endings
and never beginning
until the last beer
the last reefer
the last of all sacraments
Love
would take a new form

Devidas

Devidas was a bass player by profession
a goddess worshiper by faith
wore shades whose wire rims disappeared
into his curly brown hair

I could discern his love
for Lakshmi,, Shakti, Sarawati
for Gurumayi, our guru
-- the greatest goddess of them all
because his eyes were moist, his voice soft

Or maybe this was so because he was a musician
or maybe I just assumed he loved the female deity
because of his dharma name
-- Devidas means "servant of the goddess"

As it was, I really only had one good interaction with him
but I recognize him now
as a brother from a past life
guru bohin -- guru sibling
our bond over a conversation at Gorakh's house
on the lawn where he was trimming bushes
in preparation for Gurumayi's arrival in Chicago
stays in my memory

Along with the bananas and scented soap
given me on the darshan line
the chocolate
that brought tears to my eyes
because in it I tasted
the guru's love for me

what is unchanging

losing what is unchanging
what is pure
what does not appear
as here, or absent
the song of the song
the taste of the taste of sweetness
the eye of light
the fullness in the midst
of non-existence

and what does not change?
and what exists,
but does not?
the lathe upon which all origins were made?
the healing in the wounding?
the beginning in the tale's completion?
the ceasing of the exhaustive search
in the finding what is all-pervasive,
what has always been?

song of terror

wife of all bliss
emerges from her cloak of flames
shrieking, like a wounded crow

the end of reasoning
is the beginning of understanding
it is a terrible truth
an excruciating joy

Sona's lesson

My favorite story of the Buddha's teachings --


don't string it too tight
or the strings will break
neither string it too loose
or no music will it make
life is like the vina
moderation is what it takes
to play the haunting melody
by which you awake

my left hand

not knowing
what my right hand
knows, my left, a jealous mess
constructing delusions
spiraling up into the sky
fantasy building upon fantasy
reaching for ambitious heights

it is a hip jazz pianist's rhythmic appendage
boogie woogies with such a groove
stride and glide, pounding bass notes
and comping chords
swinging audiences
heralding in a new age of cool

it is the end of the fullback's arm
swiping linebackers aside
riding into the end zone
spiking the ball on the turf
of the promised land

and now it orchestrates the movements
of the Universe
shines light onto blind eyes
illuminating minds with cosmic insights
God's left hand

it never stops dreaming
of a better lot in this world
a more fascinating work
sick with envy
while the brother who hands out charity
with such humility
reclines in the shade
of the secret bough of graciousness

whose mind is it anyway?

it's my mind of course
but who am I without “my” mind?
a felt perception of "I"-ness?
your royal f-ing highness?
a ghost in the middle of a field of knowing?
the tootsie roll center? an elusive wind blowing?
or nothing much, or nothing at all
not even nothing nor no-nothing
not fat, thin, short, or tall
"neti, neti" say the seers
not this, not that, not white or black
not straight, bi, queer or trans
trans-cending the human that “I” am?
not knowledgeable, ignorant
high class or low
who am I who watches this show?
someone in here would sure like to know
the operator of my pocket calculator?
not an ounce of help from this world we live in
when I punch in the numbers
no conclusive answer given

a hard rain's gonna fall

birds don't stop being birds
when October is warm
when hurricanes pound the south
when drought hits California
when ignorance rules like a blind wind
when compassion is sold on e-bay
when all the bicycle riders and electric car drivers
and oil company divestors
and anti-fracking activists
have been silenced or outlawed
or jailed

birds don't stop being birds

they fly into glass windows
of multi-national corporate offices
like so much hard rain
breaking their necks and beaks
their little hearts beat
their little hearts sing a melancholy song
for the passing of the great wayward brute
and the glorious planet
that will live again
in a different form

the morning I wake

I

she is too small to be a woman
but is neither child nor little person
shaved head, stubble of fro
I never understand what she is saying
what she is doing
stumbling around
the state hospital ward

II

the morning I wake
a different man
born again, as it were

plunged into terror the night before
the ward an ocean of panic
I breathed the broth of breakdown
it filled my lungs

but the sunrise brings the sublime

III

sitting in the day room
doubling as a dining room
I watch my fellow inmates
seated, as well
bent over, twiddling thumbs
or looking forward
in seeming indifference
all of us awaiting
the taking of vital signs

and I finally understand
with a new perspective
in a light I could never could have imagined
the vast contemplations
the patience, long-suffering and sacredness
of those I had judged for years

IV

and tiny Johnetta
comes fumbling up the hallway
falling over her robe
clutching now and again
the railing to the side

I greet her
finally having the gumption
to ask her what's wrong

she mumbles, through dry mouth
and congealed spittle
"the meds making me talk this way"
I nod assent, "you're so drugged
you can't walk straight?"

a smile lights her eyes
her face, she nods
gives me a hug
looks like she wants to give me a kiss

someone has heard her
but more amazing --
through thick ego and unfeeling
someone had the empathy to ask

Hay Ride

How sorry I am
I did not recognize you
when you came to me,
the light flooding the fields
corn standing tall, a maze of stalks.
How neglectful of me
to miss the imprint of your hand
on the thick nest of trees
the near-dry creek
the winding tendrils, making their ways
up branches to leaves,
your peace wending its way
into our hay wagon
onto the suns of faces
of friends and strangers
in whose flawed, awed beauty
I likewise missed your presence.

heroes

little mama
with little baby
3 months old or so
rocks her on hip
sits on an Ottoman
hubby sipping coffee
David Bowie sings, "Heroes"
today, she is my hero
in oxytocin bliss
holding baby girl
both their faces flushed
swaying to the sound
of synced hearts

root of roots (title taken from e.e. cummings)

the root of roots
the face behind all faces
our gut instinct
like a jellyfish
floats unimpeded through substanceless liquid
knows what it knows
which is more
than most
would give it
credit for

snow and sun
exist at once
smile and scream
laugh, cry
daring to seek why
whoa!
close the book
open the eye
of the heart
the audacity
to know

in the aura of a binge

my adult self
to my screaming toddler --
let's sit and think about it
let's sit
let's breathe
rub your belly
let your breath rub you from the inside
it's delightful, you know
more fun than a one-man party at Burger King
tastier than a sausage and mushroom pizza
more comfortable than tight-fitting clothes
than a sleep apnea machine
than pre-diabetes

Outis Duo

2 dollar coffee (best in town)
50% tip (gotta support these kids)
buys a free show
with bald and bearded electric guitarist
and buttoned down drummer, improvising through
only a few changes
for over 10 minutes
altering tempos, rhythms
swapping picking styles, with and without tremolo
power chords, harmonics and arpeggios
this is a birthday gift to myself

ends a day of minimalist self-indulgence
couldn't be happier
or more anxious
my frail father, dismissed the hurricane with a laugh
will probably be in its path
come morning

cool born

I

sparkle brown
and maroon bleed

leaves' pigments
shedding into pond

small needles of fish
darting in and out of hiding places,

unavailable in season preceding
or still, frozen world to follow



II

I adore this time of year
while it is new
near-autumn baby
September, cool born

into the arms of a nurse
or a foster family
or a young mother,
adopting out of a lust to love

this is the fall to me --
arriving abandoned,
leaving love
to love, once again

One without a second

Genderless and genderful
Omnipotent and rather small
Size of a blue lentil seed
A shock of solace in time of need

Inner sunrise, awe to blindness
Silent sounding, sea of kindness
The world needs now, One with no second
Sacred cow and simple transcendence

It hurts to see the joy of release
It came to me once when on my knees
And there it bloomed, the living stone
The conscious rose, the unknowable, known

three-fer one

is it fate
or suction
is it love
or adhesives
that brought me
to your feet
in need of nothing
yet seeking a savior

a polished bumpkin
an educated fool
I was so very fortunate
to lose everything
to you

***
fake birds
on fake boughs
fake leaves
and fake flowers

***
little grey-brown feather
lost to the wind
powerless from within
knows what it is

beyond me

the rote
the post-rote
the trans-
rote
the smile
in the breath
the no-Zen
the freedom
of the fallen
un-chosen

reliquary

breathe in
revel in your essential Self
breathe out
exit your body

this cycle
uninterrupted for eons
carries us
conscious of our hearts
and those of our loved ones
bumpa--wump
beat little bird
of our ancestors, of our enemies

leaves out nothing
involves us all

an elegant unfolding
a flower
with infinite petals
in creation's
incomplete transformation

a newborn child
knew this once
moved on in a time of war
left us his essence
in a pot
full of ashes

watermelon rind

a chunk of watermelon rind
face down on the pavement
must've been a massacre
or a picnic
placed such an odd object
on the street, in the open
where bicyclists and pedestrians
could look down and gawk
aghast, or unconcerned
murder of a portly fruit
someone took out a hit
on hot summer commodity

star to star (kind of for the solar eclipse)

take the early afternoon
to forget yourself
to live in the proposition
that all things are sprouting ideas
connecting star to star
through a back door
a seasoned darkness
that subsumes the corridors
links all created things
like a mother's love
fastens a family
to the dinner table

this is you

wire-brushing your air conditioner filter
into the bath-tub
wearing jean shorts and an old DEVO album shirt
(bulging prominently at the gut)
singing Jewel's panned millenial album
in such terrible falsetto
middle-aged white male fat belly cool

no Tom Cruise Risky Business
sexy mess teen swoon slick sick alien science
singing Bob Seger in his shorts
on the blockbuster screen

this is you
this is passion
this is real
this is life, man
halfway to the grave
and Friday night dreaming
laundry in the washer
burning the midnight candle
and a weekend full of recovery meetings
ahead

the same story

the same story
like a coffee habit
cup after cup
day after day
the tale turns on its axis
returns to its origins
once again, once again
becomes something bigger
stranger, with a less satisfying
but more honest conclusion

in another story
from another time
future or past
we look back

the technology
of love
we can't make
any less simple

what are we

who are we?
insects?
gods?
yes, and more than these
oceans
thimbles
what our eyes see
what our hearts hold

Eve

there was a pause
on the other end of the phone
after I confessed
I'd taken a handful of Haldol
had my stomach pumped
was calling
from a hospital ward

she was angry
I knew; she didn't deny it
when I asked

God, what an education
in a clipped voice
a muted tone

I thank you Eve
for an honest friend's response

a sweetness

I can't remember
the religion of my father's fathers
they never taught me
to change a tire
or ask a question

and my progeny,
they never did ask for
or desire
anything more
than love

for me, here, now
the world is full of forms of light
I listen only for your kind words
every harassment, every debasement
is a sweetness
to my waiting ears

when I am at my worst

maybe I want
that remembrance
that I am a worthy being
when I am at my worst

before the picking
before the compulsive self-denial
in the midst of remorse
before I file
for self-divorce

feel those feelings
the muck in the gut

I am an astonishment
a holy mess
sacred, certainly
nonetheless

cafe IX

I am glad
for the white flowers
on the table
thankful
for the best of David Bowie
Hallo Spaceboy
Life on Mars
The Man Who Sold the World
I am happy
that I am who I am
open, closing, opening again
brave enough
to go through the cycles
of insanity and hope

things I learned today

I

smile -- your destiny
is in your hands
if you mold your future
with an ugly frown on your face
you will find yourself
living in a dilapidated house
on a polluted river

smile -- your destiny
is in your hands

II

there is no future
like the present
this is now
and here is your freedom
live-streaming
from some place within
a fountain bubbling
with joy and newness

untitled and "the mist glows"

shy fly
take my leg
dance til dawn
duck out
to get some sleep
on the wall

* * *

the mist glows
the moonlight
a world of trouble
a burning brand
immersed in a crystal pond
our hearts do know
what we've struggled so long for

this is a phantom mirror
a magic show

put forth spite
and you will get it back
put out your hand
one will reach for yours

the rain on the day you were born
will drown your fears
feed your thirst
sail your tiny boat
bursting with humble expectations
to your home
on an ocean, teeming
with space

thoughts of light

thoughts of light
of its way with a window pane
with a turning of phrase
what is it
about luminescence
about the late afternoon sun
about caffeine on conscious mind

or the heart of a loner
religiously single
in this cafe with its love ballads
rotating, its lovely people
their own thoughts and conversations
revolving around a kernel
of exuberance
and want
and hope

too sweet

some things
are too sweet
to be overlooked
a paragraph, crafted in crystal
a night where hope lies low
and storefronts, painted white
sacrifice their daily profits
to propitiate the coming darkness
a filling of the nostrils
a breath that strikes its mark
your life, like no other
not better than any other
at last, you are a drop in the ocean
you see with vague eyes
the shores of Spain
as well as the Arctic devastation
as well as the very bottom
with its iniquity matched only
by its lack of movement
its lack of sound

tiny handfuls

a beautiful couple
unshowered, in dirty clothes
gently usurp this street corner
he plays guitar, she sings
soul, blues, folk
fresh, like fruit ripe off the vine
donations accepted

"It's hard to starve in America,"
I overhear her saying,
"People stop by with food,
good food, restaurant food"

I imagine it's not a romantic life at all
that you have to make your own romance
living with nothing
living off the land
which is this pavement
winding through small towns and big cities
tramping, catching buses
sleeping outside
or bumming a couch here and there
grateful for the tiny handfuls
of mercy

illuminated

particles suspended
or slowly descending
illuminated dust

$5 insults

:From a Hindu teaching story


for reasons
we don't have time
to explain here
he had to pay
each detractor
five bucks
each time
he got a pie in the face

fast forward a year

he is insulted
by the king of put-downs
laughs uncontrollably
because, his sentence ended
this million dollar jibe
is free

persist

a bouquet of diamond rings
regales your mistakes
a fragrant, flowering forest
homage to your numerous faults

you stun all who behold you
tripping down the red carpet
again and again
our breath stolen
as you keep
getting back up

what started well

What started well
Ended better
Where once we loved
One another
Now we love the world
Where once was difficulty
Difficulty endures
But our minds have changed
We see our reflections
In every stumbling stone
Every river to cross
Is our avenue
To the ocean

lady in pink top and white culottes

pretty like the underbelly
of a dog -- hairs stray
unkempt yet uncommonly soft
out of place in a just-so way

like the profane secrets the Hasidim hide
or the tawdry confessions of a Zen monk
-- her beauty is predictable, reliable

one might number the steps
to heaven
by it

or sail a moon ship
into the ocean
blinded
by her sensible pumps

broken people doin' what they do

you're controlling,
she said

some people are,
he replied
it's not necessarily a bad thing
you know

she had nowhere to go
now that her prison
was decorated
with daisies of despair
plastic shelving
and lawn chairs

all the while, he withered inside
recanting
but not
saying so

sense of two

the living incomplete
a sense of two
where there is at most
no more than one
a lift in the throat
a deep gut plummet

these things contemplate for me
the end of my disillusionment
the beginning of a new accord
a complex marriage
of simple truths

marrow of fate

marrow of fate
grit, mold, a gram of gold
fortune and fallow soul
weeds grown like children
up into the strange sky
the forgiving sky
lift dreams and amber with them

dew drops stop short of testimony
speak their incredible witness
sparks immanent, hidden spirals
hydrogen twice tells its stories
which seem somehow unlikely
if not impossible

s. central rain II

the sadness of sorry
the melancholy golly
gee whiz
I didn't mean to

letting yourself
be
fucked up

don't you dare
put a strand
of that mussed up hair
back
in place

who's right

charlatan peacemakers
puppets of aggression
meaning well is meaningless
destroying the world, incidental
for those who mean no harm
just want what they feel is right
right the right
I’m right, who’s left? First base!

let down your anger
righteous indignation turns your mind
into a red state
think of rain over the ocean
where coolness meets its match
the fire eating the Earth alive
running to meet the faultline
from both sides
is hushed quiet
a finger to each ones lips
we stop for a turn of the clock to think
that pause, the saving gift

Nature's Oasis

organic rain droplets
sustainable greenery
blocking the view of the church
that tells its self-pitying tales
of a savior who cannot fill
those front row pews like he used to

I can barely make out that church
sipping my fair trade coffee
in the Nature's Oasis cafe
catty corner
from Lakewood Methodist

and neo-hippies
one of which I am not qualified to be
with long beards and bicycles
yoga mats and yoga pants
absorbed in their bland, grooveless, acoustic music
their oh-so fashionable revolutionary politics
have no care for God
no belief, no connection
save for the trance while on the road in the bike lane
the hum of gears clicking into place
the Om of the 5-minute meditation
beginning every 40-minute Vinyasa yoga session

how the ark of the covenant lost its way

it was sailing unknown rivers
for unspoken ocean

sirens to our ghosts
delivered strong souls
unto weak incarnations
(blood on the rocks of the shoals
of cosmic eddies)

they jailed the innocent
exalted the guilty
all for the turning

all to pull the heart
to protest
to bring back
the holy of holies

to sunken pavement
abandoned streets
lives carved by their own limbs
from mahogany and ash

waiting in blue

note the walls
painted slate-blue
like the ocean at a distance
the examination table
a vibrant blue plastic
activates my throat chakra
Vishuddha, node of expression
heaven and hell
all of space

I want to let you know
your having me wait
in dullness and anxiety
introduces me
to the beauty
of who I am

what the grave says

my grandiose plot
to soothe my waters
the fifty year plan
a self-illumined man

no one reaches Bodh Gaya
but through impenetrable thicket
not a coalescence of monks
with pre-season tickets

and I couldn't outsmart
my own lack of simple
when the ocean whispers
then roars with no ripple

the old man's truth
the young man's lie
"what the grave says,
the nest denies."


quote -- Theodore Roethke

beyond the great beyond

a Universal solvent
a cosmic solution
a toad that sweats
a cancer cure
a corollary to the Constitution
that grants the same freedoms
to everyone simultaneously
without effort, without cost
a galaxy where for everyone of us
there is a star without our names on it
something we cannot own
something we cannot hold
something to teach us
loss and grief
and the goodness of our being
beyond religion
beyond allegiance
beyond any reason
beyond belief

Jesus' 1st 100 days

Jesus’ 1st 100 days
40 of them spent
Purging himself in the desert
The remainder
With relatively less austerity
But free healthcare for lepers
Draining the Temple swamp
Of hypocrites and salesmen
Setting the groundwork
For a legacy of compassion and social justice
Just left some cold
And wishing they would have
Written in
Naphtali ben Moshe,
A bit inexperienced
As savior
But a solid conservative
Strong on family values
And tough on terrorism,
“The Holy Land is for Jews”, he said
And “I will never accept a campaign contribution
From wise men”

I have a deep solution

I have a deep
solution
a hurt
like an anchor
calls me
to sit down
on the floor
with you
to play
with the dust bunnies
and the bacteria
until the thing
is revealed
a LEGO city
shining
in plastic reality
for our peace
to abide in
authentic healing
recess bully
and forgiving
victim

origin

the last straw
tripped
the first flame
and the Universe
started
all over
again

I am that flower

I am that flower
wilted and browning
yellow center
fragrance soured
I am that flower
I am still
exquisite

couple, with dogs

I saw this couple walking down the sidewalk on this superb, overcast night. Each was walking a huge dog; the dogs were identical, thin, mottled shaggy black and white.



My assorted thoughts on seeing this –

Who gets the dogs if the couple breaks up?

Will they have to split up the dogs?

Isn’t it ashamed people have to go through all of that meeting, dating, haggling, discussing, arguing, moving in, only to raise two beautiful dogs that are going to get split up?

God, am I glad I’m single!



Then another thought –

Wouldn’t I like to just experience the sweetness of bonding with someone, being so close we could own two gorgeous dogs? We could walk them on nights like this, together, enjoying the company and the quiet and the occasional conversation.



Nah, I answered. I don’t trust other people like all that.



Then, another thought, in a different voice, my deceased curmudgeonly friend’s voice –

“Well, sir. Maybe that means that YOU are not that trustworthy.”



Yes, Baba, I suppose it’s so. I suppose it’s so.

everybody's somebody's baby

lost in the circumspect

evening

if we would but

touch

we would never regret

what we would have

an impossible time

forgetting



two dust particles

plummeting simultaneously

on opposite sides

of the planet



everybody's

somebody's

baby



won't you be

the one

I've come here

to evade

every conversation

from my favorite, obscure fantasy novels
from watershed dreams at night,
waking into uncanny optimism
come my personal, Universal metaphors
used in every conservation
about consciousness
and emptiness
and God
with you my love,
my opponent
my Self

how shall I proselytize?
how would you like
to be converted?
my baptism
is not water or fire or Spirit
but music and coffee
late night talk shows and pizza,
companionship, belly laughs
even boredom and drowsiness

we will fall asleep, happy and sated
with the taste of our most high pleasure
on our hearts and tongues
long before
any possible segue
into making love

meditation class

sit
and smile

that's it
you are
dismissed

poke and burn

syringe to right ball
I can hear geese overhead
-- gonad biopsy


note: this turned out to be benign lesions

come here go away

dropping names
like dropping turds
I have no statement
of my own

if I should reach you
with my words
do me a favor
leave me alone

at 3am

the great circle
healing wounds
eating flesh
coming round back
and back
and here and now again

reconnaissance duty
at 3am
he is making a circuit
to feed the bright ovens
of our deliverance

the duke

letting it slide
the duke
of apologies
oh, how much more
gratifying and freeing
when I begin
the inward movement
of forgiving
when I stop
f'ing up
when I start
living

I don't sit

I don't sit
the Buddha sits
I pester myself
while he sits there
I open my eyes
look at the clock
grind out thoughts
and hold onto them
with my toes
while they take me around
the Universe
for a turn or two

why can't I sit
with Buddha
while he behaves himself
the candle snuffed, then
only remnant smoke
drifting peacefully

peachy preachy

if you're trying to reach people
who don't already agree with you
well, you're not
and if you're not trying to
that's kind of dumb

photo

a gelatin photo of a wet brick sidestreet
small storefronts, a Starbucks
with wide, shining windows
a shop with a sign of a bear and a cake
a bakery; "Piroshky" reads the sign
No Parking placards scattered generously
light, dissolving into grainy white and black
a doorway leading to apartments above
shades drawn, mysteries or secrets
private people, living like heroes or villains

the come around

I am quiet
in library silence
surrounded by magazines
-- Paleo, Real Simple
Quilter's Newsletter...

the least sound
the come around
the zipper of his laptop case
the clonk of her high heels
across the tile floor

the sacred shhh
the music of air
rebounding off the walls
and the ceiling, singing
inbreath, out

scaling back

scaling back
mountain top after mountain top
pulling the rug
from under our grand conquest
complying without complaint
remembering what was entrusted us
the day before
we left
for this life

little ditty

Concepts are angels or archetypes or gods
Thoughts can be peaceful, passionate or at odds
Everything you see is a projection of mind
The bright One who watches is quite nice to find


Note: The cool or weird or appalling thing is, this is really close to what I believe

the long and the longing

the long
and the longing
time non-dogmatic
yet particular
from omni-devastation
to orni-salvatiion
one shines limp
the precluded soul
hummingbirds nod
by nasturtium buds
the rive is liquid
the fallout, gold

before

before the word
before, even, the light
that gave birth
to the longing
for the word
I heard a glass object
shatter, heard you gasp
utterly defenseless
I rushed to fall
presumably, by coincidence
at your side

coming round

coming round
to live this arid life
desert chores
simpleton simple
blue heart pond,
pebble
and pensive ripple

when you walk in

the corridors
narrow
the claustrophobia
lessens
time marches itself
still
all things slow down
as the shades
are drawn
and the room
only brightens

sympathy for the Donald

oh, Donald
if you break down
I am with you

if you continue to piece
your soul together
with Scotch tape
I can do nothing
for you

consequence alone
will be your fruition

circles and squares

Regina Spector
is a good starting place
all roundness, spirals, siren
vocal soliloquies
on her life, on your life

down to the note
some assembly required
her circle
is a square
is a bird's transient home
of exacting care
and bronze wire

craft

dissect the science
ply the trade, create art
master the Way
put in your time
deep in the shed
hands in the ashes
of kitchen work
chop vegetables
stoke the stove
years of painstaking
practice, patience
and who you are
reflected in the eyes
of the gruff man
all teeth and hair
knowing and presence
knife, frown
and gut-cutting laugh
lighting the path
to the pinnacle
of your craft

settlements

daven the morning
muzzein remembrance
God in the afternoon
when reading the newspaper
their plight abhors me
while the comics shore me
the only news
fit to print
on this end days day
of emptying out
settlements
displaced gods
the innate right
to a home
the walk
of greed incarnate
hatred with skin
plot and plod
the fragile Earth
big heads
prick
the virginal sky

three answers

YES
NO
YOU'VE GOT TO BE
KIDDING

three Universal answers
to every question
the only ones
you can expect to hear
from God
to your prayer,
cast as spell
in the dark night
of your awakening

He spoke to me then
unembarrassed
not-explaining
just saying

YES,
NO means YES
and that last answer
the mystery of mysteries
the holy of holies
-- with allusion
to Jackie Gleason
and the deadpan straightman --
will always and ever denote
RELAX,
just try
to enjoy this

little gambits

little gambits we make
with form, matter, light
the echoes of heart waves
we send out ))))))))))) come
back
just when we are in need
of a little warmth

Kirtimukha

the yarble of my thinking
like a trash compactor devouring itself
or an old man who chews on his gums
enjoys the blood, the slick friction
and the twinkle in his own eyes

I wonder where the peace comes from
that flushes out the metal parts, the teeth

the absolute wrong tool for the job
once noted by your discernment
becomes leverage
for a better world

by firelight

by firelight and snowlamp
by the hand of the pineal gland
I see the world
inside me, outside
hold a torch
search the catacombs
of a new moment
while you have forever been
the eye that envisions
its way home

like freedom

breathing like freedom
inside myself
I am a thing in flight
in a cloudless sky
outside, turmoil
alternating with peace
and kindness
from within,
it is the same world
the same life
I'll join you
take a seat
and breathe

an auger eeshin'

the man sworn in
the rest of us swearing
some watch, while others
compassionate, hold
each others' noses
hide their faces in hope
in each others' shoulders
in revolt and revulsion
or in silent protest
speaking screams of disbelief
resolving to love one another
through the coming storms
of possible futures

and I drew a poem

and I drew
a poem,
its arms extended
like a child
sees a gull
and wants to fly
who says he does not
fly?
his little imagination
as big as the ocean
of space and the stars
that drown in it

bright blue

bright blue
immaculate shine, cool lines
parked out front of the cafe

Fleet Foxes, giddy indie
vocal harmonies like sweet honey
over a sea of bland yogurt

the times they have changed
with a pen-mark in a voting booth
with a Tweet, with a mocking gloat
that hovers over an endless field
of insipid lack-of-hope

yet the car's sheen
and the soaring songs
remain true
are here for us
while the fearful rage
at what has passed
the fearless prepare
for what is to come
and the mystics and children
stay sheltered in raincoats
rooted in what is now
and ever will be

the only way

the only way
I've found
to free myself
from daydreams of omnipotence

-- both deletion and warmth
death and comfort
have their end
in the same light
streaming
from the same star
at the center
of infinite hearts