leaving Sarasota

Written in ATL (Atlanta airport) after leaving my Mom and Dad in Sarasota, my Mom, in the hospital.




ATL,
courage, brief
candle,
out-out,
come together,
nothing short of Apocalypse
could tear us apart,
but it will
because
all things must pass,
all matter degrade,
dissolve,
to the finest essence, to the poorest street-corner hustler,
to the thing inside,
the soul that hides
waiting for us
in our paper-bag coffins

some bombs are good bombs

some bombs
are good bombs,
the ones that don't go off,
for instance,
or the ones that are left incomplete
on the assembly line,
the factory workers
gone
to celebrate
the Armistice

long wait

long wait

for infinity to end



might as well wait

for her mind

to change

or for your heart

to choose another,

for your mother

to stop loving you



better to accept

what will not change

as fixed,

the rotation of the Earth,

the tilt of its axis,

things that can be tested

and measured,

meeting the standards

of infallible science



yet there will always be anomalies,

those places where the Universe bends

such that 1+1=3,

where infinity ends,

and heart’s mend,

our love, a hypothesis

that has been proven correct

more

more





more –

more more

more less

more sex

more less sex

more renunciation

more meditation

more self-abnegation

more excruciation

more ascetic bliss

more nothingness

more suchness

four more lines of this

more stigmata

more zenyatta mondatta

more holy Madonna

more nirvana

not much to say

my mind --

not much to say,

to sing



unbring this

conflict,

undo its

denouement,



arms entwined,

a mass of struggle,

pushing,

urging

upward, inward



no dawn

for a sleepless night,

no day --

too much light,

nothing ventured,

nothing right

cutest couple

big light

through a narrow window,

cutest couple of the week

talking over coffee, one table away,

he, nerdy and handsome,

she, smartly dressed with black vinyl boots



I sit and read about the latest music

in a 2007 Paste magazine,

thinking of how

I sit alone

courage is not a lion

courage is not a lion…

but a hamster on a wheel,

running in place, never growing bored,

never not sure, one with what it feels,



patiently pecking at sunflower seeds

I've laced with raisins, other things it doesn’t need;

it runs and feeds and poops and runs

and pees and runs and runs then sleeps.



yes, the measure of courage

is not a hugeness of shape

nor beauty and grace

– it’s running in place,



not a roar or strength,

but persistence and faith,

a warm tousle of fur

against a child's face.