Tuesday, April 24, 2018

April Draft #24

National Sadness Week

You could identity with 
the way the calm day suffers
and the storm is in denial
like a portrait of a smile
with no face but a failed crop
makes the farmer feel helpless
so back to tending the mules
or letting the mules tend him
and maybe leaving it alone will help
and the butterfly of sadness
has flown into the net
it brought me, in its beak,
as a gift, so I could free it 
for if it didn’t fly freely
no doubt mankind
would be even more
destructive….


Monday, April 23, 2018

April Draft #23

One Foot In The Heterocosm

At the demo-listen (I mistook for demolition),
you divide the world into perceiving content
and perceived form, like the cult of imitation
can make a comeback against originality
like an off-duty judge on a treadmill, 
and every speedbump
in the technocrats’ highway
may be a secret speakeasy,
closed for business, but open for debate
as long as it’s open for dancing

to string epiphanies along
just before the beginning takes the field
like players, or playas, or the son of a beach
named “Sand” in a seagull’s beak 
until it’s dropped back 
onto the gated plaza
as boring as that breath it’s easy to forget
you can’t live without

and inhaling could be conceived 
as a reward for exhaling and 
Humpty Dumpty’s chicken mother of us all 
weeps like a car named after a river 
whose reward is a junkyard that’s only a recycling center 
if a wetland’s a swamp, and doves cry 
like the “steel in our spine!” 
                                                  Yes I’ve seen 
the national go local to become 
less isolationist until the privatized globalized 
sad little electric bird feathers dipped in the ink quill
pours like dreams through that wall against nature
like the movie of a cat becoming a lizard on wheels
run backwards, or remembering to do more 
finger exercises with the Eb pentatonic 
so that if you return my beloved A minor 
that white culture has to dress up as C major,
you’ll be more beautiful than the chance meeting
of the Opiod Epidemic and Eaze. Com
 (whose billboards boast of bots 
to deliver pot to your door) 
on the newly gentrified street 
brought to you by the War On Drugs….

or even as beautiful as the chance meeting
of a F# tear and tear on a leaf bigger than a Gb branch
that could shelter us before umbrellas, 
if not quite as beautiful as a raspberry 
and a guanabana on a floor made of nectarine peels 
in an entangled field of strawberry leaf colored 
asparagus sprouting from an avocado compost pile 
where the kittens play (but you call it fighting)
on the shores of algae-covered lake kale…

Sunday, April 22, 2018

April Draft #22

Sphinx of Black Quartz, Judge My Vow!

eventually the egg
that never had a chance 
to be a chicken
makes its way back 

& it is this path, the one
seeming opposite of the sense of self
TV and school gave you

that could be called otherness,
or perhaps an anti-body,
those hard to find lines

between Z and A, the parallel
biverse where the moderates
& centrists are caught

in their naked extremism,
the cracks I thought I lived in
like a hunger for wholeness

till wholeness is the hunger,
love living in data,
data dying in love

and the void, the egg’s way
back to the chicken, may be
vexed with epic bloodshed…. 

the sewer part of the soul
or emergency opposite masks
who couldn’t love endless
regenerative plenitude without you

Saturday, April 21, 2018

April Draft #21

Evening Lynx Parade

At the march for science, they spoke of space.
String theory! Aliens! Invaders. & in the original 
mountain that I stood on today, the sea
of universal death rose higher up its sides
bearing gifts of repetition in its anachronistic tusks.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we’re dressing.
Memories of Cindarella gala-ball fantasies
were too bight. We needed the dark
to help us double and divide & otherwise
“Hook up” (I was the “Killing Moon” cliché).
Oh this is just descriptive dark
bracketed off from soul-talk

But I wouldn’t reduce it to fashion
or of a simple preference of night to day
though histories of day people
& night people fascinate me
in the indoor social world
in the social indoor world

for daytime sunny outdoor park
or fire hydrant street days
were better than the indoor brights
that were supposed to be safer
and the Reason they said was ours
than the so-called mood lighting we craved.

The outdoor sun too sweaty to be reason
while many convince themselves
we’re beyond fear of the dark,
but this is just descriptive dark
bracketed off from soul-talk

Socially speaking, less municipal night
dressed up as space for Star Wars
(if not the sequel, Earth Peace….)
unpolluted, unpulverized, by plastic 
practices, the final frontier indeed,
the impossible possible, and such
but bracketed off from music

the ghost in the machine room,
the ghost of outside gotten inside
sounds better with eyes clothed
from the cold bright artificials
by naught but a voluntary lid
as if self-walls can dissolve
even without so-called spirits
but this is just descriptive dark
bracketed off from the science talk

Friday, April 20, 2018

April Draft #20

Spotlight Boats

No matter what you do,
There will always be
“a part of your mind”
that lies unused—
an old salt shaker lid,
a rotation of crops,
one minute’s defendant
the next moment’s jury
like picking up a penny
to drop a quarter
and picking up a quarter
to drop a dime,
like a chicken with
its head cut off
on a wild goose chase
I heard you cry,
Bird against bird,
Word on word,
Like your summer self
And your winter self
Would not get along
Like you can’t taste
The honey for the bees
& can’t see the bees
unless they die stinging you
and we’ve left that land
years ago, but for someone
who will not sacrifice
the need for delight
for enlightenment,
you sure have a stunted way
of saying it….and for someone
who says she’s saved, she sure
spends a lot of time whining
(but I would never say that
for I love her complaints
as much as her sermons)
the last word circling around 
to the first word
back when music was giving
money a run for its money

Thursday, April 19, 2018

April Draft #19

8.
At 50, like a wishbone between young and old, if not men & women,
You were a dog in a teardrop taken in by a woman who prefers cats

lost in the infinity between the double meanings of poor and fair
as if there’s only one tiny front door to decorate

You were a dog in a teardrop taken in by a woman who prefers cats
Snake charmers, snake handlers, pan handlers, pain charmers

As if there’s only one tiny front door to decorate
“I decided to be homely in love so I could be lovely at home”

Snake charmers, snake handlers, pan handlers, pain charmers
like an empire that couldn’t win a ground war, much less work for peace

 “I decided to be homely in love so I could be lovely at home”
“He thinks sarcasm can come in screams, I know it comes in dreams.”

Like an empire that couldn’t win a ground war, much less work for peace
as if the mediocrity that doesn’t envy is better than the one who does

“He thinks sarcasm can come in screams. I know it comes in dreams.”
“Help, help, someone’s using me to bludgeon you. It hurts me too.”

As if the mediocrity that doesn’t envy is better than the one who does
So does the edible inspiration of tango struggle tender garden gloves for care

“Help, help, someone’s using me to bludgeon you. It hurts me too.”
At 50, like a wishbone between young and old, if not men and women

So does the edible inspiration of tango struggle tender garden gloves for care
Lost in the infinity between the double meanings of poor and fair

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

April Draft #18

7.
Your dreams were disloyal until royal, like a calm before a story.
Say there’s some wisdom you think you are hiding

“You were staring me down so I tried to go over your head
and thus under your shoes, like a warning to the young….”

Say there’s some wisdom you think you were hiding
As a custom change requires a costume change

And thus under your shoes, like a warning to the young
the death lonely sequel of the great vowel shift was approaching

As a custom change requires a costume change
On the path of excess, explosions yawned each other still

The death lonely sequel of the great vowel shift was approaching
“Mom I swear I’m gonna pay your rent someday,” 

On the path of excess, explosions yawned each other still
The praise song thanked me for the obstacles to its utterance

“Mom I swear I’m gonna pay your rent someday,” 
“Does the time I cried at the Christmas tree lighting count?”

The praise song thanked me for the obstacles to its utterance
“Oh, how I love a woman who loves her solitude as much as me”

“Does the time I cried at the Christmas tree lighting count?”
Your dreams were disloyal until royal, like a calm before a story

“Oh, how I love a woman who loves her solitude as much as me.”
“You were staring me down so I tried to go over your head…