Conflicted
As Snow
In the Interim
Conflicted
When she asked me to love her
I whispered: precipice, into heaven
Precipice like presuppose
because I wanted inundation
What? She said
Yes, I said
Her hair from afar
her eyes approaching
I knew I was done for
but could I sustain a song?
Anywhere variously
now would be best
I whispered: statuette
monument come to life
To begin, I named us sexually
which sounded a little silly
So for purity I looked
at the pristine ocean
discarding isles of vocation
Vision and ocean go together
she said, and I said
could it be that you and I
Look at the ocean together?
And again twice, as if thrice
I would need to live in a large
space, she said
I was desiring, but asked
What kind of space?
Like that, she said, pointing
Oh, I said
Because the precipice is high
and pristine can be such a mess
going through both doors
at once then hit from behind
the moon amidst clouds
As Snow
As snow I could drift
for miles. I could fall
and rise again.
Crunched underfoot,
I’d be hard as a rock.
I’d settle on stones
yet make them soft.
Like white drops from the sky,
as white as I don’t know what.
I could ride the wind.
I could be piled up right
against a tree, a happy way
of saying death has arrived.
I could soften Captain Green
who’s waiting for payday.
People might say, hooray!
I could be a haiku -
etched on the bird’s wings
the story of one’s life
powder to the touch
Or be strange new thoughts:
Now I will dance
on my brother’s head.
People would slip on me
yet I would soften their blow.
Fifty names I’d have, and none.
If I were a flag, I’d really feel
the breeze, but would just
be stuck there.
I’d like to be a window
but then hoodlums throw
rocks at you. And as the sky
I’d cry, so I might as well
be snow.
rustling dry leaves
emerging like antennas
as the dirt road ends
In the Interim
Historical arsonist, confusionist
and tantrumist, now aiming
now deflecting, advances fork
without a pie whose end-arrows
have ouch, so that all are indexed
early and vertically to a subprime,
eons before the clock becomes
rusty with happiness.
Personal Time
Tell me about your family.
I’ll get the vodka.
Is it by looking up to Cloud Daddy
that one can so easily release the wilds
of yesterday into today’s straitjackets,
where fluids that flowed through
now sluggishly congeal into
giving over the second half of life
to the recovery of the first half?
Kafka Time
Germany has declared war
on Russia – Swimming
in the afternoon.
To party in the bardo, let’s
stop air-raiding doohickeys
on presumed nitwits, shish kebabbing
them while networking ourselves
as peppy, posh and sociopathic,
drilling-down value-added
deliverables to operationalize
quick wins for rightsizing.
Downtime
The use of montage
allowed the students
loosen up and fly.
Long before slumping
over metastasizing metrics
in clockwork containers that poo-poo
airy forest wanderings; before
the assimilating and squandering,
serving those at Tree Killers Trust,
kids know that school is a rotten house
of dreary cramming overseen
by the tired and wary, and wish
they were snow so when thrown
down by bullies can land
softly on their feet.
Timelessness
Medicis, birds and movie stars
performing for eternity
on Utopia Parkway.
Meanwhile some will search
for another way, bodying forth
a latency surreptitiously lurking,
a creeping thing softening in ooze
and soon to quivering wings,
a buoyancy in a world of pink
puffy clouds, finally with empathy
for the bitchiferous colonized
by prosperity.
Current Time
Fun-loving America appears dead
and gone, with Garcia in the grave.
Make the form also formless, he said,
going and returning not anywhere
else. Make the thought without
thought, he said, immersing and
soaking in the dazzling, where
the most moving has already been
written, whose script is the earth
and whose rhythm is the seasons,
a slippery thing, like holding an eel
and while trying to press harder
the sooner it escapes; like the scent
of earth after it rains and before
the trees start rustling with
exuberance.
during the long night
holding onto the mystery
one star at a time
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