The Rip, The Tear

My job at the collage factory didn't pay that well but I was not one to look down my nose at minimum wage.  Plus the overtime.  That's time and-a-half for all you white collars, all you gamers out there. Mostly, the data is what got me into the sweetness of OT to begin with.  Counting each tear, measuring the white part of a rip (collages are made of paper, sometimes old batteries and what have you, sometimes used Suns with a Moon or two).  Numbers add up unless you use subtraction. Division is another matter entirely.  Let's just say that isn't my job.  Multiplying--now we're talkin'.

To tell you the truth, I'm saving up for a new Skidoo.  It's so I can skedaddle on outa here.  Please don't breathe a word.  I wouldn't want that to get around.  I mean, I do have my image.

O Verbal Town

O verbal town of Kesey
& silent high school Brautigan
How deeply dark you dri-i-ip
Upon the green and greener fields
There's hope for bigger spli-i-iffs

Even though I don't imbibe
I feel the rising tide
so far so far from all the years
I did not      li-i-i-ve     h  e  r  e

O little town of resumes
how quickly I must try-to-lie
subtracting university degrees
remembering the dank sky

under dumpster cover dark alleyways
of cedar, fir, and rhododendron
among the cheer and seamless fog
another year slipping aimless  ly  ly  ly  

Library Wishing Well

Wishes take over
semi-comfortable chairs
at the far storybook windows--
How I've waited here
For my dreams to show up
On the page didn't I want more?
The wild thing past.  Was it so wise.
Throwing it out in the void
Like that no cares in the world.

Wood To Bring In, Parking Lots To Cross

I
rocked
the free world
sprinting to those
department stores
used up all their
toilet paper.

I
stepped
over people
sleeping

in their shoes

studied

the wind
dancing.

I
showed up
on the page
in the sun
using
a write-in-the-rain

to document
the sister war.

Just when I thought
it might be over
it started up again
a fault of its own
so freely applied.

Celeste

Anything we want

we already have

anything I'm giving
I've already given
away

before
turning.

Milk from the moon.
Milk from the stars.

The Long Hello

Sage
don't forget the rosemary
eucalyptus and lemon
drops the orange honey
garlic with all else
fortifying winter fire

expecting another
twenty years at least
call it begging call it
anything but keep calling it
keep playing even when it's
out-of-bounds and foul

Porcelain River Moon With Bear

The part about the bear doesn't belong here but what good
is a poem without one in it since they are the fur of the world
mothering all doubt way to warm hibernation necessary
full porcelain river moon matching what nobody
could ever find here on Earth

Rented World Serenade

Time tears away
the clay-white sky
    underneath
more clay-white sky.

Even when I've named it
sky
      clay
I know it is blue
and this is
          what I write about
          don't you?

The rented world is worth
ideal gardens
all the weeds--

yards and fountains
 
   walls

the whole city serenades!

Its song is rain.
Its instrument a soggy
Raven.
Train
hissing.

Treatise Spice R

The world out there little more than little
Ideas I've hobbled wild horses in the canyon
To be auctioned-off sorry they don't make
Good pets not trained and anything but
Obedient images grazing heads down loyal
With eyes sleepy from the watching

Es Zieht

Along the wall it's alive
a line of defense

after the close of the cafe
that's the place I get to

the place of forgotten rains
small animals and smells
so sweet it's all I'm imagining.

Splenda

Behind the fact that all is not well
the folded cardboard
against the concrete wall soaking
overnight drizzle
against daytime.

The choice is sugar in the raw
sugar or sweet n low.
If you're wanting honey
you have to ask.

Book Club School Dropout

Two strikes against showing up fluorescent
effervescent or even omniscient with presents
tables chairs--enough more than enough present
cider quite thick and stout with a large head presence
keeping everyone young, noses, time to present

books

thin strung-out long-limbed
tales of Old Mexico and even a shark
in one title how could reading be discussed
without reading?  I mean

what are your qualifications?  How do you
look in the bath, reading, I mean? 
What kinds of kids do you have?  Speak

speak about the book only it is very informal here.
By the way--exactly my dream apartment.

The Lake

We have always enjoyed the time there When we could find it
all that fog Underneath We saw the lake It was love of course
At first sight Just by taking one look even feeling alone

The lake found us, Found our follies the scuttling clouds
Hanging just above it Above the lake We were up so high
looking for that accomplishment forever finding the lake

Barely Above

Elbow hamstring eyes ears back down
twigs branches love holding until spring
no question of fir spruce and cedar
waiting out the thousand year meander.

The ifs and whens hiding grey fur
soggy refrigeration dripping soaking
sky island just barely above flood line.

Schnitzwasser Lullabye

Drippings from the blue spruce
bang the slush around small
the pear the plum the apple
finally easy sky.

A slow mo ache for more.
How we all belong to the day
repairing it hour by long hour.

Brambles I Have Known

Spider webs I have seen Close up like in a movie of Nettles,
their healthful properties Fine until any sort of idea occurring
Plush indoor ideas of Shelter, water, fire, fireplace.

Toss in some glass eyes, tiny seeds and the poets are happy.
Also, there's the solar system and what all else.  Water
Has become quite popular again, and violence more or less.

The Shape Of A World Existing

Imagine the shape,
shadows rake up the buildings
imagine all the rest.   How did
we lose it away?
Bricks and wind and rain.
I got that all by reading
into the nothing spaces,
in line with all the news under The Sun
dreading its return  (I must)
demure another day.

Ingots, Bracelets, Coins

Probably someone wept
when the hoard arrived
in its chunk of clay
never again to be in situ
that place where its resting
said more often than its sum
in a sequence.

Now war can commence!
Who would be able to say these words
in the new Kingdom I see what's been
going on between centuries
strange and hard to pronounce
what cannot be willed away
is gold.

Curtains move
well they thrash
in the winter storm
these foothills
at sea.

Center of Town

Well now we live in the center of town
Every night green dancing lights abstract
Glowing just so tall even taller than our building
The dark buttes are shrimps next to the town
It used to be the other way around not counting
Trees of course how could anyone forget
The tire shop situation remains exactly the same
This report has unlocked the past way past
Other towns have gone away yet this one merits
Early trains their moaning groans forks and spoons
Plates at the ready just like this report one for the books
Inky rivulets decorate the windows bumpy and shining

Gone To The Lock

A man gets
what a man
travels past
at the lock
water letting out
just

stand and watch.
The day is fine.
What happened here
when I was watching?

Alone with folk
ballads

alone with
the lock.

Mountain

You finally let me lead
on up ahead the rope lets out
and there it is

after all our teamwork
the high passes
above eagles
yet below the geese
we see many friends
their carved faces

Avalanches are heard
before realizing it is the end
each word could trigger
what I do not want
that which flags and wheels
are good

are great because of our pulling up
slipping down is a given so is sliding
into the past and this existing

Where

This the place
he sang about--

could only describe its shimmering windows
reflecting a fire the sky held onto

difficult poetry and its poets
inside gathering evidence
then tearing it into tiny pieces
only he could read
with little difficulty.

What was the point?
The point was in the telling
and how he became difficult
kept trying to get away
to that place every time
the place disappearing
after awhile its birds its wildlife

strange and moody its language
oozing so much sweet meaning.

Ansichten Eines

The public leaves
they are supposed to.
I am the public lock unlocking.

My public does not leave
because I don't want
to quite unlock my leaving.

I said I found the place
where I belong
I can't tell you its name.

I sang my songs of long ago.
I sang my songs of now.
I was cool.  I almost died.

The edge reached up
held me like a father.
I missed my chance

or so I thought of nothing else
jangling my keys waiting
for Mr. Bojangles,

Unmolding Bavarians

Bavarians cling to the sides of a mold with powerful suction.  It is usually enough to dip the mold in hot water for 15-20 seconds (30 seconds for a frozen Bavarian) and then invert it onto a serving platter.  If the Bavarian remains stuck in the mold, keep it inverted over the platter, lift one side of the mold a little bit, and insert your finger between the mold and the Bavarian to break the suction.  The Bavarian should slip right out of the mold and onto the plate. 

--from Dessert University, Roland Mesnier, Simon Schuster, 2004

 

The herd did not want her

did not stand still

their hooves growing coats      thick

needing rocks       meadows    winter

mud   rivers                    while she

was away.

 

This took some time      getting         used to

as it             always        did.  The young ones

now immune to her        particular    disease

now forming         their own regroupings    divisions.

 

Was it         always        this way?  Was     she

the odd addition   swimming   across

where it was         t        o        o                 w       i         d        e

getting         carried        further

down

          stream

taking longer & longer to get back

each time.

The Black Flame Part Two

Her voice
a tambourine
shaking glitter songs
throughout Toretta.

It was the black flame

pouring dreams
into tree shapes
left cooling.

I Must Demure

So that black flame that shadow
was a projection of the far future
on the green convent wall
Europe's last remaining tree
the Bear's fur stroked
into fiery points
in song in art song.

The North hearing
ribbons and branches
the wind telling
there's no going back.
There's no waiting.