You were my dream So the poets say So they spin and wrack their minds How to express what can not be Love Love of Love of her Of life Of the stars Anything that crisscrosses Their eyes and ears Their fifth or sixth dimension Like the waves they see As stand-ins for her Like the mountains they see As symbols of her strength The irony the melancholy Of it all is Of course the non-abstract Nature of…
There are blue fields to love And red oceans Of course Plus black rain on May Day But it’s always been At least for me The sheer genius of flannel clouds That knocks me for a push-pull Or two or seven loops Like a child’s long shout out To our morning goddess After they’ve had their swim Their cereal their prize-winning song After they’ve frozen their dreams For the image-zoos The butterbread-museums The psychic kaleidoscopes of…
I want to discover the magical links Before they appear Though to be honest I’d much Rather actually see them Than invent them whole-cloth or whole-sale Wouldn’t it be great if that were to happen? Hallucinate my way into poetic fusions Instead of just writing them? Instead of twisting myself Into pretzels alchemically With nonsense salt On top Or on the plate? This is what it all comes down to For poets seers prophets and Kitchen repairmen Who turn the…
Different times blah blah blah Call for different blah blah blahs As in Right now there is no reason For all of those blah blahs And extra blah blahs None We need to be direct! Tell it like it is And not worry so much about Offending the cliché police The earth the sea the once blue air The glaciers the beleaguered soil The fires this time So instead of stories about this or that Neuroses This…
John Wick is cool If you like that sort of thing And I do But not for the usual reasons He’s in-de-struct-able And that can come in handy – a lot That’s really it in a nutshell And, no, he doesn’t have Superpowers – per se He just survives when others don’t – like moi For instance Like when I’m fighting my usual endless battles Against ancient but lively assassins and I keep dying over and over again John Wick…
A farmer on the way to market Told his beautiful muse That we’re much too self-conscious These days So she said to him Don’t I know that! As if she were from New York By way of Dublin By way of a steamer A century ago Or was it a zeppelin? Not that it matters Because she flew on her own, Regardless Muses can do that and more Much more Like make us think We’re making the art When it’s…
There are degrees Of course There are always degrees So that one can connect And still not know you Like the friend who saw your face Before you were born Knew that face before it was here And after it leaves the scene After it moves on to that place None of us can return from Or talk about with the living So bridges can range in size and strength From the shaky to the permanent From the earthly To…
The best writers do more than just Take you there They do more than just describe the scene The village city ocean sky They bury the dead where you buried yours They surround you with your own secrets They sing the song you learned in the womb And only in the womb The best writers know you Even though that’s impossible Even though that would mean The walls you thought existed — between humans plants animals space — Never existed…