11.29.2004

The moon up there in the cold faces the dark like a panther
The vacuous viciousness of bad vocabulary is rarely punished

11.28.2004

During hard rain the Limahuli ran high and cold and loud
Surf pounded the reef; wind knocked coconuts down

Beds in the windy beach house were old and narrow
We were too warm and too new to sleep too close

11.27.2004

When you visit the grave are you visiting the past or the future?
The illness was rare, but in the big picture, no laws were broken

11.26.2004

You were thinking 'bout the wisdom of the leaves and their grace—Van Morrison
Wise are ye, O ancient woods! Wiser than man—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Autumn leaves make us happy . . . well happier; moon waxing as days go south
December nearer, a gate in the current, a great loss, a gift, a seed of song

11.25.2004

Leaves turn, bird traffic surges—blue wings in sumac, antic sparrows in the oak
The mesh of bliss and wealth earth yields draws round us a bounty of thanks

11.24.2004

I wonder as I wander, why can't we enjoy what they enjoyed?
Luminous details clouded over by a state of torpor make it a typical situation

Guy wanders into a bar, dog bites him on the ass, the rest is history
WWJD: just about out of patience, you wonder: who would Jesus detox?

From each according to my plan, to each according to my next plan
Guy follows a train of thought into a bar, takes a seat, barks his order

The joke goes something like this: Can't they see we only want to help?
From the point of view of a bar-fly on the wall, how do you rate the situation?

What happens doesn't care; God has no image; autumn purples are inhuman
Just as it's getting good, the Mother Tongue hears us goofing off, gets pissed

11.23.2004

After mother, we all search for things to suck on in this world
Next love: can't eat it (it's inside you); maybe you luck out (time's not done)

Whether at peace in old age, or in the street or in the sky, death says go away
Gathered, empathic, returned to where stone takes names, to say good bye

And now we watch—unease cresting into panic—wondering how to shut it down
Something sucks the silence out of time, sometimes nails it in word or deed

11.22.2004

Blessed: foolish failures; drab choices; much known that was longed for
So much of the lived not written, add it to the forgotten . . . (and yet)

Happy: stalled by the road you touched my arm; your swimmer's shoulders
Your tie-dyed sundress rivaled green engine coolant rivered onto pavement

Each next chapter takes something away; the task, love the taken
V'd flocks go their way; north to south; birth to death; (end of time)

The mind is such a sweet thing—loves radiance, creates the ring
Lethe: crusaded for bliss, in the end settled for forgetting

I will protect and love them, will turn their eyes, will strive to show wisdom
You alone could have given them the time and the touch they want from you

Panic; fragments; dreck dumped in the dump; the ever-nighing ultimate
Honey let's go, let's ride the bed right out of this world, now

11.21.2004

Oh Jesus, if only what they say is true about you was
Check that, I'd still need sleep each night, to rise up every day

11.20.2004

Seed sleet blown down out of redwoods slurries on to every thing
Narrative of air-borne seeds—sweet as teaching a slip-knot to a boy

11.19.2004

It's so quiet here—no audible buzz; let's listen to leaves changing color
It's the loneliest day of her life . . . before tomorrow & tomorrow & tomorrow

My leashed dog sniffs along the daily walk until a roaming mutt approaches
Living on your block: bent hope; numb loss; endless boredom; clever lovers

She bathed & shaved & dressed to meet her lover
. . . goes for a smooth chin, also goes for whiskers

Passions are privileged: praised though unfaithful; sought though deadly
The premise of her work-in-progress is the kinship of words and nails

11.18.2004

The crux of states of being is the vast landscape of the mind
Moon-mind, body of flesh—not so different, not different at all

A steady pull toward the end, a growing love of useless beauty
Time runs backward now more often than thought leaps ahead

11.17.2004

Mother lit the back-yard incinerator and asked Jesus for a daughter
Locked in the bathroom, my sister switches on the fan and lights up

Jesus Trickster (he co-wrote the Prodigal Son) hasn't phoned home in years
This world specializes in raised expectations—our own flesh baits the hook

The last liberal was living in a greenhouse, growing herbs & purple flowers
Crows invisible now, night birds silent, the fearful read Songs of Innocence

High concentration of endangered species found on Calypso's Island
No televised revolution, but you will get Apocalypse on the new Internet

The war was lost; half the people in shock, the rest celebrate a victory
Information fills screens and splatters walls; they shut their eyes tight

Terrorists gather around my sleepless bed, terrorists and extinct species
My son snuggles against me under the covers and sleeps right through it

11.16.2004

Back-yard under starlight, crescent moon in the west, whose night is it?
Unwritten & unseen world, unheard, unknown, unloved—what is for us to say?

Words are what everyone speaks about, the country everyone knows
We share one roof, share one blood, and I don't know what they think

The job was managed in such a way it made them feel blessed by ignorance
For an enduring image to exist, an imageless realm must also exist

11.15.2004

Each word a promise
Every word a phoenix

Where is the beauty? Whose is the hour? Why the sky?
Carpe diem: if you build a monument what will come?

Some days you wait for the weight to shift, some a gesture lifts it
Embracing the next blaze of madness, he got up to look at sunrise

The jungles of happiness and the rain forests of bliss
The tundra of despair and alpine grief

A wall of mirror opposite a blank wall, eyes in between
Give us ink and daily bread, not temptation, not the power, not glory

11.14.2004

On the sidewalk in gray morning standing under maroon liquid amber leaves
They're face-to-face, he moves a hand under her sweatshirt & rubs her belly

All the thinking in the world won't change the color of autumn leaves
Just when you've settled, the children with their desires are ready

Song of the night sky: who is as empty as I am?
The children's song: knowledge doesn't bring Mommy back

11.13.2004

Light's corridor has narrowed and noon's beauty's more frugal than June's
The replenishing weathers, the light's bright retreats, guard summer's syllables

You will see more in the future, but less dearly
Discrete things will mean little, unique things less

We all live in language, and few imagine things not yet present in words
Rare to feel you live outside language; rare to feel language lives in you

Some words let themselves out thru the mouth, some ink, some other means
The words remain living and the tongues all die

Every word's an homage to the vision that conceived it
The voice that cries out in wilderness is a voice beyond words

To taste the word, to bring it to fulfillment with the tongue
The secret center of a word shudders when a new tongue finds it

Virtues of November: sheds light; shucks leisure; peels back existence to itself
We enter a narrow wilderness between buildings in a needle of light

11.12.2004

He studied how words (uptight, downsize, far-out) worm into the Zeitgeist
You can't cut the mustard in a stiff breeze without the right tool for the job

When the poem got tired someone arrived to sing it to sleep
Light's libido (it does have one) is more signifier than signified

Ask of your children (not your lover) What have you done to my heart?
No account for happiness, nor despair: countless colors; all leaves fall

11.11.2004

Never out of sight of doubt, never truly comprehends ignorance or widsom
Whatever mind sees is a flower; such a mind dreams of the moon—Basho

Rocket launcher pointed at the moon like a minaret
In the flames licking out a window, beautiful flowers

11.10.2004

Tried too hard, forgot the way—focus on nothing to see what's there
When beginning begins, a thing swims ahead of, or against, the tide

11.09.2004

Little by little, she replied, things get done little by little
Wind continued, hard rain began again, the dam was in trouble

A sketch of strokes resembling sticks burned in the mind's eye
A glancing moment reminded him of youth, of taking some new drug

It took years to recognize the simple cycles of emotions
Some events singe, others macerate, emotions—the worst do both

A history of emotions cannot be written because it can't be thought
Like syrupy fragrance or a blue cocktail, it overshot the intention

11.08.2004

I'm a dancy girl and I like a dancy song
I'm your personal son; you're my personal dad

11.07.2004

Danger Zone: My love for the world is like always/ For the world's a part of me
That's why I'm so afraid/ Of the progress that's being made/ Toward eternity

11.06.2004

He ditched rule and form to focus and seek (small, fierce tongue of flame)
Don't cut it, don't burn it, don't drill it, don't use it—one day it'll be beautiful

Without hesitation, but not without misgiving, they quietly began again
For months before full seeing, glimpses recurred as a series of thoughts

New thoughts keep old dreams churned up—get free of the names
Plough your mind; verb your soul; harbor stars

11.05.2004

The drift of things compels resistance; every joy seems suspect
The news is so bad . . . and the house creaks curiously all night

First reactions tend to privatize catastrophe
Heart reflects and foul anguish metastasizes

We are not happy with the shared "reality"
Easier to take medication than make revolution

Time circles, history circles, each life too—mind is quick to close
Now it's time to re-survey what lies between public and joy

Colder nights, apples ripen out back—they do things we can't
When anxiety is prod and catalyst things get fucked up

Will tirelessly produces (and destroys) solutions
Moral life shaped by marriage to amazement, yes?

11.04.2004

Re-invent the yet to be thought
Without better options he went on

The noise of wind pushing against itself
The rhythm of things blown against against

To describe the anguish you have only English
Snarling dog gets you by the leg and won't let go

Classic: duration & appetite, form & use, love & death
Next mind: rain rain, faithful lightning, puddles purposed

11.03.2004

Revolting! . . . or leave it. Maybe it's time to leave

11.02.2004

Voting rewards individuals willing to suspend disbelief
Votes are yoked to reasons, to dreams, and often to something else

They stood in line in the cold of democracy, in wind, in rain, in sun
The fact is (philosophers say it) we are condemned and must choose

Opinions vote louder than facts
The voter initiates nothing

"God is for Bush, Jesus is for Kerry" — Don Asmussen
When Will Jesus Bring the Porkchops? — George Carlin

11.01.2004

Sometimes you are part of these trees, sometimes part of us
Still alive, we look hard at Autumn: bright colors of things letting go