but aren't they all random?



A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

"I skipped the other day"

I skipped the other day -
you can skip,

when no one's watching.
Make of innocence such delicious guilt
-gilded pleasures,
like any childhood game.
In adulthood, the game becomes:

don't ever let them catch you playing
it!

You can't let someone see
you skip,
but sometimes you have to
- shhhhh!

I had good reason,
too. I'd had a call
from somebody who'd been going non stop
bad news for weeks, me rationing commiseration
and hope, in equal measure - but
without much reason for either, when

I saw the phone light up,
my heart sank,
because

by then, it had been conditioned to.

All those bad news weeks, days in rows for months,
for someone you always loved
talking to.
And still do, but

- of course I picked up.

I left the place where people were,
I went out back, used the excuse
of a cigarette or two,
and was much lightened: two
of the worst three crises

had turned to triumph! And
apparently,
I'd given advice
which she said she took all of.

But I didn't remember giving any.

Anyway, it helped,
and I skipped
all the way back. Except
when I crossed the doorway,
suddenly I realized
- I should walk a bit more normally.

Pity, that.

since ages since

It must be ages since I saw your soul
dancing behind your eyes. It must
be ages since I made your face hurt
from laughing. But you know,

I look round at the world, and
between you and me, it's every bit as funny

as it used to be.

Friday, January 09, 2015

"addict", or "crack die"

If the answer is yes,
I do not refuse.
If it's all for the best,
I will place my bets.
in this possible world, we can
-not lose,

now -

with so very much less to choose, left
with so very much less,
come on dice -

baby needs new shoes

"Can you make a mistake and miss your fate??"

Can you make a mistake and miss your fate??
When you saw all your years stretch down a path
that you somehow missed, some trip
on the way. Must have led you astray

your beautiful laugh
still holds all the notes.
All the music of life lived stoked,
lived loved, lived whole. Lived psyched,
but the tune pulls pain from heartstrings
now.

A shadow of rain from every cloud,
an echo of gold in each glimpse of sun
recalls every last thing you knew you had
won,

that was somehow lost. What a long strange trip

it must have been, love
that we fall to this -
tumbled,
and sprawled down this long strange path.

Was it destiny? Fate? Don't make me laugh,
please, if the joke's not true. Still the joke
is on us, either way. I do

know, and trust, that the joke was
good. I can smile myself. And you're such a good sport,

that it seems like hell
hath no fury to set against you. The report
On our fate

is a page too short.

Fate -
whatever it was
- has gone on its way
and has left us behind. Were there forks
in the road, that we missed? As we laughed
Did we act too slow? or move way too fast?
Have we killed too kind? As we shot,
locked-sure in some clear, cut joy
that was not
what it turned out to be. Were we blind?
Did we see? or ignore?
We both saw the same thing,
you know.

Either way, now
it's sure.

Destroy what was meant to be,
I guess.
Today

it's gone.
Either way, we missed
Or else - we were wrong
from the very first guess.
From the very first glimpse
of the path we thought
looked like such a good bet!

and has come to naught,

"Not yet, not yet!" - no:
it's come to this.

Fate

has gone on its way, and left us behind. And
you don't really miss, and
I can't really say, but
I don't really mind
so much anymore.
I could stray and stray
by your side, explore any way this strange road
has to take, my bride (
once-to-be, now not)
-to-be, so let it lie.

Can you make a mistake and miss your fate?

If I'm part of your fate, you have not missed me.
I can't speak for the rest. Can you miss your fate?
If the answer's yes, if our chance
is past,
if our fate must deny
and refuse us that path -

still I'm glad we asked.

Thursday, January 08, 2015

piecemeal

people say you should disregard 
all kinds of stuff, and 
"it's just the personality" 
that counts, but me

No.

 I put the whole person 
considered as one including the whole package, 
and everything in it.
 "personality" 
If you ask me, is every quality that goes into making them the person you recognize. And no-one else

 what makes them them, 
or me me, or you you -
why leave anything off or out? What part
of the person you love

"doesn't matter?"

Not one bit.
- not setting aside even
one's wee-wee or hoo-hoo, but 
incorporating the whole thing in toto and suddenly,
you're NO WHERE NEAR KANSAS and seeing colors
 that weren't invented a second ago

I believe 

People truly love the whole person, 
or are missing something. To pick out and love
just one part

some chipped-off shard,
discarding 
what you yourself lack, I suspect
 cast it aside
as unworthy. Jealous 

Lover, you miss
the whole person
 for all they are, can't see
the far greater sum 

you focus on a part. Nope,
that short sharp sighted approach -
slice, cut out what you say is worth less
- is not for me.

Love this, if it's not too much
to love: mind heart disposition sense of humor character, sure, 
soul if you got some, yes, eyes, 
smile, laugh
face body and blood and
everything,
 amen!
glory hallelujah.

Love that

all. The package
deal. and set aside
nothing as if unimportant, nothing 
as if meaningless.

 There is nothing shallow
In the one I love. Her skin deep 
goes for miles and years, 
and never reach the end of it.
You can't break her down,
atomizing dissected aspects 
giving each different weights. No,

I take the one I love all together, altogether,
all I am is for her, all of her.
 all the way, and I won't miss one thing.
That's how a person can love another person. 
To bits and back again, no stray piece left
I love you, love, and

God damn, you
 are entirely beautiful

Friday, December 26, 2014

beyond burned

A heart is a mountain made out of wood,

With roots that stretch
to the depths of the earth.

And we hate and we fear
that we'll ever get burned,

As our heart stands,
 inflammable,
waiting its turn. Waiting its test,

 as an infinite fuel
awaits its birth. 


It will burn forever and never run out.


The thing in my nature that makes me your man,
and leaves me no doubt,
is every and all of the things

That I am.

and it will not learn

nature dies.,
But it will not learn.

beyond burned

A heart is a mountain made out of wood,
With roots that stretch
to the depths of the earth.

And we hate and we fear
that we'll ever get burned,
As our heart stands,
 inflammable,

waiting its turn. As an infinite fuel
awaits its birth.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Wander

Planets will shine with a steady light, too much in the sun

 to see anything any less bright. Stars
Twinkle and wink at us, because they know the universe

 is not empty. 
As dawn comes on, Venus 

 is shorn of all her symbolism, as sure as this

Is Christmas morn. And it is cold. But I at least am warm

 for this time of year, and dressed to be born. Is there anything left
to cross such vast gaps?

In a world made new each year, where
 that star you see twinkle so merrily, so easily
May have died,  ages ago and you too

 will die, having hung your most desperate wish upon it.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

"return trip"

You think your costume angel wings, and faith
are just enough to hold you up, until the pixie dust
runs out of magic, out of luck. And just
before you start to fall - you flap your arms,
a sad cartoon

with eyes squeezed shut: "no place like home!"

think wonderfully,

you'll be there soon

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Track.

I keep track like a track star,
under my feet it slides by
Without a thought as I win
the meet.

"any feedback would be appreciated"

I've always been too happy
with what I write and I suspect, not entirely
with justification. Criticisms, appreciations; appreciations,
suggestions; suggestions, complaints - where would I be
without them

but where I am?

Without them: drifting
in a wide, spacious void of my own
making, created by shockwave from the center
of an impact crater, or

a spreading wake from the dropped stone
that is a piece of work
- my work.

Sinking
listlessly now,
plumb
to the bottom
without raising so much as a bubble.

The surface's smoothness returns.

Echoes of diminishing ripples
finally reach onlookers gathered by the shore, who
gape out at the point where the dive fell through
and, catching each others' eyes,

observe "My.
Must be pleased
with himself."

But I can't hear you.

I was pleased, but now
I am sinking down

to where there's never been any air.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

"Send down your rain"

If you send down your rain, I will send up our sun -
it is ours, yours and mine. It's no good for just one
to be under these skies of impossible blue - when
I'd rather be soaked to the skin, next to you.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

"swim lessons"


I'm so lucky I know
more about myself than I knew before
all this. I'm so lucky I could cry,
or die
happy,
or just sleep like a baby
who knows what truth is.
I'm so lucky I know as a cold, hard fact what love is,
and was, and could have been. Too deep
for doubt, leaving second thoughts
not a chance to creep in,
on the far side of faith with no leaps left to take.
All grown up and under control, with my destiny
in my hands and I won't have to grow old,
to find enlightenment. Here it comes
and for once, I'm not fighting it.
I'll be a Buddhist in a minute.
Or at least, I'll find out what the river means
with me in it. I'm going to learn
to go with the flow
and everything else I need to know. You swore
you'd teach me to swim, didn't
you?

Wednesday, October 08, 2014

NO MATTER WHAT

No matter What
Miracles you see, preserve

Your skepticism, against
all
eventuality.

Friday, October 03, 2014

to negotiate away

It is almost always worth it

to negotiate. There are mountains
and chasms and rivers within us,
and the maps we've drawn up
or we've each been given
don't line up - or they may not

work with the ones
that others have. Or perhaps
yours are just too folded up, re-folded
wrong, dog-eared, worn
as hats,
and origami'd into airplanes, place mats,
repurposed in all sorts of creative shapes,
the letters and directions all chafed
and worn off, from too much good use
to be used anymore as maps.

You have to negotiate

each path, ford and crossing,
with your own eyes
open, wide and see

that the other is with you. The only way

it can ever not be worth it
to negotiate,

is where the other person's not willing
to negotiate it with you.
And at that point, sure,
you must give up. You
can't ford a river together
against one of your wills. The rushing water

alone

is enough, without
trying to push past that.
So you're better off to face
the rushing water

alone.

If one of you decides it's not worth it, then

there will be no way you can spot,
no path you can plot, and
no bird's eye view
will see you

through.

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

gravity corrects

Everything spins
but gravity corrects, and humanity stands
to see what's next.

"zombies aren't monsters / just departed friends / who know how much better it is / once we end"

There are too many ways
- impossible to point out, since
when you try, each act
seems perfectly innocuous; impossible
to decry

since surely, the way humanity acts
is not intended. But
the press and the weight
of the ways we come down
all at once on each other and continuously,
without relief - it
results in a world where humanity,
in its notice and beneath it,
treats

each of us

monstrously.

Humanity is a monster, or maybe
it's just too easy to see it that way. The way
you live your life, and the way you will
die. You know, you have seen
how badly the living
treat the dead who stay,
in the fictions we pay
for others to make -

it is not so very different
from how all we living
treat those who move among us, visible
but ignored, moving past us
as best they can with open eyes,
downcast.

I think

the only difference may be
some of the living are lucky
enough (or maybe, work hard
enough, or both: maybe they work,
and are lucky enough to find people
who find all that effort congenial)
to find people

who treat you like home. You belong,
to them anyway. Well, that plus - for the living,
the rot is invisible.

I think it can be read as that. Life.
It is an allegory for all kinds of monstrous
things - any alienating condition
that people have, but

deeper than that

is the alienation itself, that comes from being
born.

trapped in a skull
with two eye holes
and little to know
and little to no
reassurance that anyone can, or will
know you.

Who you are inside.

what is inside you

so deep in it can only hide

What is inside you

Monday, September 29, 2014

the age of myth

This world is a terror
of unexplained. A crack
and a splitting of night
-time sky. The light
comes in flashes
that clarify
human heart,
as they terrify
mortal brain.

As we scatter -
each everyone
for itself -
tearing down every path
we can find in the dark,
we race and we crash,
we collide on tracks
and we hide in caves,
never knowing our part.
And to us, this is home.

This world, this life
as the ones who we
fleetingly love and know,
die desperately hard!
We live desperate and fast,
knowing only today, knowing now
won't last.

So we make up a myth. We huddle
in close. We bind up our wounds,
we sharpen our spears, and
we gather round fire.
We have found we can make
our own light, if we try
- we begin to see clear.

We begin to make sense,
in the stories we weave,
of what you mean to me,
and why we bleed.

And here in my tribe,
you are. So high -
in wisdom, esteem
- a priestess indeed.

A teacher in word,
in gesture and sign.
In feather and dress,
your dance is mine.

In wood and in flesh,
with sigil and scrawl,
the totem and fetish our hearts enclose
will take root and plant seed,
in nature and sky.
In cloud and in ground,
our science grows

and in time, conquers all
as we stretch and we yawn
and we turn to turn in,
pulling dreams in close -

and from eye to eye glance,
and from mouth to mouth smile
in creating the truth

that everyone knows.

Friday, September 26, 2014

"A heaven"

if adrift at sea,
with water to drink
and nothing to eat
except plenty of fish
and you and me.
Without compass or course,
no use for the stars but to wish -
we'd wish for:

Not a thing.
our sails to stay furled -
not becalmed, just at peace
with the whole wide world,
and with anchor drawn in
we'd drift through each night
never more to wash up
on the rocks of life

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

together alone

I almost don't know why I love you so
I definitely know why I need it
For me there isn't a bad thing in it
You make me feel outstanding, brilliant

You make me want to be the man.
I always said I was, but this time, I am
at least with a little help. With your belief
in me,
I can.

Be my friend, my love. Hold my hand,
and I will pretend I understand where we are.
Where we've been has been too hard to be.
Where we're going is not too far to see,

but there's nothing there we wanted,
except you and me. (may be.) The rest
is all fog, haze, and a forecast of rain
for days and days.

I wish I could live with you
in this storm, but instead
I must stay in the sun.
for you, I will keep it warm.

Wherever you stay I will be here.
There's no place I'd rather stray but home
- but until you can make it, I'll wait alone.

It's a beautiful place
to be my own.

Monday, September 15, 2014

ahold (of)

I'd love to linger
forever in this world
, honestly. I love it. I'd love to strike
sweet deals with higher powers that be, to keep me

vigorous and incorruptible

on a permanent basis, on a non-metempsychotic
bodhisattva vow of some sort. And oh,
I would do my part! In exchange, I'd do

- oh heck who am I kidding, it's to do

my part

that I want the deal.

But I know that won't happen.
This world is not our final home,

I'm afraid.

But I can see
that this world is the place to be,
this world is the forge - we create who we are,
and who we will be. From, as has been so beautifully said:

babies.

We're born into raw materials, a
tiny gurgling thing, and with circumstance. As we grow,
our grasp on self takes hold, and we
begin to direct who we are and who we will be
-come. Through our own choice, our one chance,
our true self is, and takes shape. Makes itself, self-made
, every choice defines us, that we make. Can we
do anything? Anything we will? Anything we please?
Please, no. No, our circumstance and our raw material will
impose some limits. Yet

we can and do make every choice we make. And every day,
this is how we create
a self.

just one

This life,
just one

- is an incredible gift. And even if it turns
out there is no Giver, our self is the gift
we give back.

Let us remember we are dust, let's make love
and make war, and make God damned sure
our dust is not all we will leave

behind.

one who holds hell.

I am one who holds hell is not
the horror you are condemned to
for ever, or even for life. Oh, those who abide
there may know hell
may very well last that long. At least,
it may feel like it, but hell is not the bad thing
to which you are condemned.

Hell is the amazing thing
you are forced to do utterly without.

And for life,
forever probably
- or it feels like it. Who cares!

Hell is just what that feels like. Hell
is just what feels like that.
It doesn't matter how long
it's going to last.
It doesn't even necessarily have
to exist

for you to feel it, those flesh
-tearing hooks and hot tongues
of flame. A lake of fire?

You and I could have blown it out like a candle, woman
we were such a match!! Hell

is the punishing agony of banishment, awakened
to the finest and best good, and denied it.
Hell is where you live.
And what you are forced to endure, from having
once known love,

to now, when you know how sure:

it is denied.

"my woman"

My woman is mine: my property. I mean
a property of mine that's essential to me.
I mean a property of mine without which
I've lost

- who I am.
She has made me so strong,
but at awful cost: I cannot be my self

no more.

I can only be hers,
and she knows the score
When she gave herself to me,
she gave all that she had
and not one bit more. More
or less, I was already hers,
so I've got that back plus she
has got all of mine. Given new,
every day and that's so damn fine
How I feel, for true:
this is how it should be.
We like it this way.

We know the score,
and the game and at the end
of the day, we know the final result:
One to nothing, we win.
There was never much doubt,
when we never give in.
There was never any hope
for the other guys, no.
Not once sides were drawn,
but we're game - we'll play, though!
It's fun. Here we go:

We are one, one side,
one goal two tenders,
through hell, one ride
one fire gone out of control
consumes all the world's woulds
to embers - scorched to ash, for good
- and it rises, up from ash
every setting sun:
one fire
two minds two hearts
one will be done.

Just one: what she and I
decide to agree on today, and okay
- I'll bite. What's on your mind?
I won't hide, and
you can touch me,
I won't die.
'Til the day we part:
for without your self,
such strong free gift -
if you ever take it back,
there'll be none of me left.
My self. Will have been undone,
All properties lost. All
the strength you gave,
all the joys we won
and every way I know now
how to find my way. How to be
a man - without you, I could not say.
You taught me how to be a man,
when you made me yours. Without you,
I'm just half
half heart
half soul: not for better, now, no:
the worst. No cure.

My woman is mine,
and she wins the earth.
My baby doll,
My very best girl,
My woman my ole lady,
My rock my world,
My role is to be
your man, for best.
You gave your self to me,
I cannot give less.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Breakfist McBag

Ah, breakfast on the go

a lifestyle for so many, 
in the western world

  convenience and nutrition, in
 one delicious bag

  mingling hot smells and 
bumping up against each other

 the most important meal 
of the day has its way with us

fast, fresh and hot

well, good job anyway
Eating breakfast.

A deep end.

I can't go swimming
 in my own mind
 without a floatation device of some kind.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Resolution.

Its 2am tonight.
I shall walk in light,
and fear
No evil except
That which rears
It's ugly

head.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Way Too Much Chardonnay

I been a pretty good old boy.
Knocking back my whisky shots.
Drinking kerrs and buh with joy
- well, what more do we need or got?
But then I met this lady, friend
- she says I'm quite the gentleman.
I'm used to having things my way,
but I'm trying more of hers each day, I drink

Way too much chardonnay!
We share a taste in finer wine
- I usually go about 5.99
and she's a thirty dollar a bottle girl,
we drink way too much chardonnay!
Try to cut back, but there ain't no hope.
I can't get enough of that butter, and
she needs a whooole lot of oak,
We drink way too much chardonnay

My friends have seen the change in me.
They give me grief, but I'm happy.
And even those who call me "punk"
admit I'm such a nicer drunk.
This wine brings out sincerity,
with notes of truth and clarity?
And finishes with just a hint -
that I'm getting way too deep in it, I drink

Way too much chardonnay!
We share a taste in finer wine
- I usually go about 5.99
and she's a thirty dollar a bottle girl,
we drink way too much chardonnay!
Try to cut back, but there ain't no hope.
I can't get enough of that butter, and
she needs a whooole lot of oak,
We drink way too much chardonnay

Now my friends are starting in
on this and that pinot and zin.
They're talking all that wine-snob talk,
and telling me to step it up!
Well I don't mean to push my snoot
into whatever you call fruit.
You can go as red you like, I'm not ashamed
to be so white, I drink

Way too much chardonnay!
We share a taste in finer wine
- I usually go about 5.99
and she's a thirty dollar a bottle girl,
we drink way too much chardonnay!
Try to cut back, but there ain't no hope.
I can't get enough of that butter, and
she needs a whooole lot of oak,
We drink way too much chardonnay

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

day shift


All my dreams gave notice
and quit. It's empty
on the factory floor each night,
no magic to make or supervise.
But in the day, those dreams come by. Disheveled, ghastly in the light,
they grouse a bit and beg for change.
I tell them, please! Come back to work!
I'd be so glad to take you back. You played
so well by dim limelight. By daylight,
you're simply not believable. They
look at me strange, as if I came
from a world that had lost its soul,
its shadow, its reflection and gone
looking for it in theirs. But I'm sure
it was the other way round

Monday, August 18, 2014

"Afoot"

The game is afoot,
And two feet make a stance
But 2 geniuses form
Into one Latin plural
with wishes to grant
that break open bottles
And fire up smoke -
So we think,

And we plan,

And we rub

And we hope.

"Highway 9"

Highway Nine at night:
driving through a grove.
All the leaves came gathering
to see trees take off clothes;
darkness comes in close
To settle in your eyes
as the sun goes hiding, we
go seeking faerie lights, I

hit the road and drive that stick
just roll on up and down with it,
you witch the road with spells that stick,
then roll up high and fly with it
we hug the road with wheels that stick
then roll around and curve with it,
we pick the road through sacred grove
then pull aside and hide
in it,


for I am hid in you
and you are here in me
and anyone would know
it's hid for all to see
the darkness comes in close
to settle in your gaze
your fair hair's electric gold
can't hide your darkest ways, hey

witch the road with spells that stick,
then roll up high and fly with it
I pick the road and drive that stick
then roll on up and down with it,
we hug the road with wheels that stick
roll all around and curve with it,
we pick the road through sacred grove
then pull aside and hide in it,
a bit

we fit
into this place
we run
down paths by leaves, erased
and find ourselves
in fairy ring
cathedral, chased
in stained-glass dust,
hung in moonbeams
just for us, just
for us, just
for us,
just

take the road that goes on high, then
pull in someplace sanctified
chase the road that goes in deep, then
get lost on your own four feet
feel yourself sprout angel wings
and fur and hair and claws and things
ride the road to stars and sky
then tumble out and let things lie

Highway Nine at night:
drive in through a grove.
All the leaves came gathering
to see trees take off clothes;
darkness comes in close
unsettling your lies
Your fair hair can't cover up
the darkness in my eyes, I

hit the road.

Friday, August 08, 2014

Make ready.

Time

To make ready for
tomorrow.But

I haven't had today yet!

benedicted.

I'm not flirting with the world. Just death!
If you please, I will take it lying down;
Standing fast. On my knees? Pray
To god. In my eyes, arteries, or
Pores. Give
Me more than I can take,
'cause I can't take

More.

Tuesday, August 05, 2014

"Stone Dry"

I go out talking every night
and talking's thirsty work
I don't need a drink,
I just like to whistle.
So whet
yourself
On this stone

You can't squeeze a drop of blood
from a man alone,
I go out talking every night
Talking's thirsty work
I don't need a drink
I just love to whistle

In the dark
In the dark
I just

Put my lips together, and I

and I

I suck.

Friday, July 25, 2014

"succinct"

http://asurfaceofinfiniteshallowness.blogspot.com/2014/07/i-like-to-write-online-poems-anybody.html







"succinct"

close in compass,
compact in scope,
brief in form,
and tightening down:

concise

essentially,
she is.

To closest fit
a given noun
that's just a bit

extravagant

to be precise.




Monday, July 21, 2014

"love boils off"

and it smells awful

once it gets down to smoking
blacked, caramelized
burnt candy glaze,
and the heart
-shaped glass tray
that I gave you, that
you'd been making
it in, saved

for special occasions only

will explode, crack!
and spray little arrows
of cutting glass and hot,
sticky residue
all over the place,
the moment you try
to move it
- suddenly remembered, if not
rescued, suddenly you
rushed in from the other room,
to the back burner
you left it on for too long,

what a waste.
I will always guess-wish
that secretly, you
had been looking forward to actually
digging into this. So
sweet,

like a song, so full
of all good things,

now gone.

Despite
the invisible shards
and ruined flavors, you
almost have to try

some. And close your eyes,

and imagine

savor.

"I killed and ate a gorilla"

I killed and ate a gorilla
to crush the butterflies,
and my stomach was calm
and my blood flowed on
and the mountains came
to ask me for advice.
I complied, perhaps partly I lied,
but they reclined, contented
and so I say the proof's in the crust.

Soon enough, the skies as well
- although to be quite honest, they did not
look as well as I'd seen them, still: I tried
to be nice to them. I told them what
they wanted to hear, or so I judged:

"Keep it up! Be yourself. Don't
let anyone get you down."
It seemed to work.

When the seas rushed in
for their share of wisdom I balked:
I can't swim! Don't drown me, please
but the seas buoyed me up, with
compliments and promises: "Just
tell us what we need to hear, we're
so sure you'll float!" and I did.

I told them:

that even though it's true
nobody suspects their deep,
yawning gaping depths of abyss,
(which was a lie, the Navy has mapped
that shit all out), that even though most
everyone only sees and rhapsodizes
over the surface, that even though you
feel, consequently, that
"no one really knows me"

- no, wrong. That surface
- all of you that all of the world
sees - is true. The surface you spread
before the world, of you, is true - and no lie,
despite you may make efforts to swirl the foam
this or that way, or pile up a rogue wave now and then,
to intimidate - still what others see
is as real as how you feel. Deep down and inaccessible
is no more real than surface and barely (or at least,
only ineffectively at best) controlled.

The seas thought that one over,
and I felt myself sink
to drown, so I thought, but turns out
I was only in
three feet of water. I'm not as deep

as I think I am sometimes.

All of this attention from the natural
world had more-or-less turned my head around.
After advising the sun to continue on its course doing likewise
vis-a-vis its own head,

from my perspective at least,

I got a little too wild, and
I killed and ate a gorilla. Yes,
in that order.

I killed and ate a gorilla
and tried to say it was ok,
excuse myself

on grounds of:
- "dada"
- "surrealist"
- absurdity,
- "satire," no not
- "irony."

I never could quite get a handle
on that, I'm

a vegan where irony, or irony by-
products are concerned,

although I try

to bolster my diet with alternative
sources
of iron,

such as a gorilla.

Where was I?

Oh yes,

at the zoo.

In the zoo jail, specifically, which
- let me tell you! Is a real damn specific, ironic
place in which to find one's self, as a human
animal! And I can't help but feel
like one wall of the zoo
jail should be just bars - open
to the viewing public. "Do not feed the
prisoner!" When's feeding time? Can
we watch? "Oh, none for me
thanks. Not hungry,

This would never fly. Zoos

would not be comfortable drawing
these kinds
of parallels
.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

fun fun

life is fun fun,
fun

it gets in
through your skin

and your nose
and your eyes
and your tongue

and it's fun fun,
and no one
's there
to take
the t-bird away
- just go daddy go
'til the day
that it

dies!

Monday, July 14, 2014

desolations

The desolations of chances missed, ways
not blazed quite through, paths there
always, but not trod
between fecund fields of friends

so closely bordered spiritually
upon each other

that the occasional,
inevitable property dispute
over dear territories so nearly
jointly-held

can only occasion joy, reunion,
rejoinder, rejoicing.
The desolations

of conversations not joined.

Meetings missed,
walks taken at times
that do not intersect, yet
on the same lines. I see
your print.

You
and I,

will or nil we,
are proceeded upon paths
that will always cross, and
that inexorably

do join.

license

Sometimes it's OK to fantasize
(idly)
(sexually)
about someone whose political
(or religious)
(or other)
opinions you very strongly
(or however weakly)
disagree
(or agree!) with, and
just as OK sometimes
to have an interaction with anyone
where certain aspects of
- whatever, you know - what
catches your attention?
Overshadow. However

bear in mind that it can't be healthy
to skew the primary way one relates
to women (or in your case maybe, men?)
towards fantasy,
towards an unmitigated prurient interest.

No,

the more one does that, the less
one is able to relate to a woman
(asterisk, and heretofore et cetera) fully, in
an interrelation and interplay of fully
full, real and realized
persons.

Which - hey, that's the good
stuff right? Sure!

Having said all that though, of course
it's ok to take somewhat of a freaky look
on it all, from time to time, too - why not?
The whole humanity deal, all aspects of others
being otherwise equal, and equally
real, with everybody fully "going on"
in all glorious facets at once - we need
to appreciate all of this, or surely we will
never be fully full ourselves, or satisfied.

Still,

sometimes it's ok to focus in on this or that
aspect! To the exclusion, not the denial
of others. Just that in a momentary moment,

in person or in mind, certain things
cry out for attention.
To be noticed, specifically, and we
- without so much as thinking it - respond,
momentarily emphasizing that thing or two
to the momentary eclipse of
the full spread of facts.

Who among us hasn't done THAT!?

You can't look fully
at every part and aspect
of a person at one and the same time, any more
than you can
(in a given moment)
focus on the entirety of a play.
To focus on part doesn't diminish
the whole. It doesn't diminish
the play, or the interplay. Or
the afterplay.

Aspects turn. They captivate us,
each in turn, as the cut diamond
of one's mind twirls in delight
to catch the brilliant white
-rose light of sunrise,

the sun caught off-guard,
first-thing in the morning,
blinking, mind reeling, flashing -

just a few brilliant aspects, caught
in several of its facets.

It diminishes us not at all
to catch in a flash this moment,
where one aspect of one act in play
momentarily consumes all. We see
it all, or we have, or we will,
but most of all just then we see
how the light has caught us,
how we catch light and - gleam,

throw it back

Tuesday, July 01, 2014

"silk"


And maybe we're spun
in a chrysalis
and maybe someday,
our wings will spread
but it won't be our wings
that break us out
we'll have to use
our head.