If it goes against Human Nature,
then it is Art--

The least of which is Innocence;
the last of which is Heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the spinning plates of day and night
fracture that one long wave of dusk--
and in eclipse our darkness shared
will by light alone rarely touch

any but hungers that call to home--
to stars of course off course and hard
in their incubation as stalwart eyes
against the fertile profundity of rot--

or upon-- i do not know, oh i do not--
for here the world falls to ocean floor
and sand itself transforms to octopus--

here the stomach eddies warm as wave--
here death and birth are frictions shared
as minor houses entered are by fire lost

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

Early Dreams; IV.

Gripping Linda Carter with my thighs,
ache-warmth pressed upon her stomach--

The bed-- wet, again.


 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Early Dreams; III.

I am flying low over dark-furred grass as it flashes
silvers that continuously lead reflecting moon

as powerlines bewilder--


 


 


 


 

 


 

 

half-step out of the car
of the train, choose

to forget the paper, unread

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you do not praise, you can not curse
in duet with the multitude of self--

If you do not curse, you can not duet
in praise upon this most desolate earth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the mind is a fallen angel--
the body bedevils itself--

the soul purges--
the world dessicate

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in back of the car
underwear

printed with cherry leaves

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The high point of my day
is to have a full pipe,
fresh coffee and cigarettes
enough to last the length
of the stone; it is time
to change my life, but I
refuse-- I do not want
to die and like a fool,
rejoice, a mule escaped
or a carp in flight.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Early Dreams; II.

I am little, and the floor a hard blood red.
The room fills with adults, all who seem like family;
none of whom I know. The ceiling is low
and shadows may as well be people as the people
pile toys and books and strange machines
upon a fire on the floor; as the door opens,
and I alone am pulled as tho by the vaccuum
of space; I can breathe, but can not fight being
set upon the driver's side of a sedan; I stand
on the seat and the car moves of its own accord.
I do not know where we are going-- All I do, is look
around and study things; studying, I wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Early Dreams; I.

A road of wet cedar sawdust, no vehicle,
green land as grey as sky. No trees, no houses--
Four-story hills soft as sine wave. No sun,
but it is day, and I am atop the highest--
There is nothing to see, and sorrow.
From where I stand, a mummified right hand
rises up to clutch the whole of my ankle
with an angle iron grip, and I am afraid--
I struggle into an exhilaration of falling
into a lake I did not see, an escape
by sinking and not drowning, gazing up
thru water perfectly clear to one small boat
black against a sky ripened brightly into blue--
Silhouette of a man leaning out to help
ten feet above with an arm I do not rise to take,
stilled by this beauty I will never believe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from the marriage of emptiness and pefection
the sky divorces the mind to garland wake
as momentary histories of isle and boat

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

a castle in a cavern, in a mountain
that should just be, as the static lightning cracks
at armies in the ground, upon which you feast


 

 


 

 

 

 

 
 

a haunted goth
carries her skull inside herself and decides

while the ground is being razed
to limestone as silty slit as any blood in rain
 
or is it rain in sky and the sky a pinafore
and the earth a worm in the void

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

under three lamps
moons upon ice

incalculate
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dearest Undying Love: icicle trees stalwart star stalking cloud;

         Chittering leaves chuckling chattels of wind.
  Here are roots exposed that that tree by river water drown
                                     And dam
       And overflow--
                 A slow and seemly constant caress.

Within the ivory maple boughs, an oriole surveys a robin's nest;

         A plane turns toward the end of its flight.
  Here there is a tensility of life against the wash of death
                                     And thought
       And whim--
                 Storm royalty roiling over field.

         All signs of condemnation are condemned;

The rot ripened spring upstages all, self-beloved and undying.