Wednesday, January 20, 2010

all told
to the silver man,
freezing in no hopes
shaking head with cap
and saying
"Oh dear me,
dear me,
this's the -
the big one!
we're all dead
for sure."
Life is a leaking faucet
because no-one can stop it,
even if you die,
the worms live on.
Say, worm,
do a happy worm-dance.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

it airplane

You’re sleeping next to me
in an airplane
suspended in the dark sky of
Raliegh to Los Angeles
meanwhile gangsters kill
each other in parking lots
until the survivors sell frozen yogurt to us
in Texas layover.
Now more than halfway to LA –
we’ll stay there and
call it home even
and abide
the bullshit
and love everything good
until we leave,
and we will love
everything good.
Time is a folded napkin.
We will get there,
Lord-willing of course,
and if we never
see a million
flower petals
falling like rain
from a benevolent God
of beautiful miracles
but instead sit in
the dark with
pain hunger temptation
anger loss and shame
let us say
still and always
this is the best shit
because God put us
here, and God
is good.
Lapse not into
absurdity and keep
me sane.
Sane without humanity?

Floating duck
spots of light floating
like burning bugs
I say, sing
something enrapturing
for luck
but quietly and
where no-one can
hear you.

Loud constant hush of
the airplane
sings to me now.

This is the sky-song
of the prosperous and
rich: silence,
rushing of wind,
darkness, oh,
I love to think
of the other
times where
we knew everything
would be okay –
we still know
it, of course,
I do, I sing it
every day.
the sun?

You talked about visions of the
sunset, described
in words that people
use about heaven,
with the attendant
“oh my God”
of praise.
The sun behind clouds
seen over the ocean
in the West where
it sets.
Dynamic like
the waves
and the heavens and
earth and angels
and souls,
souls, dynamic,
souls, changing,
changing up or
down or separating
at the seams
where two have
been haphazardly
stitched together
or tightened with
the signs of
years of wear and
Souls and their
love are
the beauty
of God,
sunsets, His
            sad songs

all this I thought
you described the colors
and apparitions
and sprites
and songs
that you saw in the
clouds with
the sun
that no-one else
could see.
  your words were as
  beautiful as you are
  and with the same
  suffering – your hair
  blown by the wind
  covered your face
  you turned it down
  and brushed it away
  like you do all the
  horrors of your mind
  and of the world by
  God’s grace.

  I look now
to my side and
you’re fast asleep still
still no lights outside
clouds maybe but
for us only
until tomorrow.
We’re going West
along with the sun.
We’re prolonging the
darkness for us.
The more the better
because usually it’s the
days that linger
with no end.

Monday, January 11, 2010

first woodcut