Time is not seen

Or lost or found
Or spent or earned

Or heard or felt
Or smelt or touched

It happens one day
Or one night

When now and thirty one years ago
Suddenly happen at once

Then and just now are
Gone but not quite

Physical memory or sometimes
Barely noticed consequence

Myth but not quite
The only story

Physics but not quite
The only proof

Love but not quite
The only loss


Hugging a tree
As big round as a house
Is not me hugging the tree

I just lean with my arms outstretched
The tree notices me
Whispers its bending winds into me

Then draws me in
By some green gravity
 
Embraces my body
And hundreds of feet
Away at the top

Knows me
Down to its roots
Knows me

Not as human

Knows me as
Organism who lives in a wooden house but says he does not want to cut
Or
Organism who complicates

And then names me thus

I imagine that I name Sequoia
Or
Cathedral
Or
God
Or
Cancer

I strain to think deeply

For thousands of years
Sequoia suffers two footed short-lived fools
Among rock, earth, wind, fire and fern

Growing old

Tonight’s Flight
08-09-09

The dream body
Flies through the night
In the form
It chooses

The peanut gallery
Is not there

Comments do not shorten
Or change its course
Opinions are not noticed

The story of tonight’s flight
Will not be on the news

This story will be told
Only at the window
Above the river

And down
It will be swept
To the receiving sea



#4•3

Our friendship is young
You open stuck windows

Your beauty threatens

But the air strengthens me
You are so kind

Rocking to the ancient
Wrinkled blues
Raspy slide jackknife

Closer
But yessss it's dangerous

DON'T STOP

Long deep black
But not black as it is long
Hair

Tangling pleasure
With unknowable shadow
Lurking patience

Long deep black years ago
There lived a monster boy
Who knew what hurt
Yessss and tears
For knowing
That the only answer
Is waiting and doing

Rocking to the ancient
Music of vibrating souls
Selves in contact tentative
As the days are both
Short and long

Time
Changing even the deepest
Wells

 

 




Breakfast Birds

Chuck and Margie are sitting
In the tiny cold kitchen
Drinking cups of weak coffee

Warmed only by six decades
The birds out the window
Feel lucky enough

To scatter sunflower seeds
A dark radius on the snow
They may not speak or

Bickering or
Another cup without asking or
Dialing down the intensity for a moment

But

The lucky birds
Make it through
Another hard winter

We remember
We talk of them now

 

 


 

Wars For The Numb
(01-21-91)
War is entertainment
We watch fake wars when there is no real war
When the real war starts we are riveted
Hypnotized…. “The real thing”We send our children to die
To fill our emptiness with their bodies
To fill our empty TV evenings
To keep our newscasters heroicWe start a new war every twenty years
In case we run out of war stories
We must not run out of war stories
We must keep the numbness quietOh War please entertain us
Keep us numb, we pray
If you abandon us
Our pain will be upon usWe must be entertained
We have a right to be entertained
Or the real war
Will rage un-numbed within us

 

 

© 2013 POET'S MOUTH Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha