In June of 2010 I resolved to write a poem every day--not for any particular reason--just cuz. I kept it up through that summer right up to Labor Day weekend when I wrote the first of the Sonnets From Other Lives series.
8/16
The rage of generations
simmers behind those eyes.
(Assholes breeding assholes... )
So why are we surprised
when we become the target
of one his attacks,
we ignore our better angels
& reflexively strike back?
The physics of karma
& the Third Law of Emotion
say what goes around will come around
and second his remotion
from us who wish the world well
to his squalid spider hole--
where he plots how to inflict on us
the pain of his own soul.
8/15
Sonnet
"What's on the tube?" "You know, the usual dreck."
"I'm goin' surfin'. Hand me the remote.
Check it out--on Fox it's time for Beck."
"I'm not near high enough to watch that goat-
-blowing psychopathic asshole now."
"Oooo look: close ups of greasy fast food meat!"
"These ads that show me what's inside a cow
are just killing my desire to ever eat."
"We could watch D-list Celebs & Donald Trump,
or Skanks & Morons of the Jersey Shore,
or The Morbidly Obese Reduce their Rumps..."
"Doesn't anyone hire writers anymore?!?!?"
"But, dude, without Reality TV
we might catch on
to what's been done
to our reality."
8/14
Sonnet
Summer lights the Northern Hemisphere
in blazing days & lapis luzuli skies
that loll above a torpid atmosphere
'till sunset breezes float us into night.
We lust after the sun and after water--
for pools & ponds & rivers & for oceans.
Skin resents cloth's superfluous bother--
would be skyclad & anointed in lotions.
Days now linger. Nights now saunter by
in lazy city sidewalk passenggiattas
or fields of children stalking fireflies
or eaters--al fresco, sated and besotted.
Time to praise these days. Light fires. Watch them burn,
& toast the sun before the the dark returns.
8/13
The Wrecking Crew
discovered the deficit 18 months ago.
Odd they never noticed it (at 2 trillion or so)
before they turned it over (like a reeking, steaming turd)
to the new administration,
pretending that they'd never heard
the budget balance in 2000 was firmly in the black.
But a strong & healthy government...
the Crew could not have that!
They promptly lowered taxes,
(though mostly for the wealthy)
then looked around to found more ways to make the state unhealthy.
After 9/11 they launched a couple wars
though there was some confusion over what to fight them for.
They claimed this would stop terrorism, then switched to say we seek
some somehow nonexistent WMB's.
(& all this at a cost of a quarter million casualties
not to mention roughly 2 billion bucks a week).
To minimize the sacrifice the Wreckers thought it funny
to execute the whole fiasco with borrowed Chinese money.
But when barely regulated banks lost big at the casino
we woke up & discovered that somehow between, oh
two and three trillion bucks had somehow disappeared,
& a Brand New Great Depression was quite possible we feared.
Now economists will tell you, in an economic crash
the government should save the day by spending lots of cash.
Bummer that the Wreckers stripped the Treasury to the bone,
so Obama had to hold his nose & take out another loan.
Now the guys who made the mess themselves all act all hot & bothered.
(Like a guy who sets his house on fire & complains about the cost of water)
Anyway election day is nigh.
We can guess how that will be
now that it's Constitutional to buy democracy.
I suppose all us Progressives
need to shake off our malaise
& get our asses into gear
over the next few days.
Remembering how these things go,
we can't work hard enough.
Because the Wrecking Crew
is ready to
pick up where they left off.
8/12
To understand the Wrecking Crew
ignore their words--watch what they do.
The GOP's no mystery
to those who know their history.
The rhetoric
is just a trick:
You watch the cape,
don't see the sword,
the real danger gets ignored.
Rabid ranting bloviators
homophobic racist haters,
are really only slight of hand--
distractions--when you understand
the real destruction that these guys have wrought
is helping uber haves take what they've got
by writing rules that take away from us
our rights, our unions, voices & our trust.
Buffoonery, you need to see, is only meant
to make a travesty of government--
the only power base we COULD control
if we ever woke the giant & set the goal
of finally taking charge & cutting free
from corporate controlled democracy.
8/10 & 8/11
Seattle 2--Oakland 0
Felix Hernandez
7 & 9 with a 2.71 ERA
vs
Brett Anderson 3 & 3
with an ERA of 2.88
The First
A's lead off with Coco Crisp
(you gotta love that name)
who runs out a bunt to take 1st base.
Enter Daric Barton who singles to center.
Kurt Suzuki lines to left. WTF?
Hernandez put a runner on every base--
Not what you want from your ace.
But he rallies--fans DH, Jack Cust
& renews fan trust
with a 4-5-3 double play off
off Kevin Kouzmanoff.
Ichiro leads with his samurai stance
but can't hold back on a crap
strike 3.
Chone Figgins fans --Lopez walks &
Gutierrez doubles left.
The table's set and...
... Casey Kotchman just grounds out to second.
The Second
Felix puts up two more K's
On Rajai Davis & Mark Ellis.
Radio tells us
This will be Cris Carter's
2nd game in the Bigs,
but he
cracks a brokebat grounder
that Wilson digs
out for out #3
Alan Moore flies
out long to right
Ryan Langerhans tries
and fails to hit a wicked slider
Matt Tuiasosopo sends
a high rider
chopper to retire
the side.
The Third
Cliff Pennington fans--
hands Felix his 4th K
Crisp beats out a single to short
But Barton grounds into
a double play.
Josh Wilson pops out.
Ichio grounds out.
Figgins strikes out.
The Fourth
Kurt Suzuki flies out right
Crust draws a walk
Kousmanoff watches
strike three zip by
& Ellis misses for his 3d strike.
Lopez grounds to third
but he's too slow even with Kouz's bobble
Gutierrez grounds out to short
Kotchman brings Oakland some trouble
with a liner past Pennington's dive.
But Alan Moore strikes out & so
that retires the side.
The Fifth
Davis K's looking
Carter fans swinging
Pennington singles to center
but then
gets nailed trying to steal second.
Langerhans singles to center
Tui strikes out swinging
Wilson grounds out to 3d
& ends another inning.
The Sixth
Coco sends a first pitch fly ball to port
Barton & Suzuki both strike out
Felix had his groove on
& the crowd is smelling shut out.
Ichiro singles to short
Figgy sacrifice bunts
Lopez grounds out to 3d
& Guiti's intentionally walked.
Then Kotchman spanks a rocket by
first baseman Bartons frantic dive
& Ichiro scores--RBI
Gutierrez steals third to open the door...
...for another strikeout from Alan Moore.
The Seventh
Cust flies out to left
Kouzmanoff grounds to 3d
Ellis strikes out swinging at a pitch down in the dirt
that gets by Moore, he runs it out
& makes it safe to 1st.
But Rajai Davis flies out right
& now it's Louie Louie time.
Langerhans singles to center
then makes the traditional bonehead
base running screw up:
taking off early for second & getting picked off...
...but no the ump calls a balk
the manager's talk
& Langehan's still alive.
Tui grounds to short
Wilson does the same
Ichiro grounds out to second.
This is really the pitchers' game.
The Eighth
Carter fans swinging
Pennington grounds out to short
Coco Crisp strikes out
A's sub in Craig Breslow to pitch
Figgy singles to center to keep
his run for a 9 game hitting streak.
Then Lopez executes a pitch
perfect hit & run behind a running Figgy
who makes it to 3d.
Saunders pinch runs for Lopez
Then Guti puts on the hurt
with an RBI single
But Kotchman smacks one in the dirt
for a 4-6-3 double play.
Moore flies out to right
but a two run lead is OK..
The Ninth
...but wait
O crap! Heavy metal guitars!
The scoreboard's gone all Hot Topic!
This can only mean...
...Aaaardvark!
When David Aardsma steps in to save the day
we shudder with dread that he'll waste Feliz's 13 K's
But Barton flies out to Center
& Suzuki flies out to Figgy
& when Cust is struck out looking
WE WIN! & everything's jiggy.
We pack up
& give thanks for the luck--
we caught a game that didn't suck.
8/9
young mountain
lee side introspect...
new growth
forest reclaims
an abandoned
homestead...
secret pond teems
with swirling swallows--
strobing afterimages
like so many
Doc Ellis curveballs..
we sense a peak
is near...
summit
view of the Salish Sea
bestows electric awareness
of connectivity--
lysergic reminders
of relationships between parts
and wholes--
polarities reverse--reveal
spiral phyllotaxic patterns--
surging--receding...
the species seeks high places--
revelation--transfiguration--graces
seers with visions of essential unity...
we would reach
for understanding--explanation--
creation of meaning--
climbing slowly downward
from
one
true
thing
8/8
looking out from
the comfort of
this handbasket--
asking if
an oracle opened
itself to query
what would we ask it?
answers we do know
we ignore--
bored by information--
we settle for sensation--
resolved at best
to deal later
& thus destroyer
becomes creator
8/7
a house not abandoned--
only empty & unused
confused--what is
expected? will there be a test?
the mysteries of ingress...
but the key is found
in the place
these things are always hidden--&
once bade--twice bidden
I go in
students of nervous & endrocrine
mysteries--
mental & experimental
know well the Ardaean rites--
ancient as life--are always
enacted in sacred places
(making every place sacred)
the angiospermal
reminders come with spring--
sing the air's own arias--
flying things know this
& so we fly--
dendrites dance
& spasm with joy
to see
one instant
of eternity
8/6
What if the Belle of Amherst
Could have posted in her Blog--
About Things with Feathers--
And starting early with her Dog--
Of Enigmatic Mysteries--
That give Sophomores Migraines--
And how the Yellow Rose of Texas
Can colonize one's Brain
Would she wax Agoraphobically
About the World Wide Web?
Post Videos on YouTube?
(Tulle Tippets by Versace--
The Limo Driver-- Death)
8/5
back @ the
neo anarchist syndicalist medical center
again
Seattle summer
Capitol hill
looking east out the window--
a Norman stone church
& a precious Tudor apartment house
dapple in green leaf shadow
same prospect
another time:
22 years one day
after JFK
froze those of a certain age
in one time-place
for one lifetime
the scene—then--
daubed with snow--
gone gold in a rising sun--
like a postcard sent
from another continent
behind me my
love at rest--
a new-born child
on her breast
looking out on this--
the first day
8/4
A REFUTIATION OF CRITICALLERS
O you knowitallers
all colleged & degreed,
priding in your erronial superiorness,
languaging is a processication
of eternaful changiness.
Speakingers generalate
new usinations of wording
two meet new kneads of new timages.
Wear wood wee bee
if languagers restracted
thereselves only to officialzed
usifications and syntaxation
without referenation?
Englishing wood be strandated
in Medievical daze
wear weed be Chaucering
at one and other
as a posed to ever
modernifying our speeching
to meat changating technolocical
developations and alternativations.
So don't nock it smarty pantsers.
Your slinging your arrowings
at worldish leaderers
who are laborating to bringify
Englishness intoward
a new milleniumism .
8/3
Stand on the mall in D.C. sometime
& mentally transpose on it
a full color transparency
of the Forum Romanum
as it is today.
Spooky, eh?
gleaming marble/
crumbling brick
strutting patrician politicos/
feral cats & skittering lizards
Shit happens.
Ask Ozymandias.
If...
...military power is projected beyond borders
& then beyond economic resources,
...& resources are exploited beyond sustainability,
...& industrial capacity is sold off to exploit
cheaper (slave) labor--
squandering the buying power of
a shrinking middle class,
...& infrastructure crumbles under the assault of
moronic neglect and irrational parsimony,
...& democracy is subverted by a barrage of
mind warping entertainments,
subsidized indifference & cynicism,
as the wealth of a nation
concentrates into
fewer & fewer hands,
then watch
all eyes attach their attention
to glowing electric screens--
bear witness
as Faux News announces
which New Caesar
just crossed
the digital Rubicon.
8/2
the crow commute
commences with
the sun set
west to east
hundreds fly
across the twilight
suburban sky
like silent ghost squadrons
of WWII bombers
.............................................
crow silhouettes--
thousands of them--
swirl on
wild autumn's winds--
a dramatic dance
to their caustic calls
& the exploding fall
of the season's leaves
........................................
crow
on snow
covered fir
limb
watches
silence
settle
.........................................
crows attack
who would dare
invade the back
yard--
on guard,
they protest
proximity to nest
in a raucous defense
of domestic
tranquility
8/1
the Samsa Virus & me
so
this morning I woke
up & found myself
morphed into a cockroach again
crap
in my dreams
I have mastery
over gravity
still
a day's a day
& I can face
the pain of skin
straining against carapace
so far so good--right?
at night
there is no hurt
except disappointment
it's been said
this exoskeleton
will be shed
at some indeterminate future
& that at some point I--
bewinged-- might
finally fly
7/31
a sojourn
on bare talus
(not far off the trail)
we fail to note
the falling cloud cap
trapping us
in gray white mist
on barren rock
cairn blazes useless--
invisible from above
a reconnoiter fails
to find the trail--
we could whistle & shout--
instead choose to wait it out--
preferring silence to the loud
betrayal of this space-- to be
displaced is small discomfort
to one who acclimates
to waiting
lost in clouds
7/30
on shore
flow--
ghosty fog
wafts
salt water made
morning mist
cedars-firs-hemlocks
reduced to suggestions
& silhouettes
as soft
molecular memories of
San Francisco
Spray Park
& North Pacific strands--
wisp lightly
my face
7/29
out walking
the imagination
(that that's still
functional after
extended subjugation
to a monetized
corporate zeitgeist)
aesthetically pleasing
locales are nice--
a coastal track,
an Olmsted park--
but track home
ticky tack
can suffice--
the real work
is inside:
the bubbling battles
of ego & id--
freeing hid-
en connexions--
neologistic dictions--
the algebra of rhymes--
& buried fictions--
metaphorical reflections
in mirrored time
live to amuse a muse
& ye may find yourself gifted
with something you can use
once the lid is lifted
7/29
we are told
the saurian giants
of the cretaceous
were destroyed
by an asteroid
impacting the earth
at hundreds of thousands
of kilometers per hour--
with power enough
to heat the air before it
to temps exceeding
the surface of the sun
--launching a
shock wave @ velocities
approaching the speed of light
& a roiling cloud of darkness
--silent--
faster than sound--
engulfing the horizon
--annihilating on impact
followed by
--hurricanes of burning stone
--a twilight darkness covering the planet
--months? years?
of sunless days
-- a millennia
of climatic instability
asteroid strikes--
say astronomers--
are not predictable--
unlikely to be noted by
scope or radar--
unseen
before atmospheric contact
ignites a fireball
(a second or so before impact)
otherwise--
complete surprise
7/27
methinks my humors
may be misaligned
too much black
bile while
cold & dry
of spleen
(I've seen
this correlates as
SJ on the MBTI)
o my!
do I need a bleeding?
should I reach for a leech?
maybe Rudy's harbors
a barber (no doubt
nattily tatted
& profusely pierced)
who is deft with
blade and bowl
& may make whole
my elan vital
I want
to cook with phlogiston--
move through
luminiferous ether--
embrace all things
discredited & old
& spin some baser matters
into gold
7/26
one can hope
irritation
may some day
produce a pearl
that nacreous
iridescence might
come of perturbation--
that mantled
conchiolin circumstance
could convert
grit to gem
7/25
In the event a Beer Summit with
Shirley Sherrod, Van Jones &
the President...
...one could ask,
Sir, do you
remember principles?
& that
it's alright to fight
when you are right
see
when the accused
is so ill-used as to be
hurled from the sled
for what was said
(or not said)...
& when,
at hint of attack--
he/she
is sacrificed to the vulpine pack
it really doesn't slake
their bloodthirst
does it?
such profiles in pusillanimity
only feed the enemy
better to grow a spine
while there is still time
7/24
free language!
verb nouns @ will!
kill the shibboleth
that syntax best
follow the grammars of Cicero!
no! let new referents grow
on words
like notes to tunes
spun by Diz & Bird!
let the Fiddies & Snoops
of the future obfuscate
with new feats of diction
to new beats
before bewildered
Mr. Joneses !
watch words morph
as twits text wildly
a-twitter on their mobiles!
watch the beautiful bastard
of ten six six
learn new tricks
as it waxes global!
7/23
bemoaning the body's betrayal
I note a crow posed
on the rail
of the deck outside
the kitchen door
hungry for portents
I look on--
a shrug,
an acrid call
from a blood red mouth
& it's gone
resisting the easy metaphor
I'd still be cool with nevermore
7/22
on shingles
an ill-named malady--it
lacks the fearsome respect
of an -osis or an -itis
physicians ask me to quantify the pain--
to rate it on a scale of one to ten
and after assigning agony a score
to describe it with an apter metaphor...
you know how when somebody stabs you in the back with a butcher knife?
& then comes back every few minutes and gives the handle a good whack?
or
...how the invisible dwarfs who live under your skin all open up on your
nerve endings with their flame throwers?
or
...when a pack of starving wolverines launch a feeding frenzy
on your armpit?
it's kinda like that
so be so kind as to suppress your smile
& urge to ask me
cedar? asphalt? tile?
7/21
the bee remembers
lavender
dances to say
here is the way
invoking a mystery
encoded in her molecules
that rules the shared
genius of the hive--
a gestalt that is itself
a thing alive
7/20
hidden pictures
northern portrait:
alaska in winter--
"bon (h)iver" calls
the deerhunter...
.."let paper figures take
final spins over the
painted hills so
phosphorescent
plants & animals--
fleet foxes & caribou may
say hi &
spoon
over
speck mountain in
the broken west"
who knew
the quiet ones--
the very sexuals
washed out?
we were promised jetpacks just
as cymbals eat guitars
& twin tigers throw me...
...the statue sucker's
systems officer searches
new faces in
the midnight masses
on the human highway
of loveland
(lacking anything profound to say,
the writer buries the names of
30 relatively obscure pop bands
into a facsimile of a poem)
7/19
what's going on?
looks kinda like
some sorta
blend of
haiku-ish minimalism
(Gary Snyder--merci)
interspersed with
rhymes of opportunity
(Kay Ryan--grazi)
-a propensity
to eschew
the first person singular
if possible (not to disparage
introspectionalism should
such a movement exist)
-a tendency to list
that lacks elegance
of syntax
& an awkward voice that's
not so much a matter of choice
though--it's
just the way the dendrites
flow
7/18
from the gurney he muses on mortality
the prospect from here--
out on a limb
on the tree of life...
looking back
at X billion years
of evolution...
still just
one molecular mistake--
one quirk of DNA
away from
the cracking branch--
& the long fall
but then aren't we all?
7/17
an angry red light
glows in the night sky
high atop a steel
girded tower
its mission:
to broadcast monetized superstition
the message
if heard and dismissed
as absurd
condemns the hearer
to eternity
in some twisted
Medieval nightmare
note the ethics of this equation
then change the station
7/16
the text:
beat poets
anthology?
or imperative sentence?
OK
the pretense & drunken absurdity
can sometimes border on twee
when viewed from the 21st century
still I'll
dig the black
garbed beret-ed
cliches
let them have their say-- a
scribbled middle finger
hurled
at a button down world
7/15
merlins scream
from coniferous heights
raven steals another moon
from the night
cat eyes burn
green in torchlight
an owl calls
out
a name
7/14
she
hard at work
teaching torches
to burn bright
asks for a light
(many offers proffered)
a toss of hair
the angle of eye
she is the prize
the apple of
the room’s imagination
at moment of creation
(on bar stool
or half shell)
the same spell
was cast
as we watched bound
to the same mast
7/13
put beat
to feet
stride street
into evening
sing silently
along with
song
in head
as red
line brushes
Olympic horizon
on
zen
blind
mind
7/12
in the summer
of the sunset
symphony we’d
go high
on summer-
set hill
or the field in
rock wood lane
or in golden gardens
as the radio
played
Hayden/Mozart/Mendelssohn
in my mother’s galaxy
or the surgarman’s maverick ford
or tuck’s stately impala
we would seek out
a sacred place
to watch the earth
rotate
to turn its back
on another day
7/11
this paradoxical
demise of data
as means of knowing
with boundless information flowing
through cyberspace
at the speed of light
dismays
these are the days
when belief trumps
facts & acts
of ignorance
are praised in the agora
as heroic
go slouch on rough beast
slouch
on
7/10
let fall the dust
the soft mist
the space between
the notes
the silence
7/9
the cultivation of desire
fires the engines
to produce
more than we can use
til the accumulated refuse
clogs the arteries of
civilization
the poetics of persuasion
from these dark bards
& imagists--
like vampyres--
(not in twilight
but in bright
neon/cathode/plasma)
suck souls
dry
leaving only hollow
eyed
vestiges staring
at empty screens
7/8
siesta
drift in the net
forget will
still mind
to the tune of
wind chimes
afternoon breeze
frees up
the lightness
in the day
for
now
any
way
7/7
no insight
night fall
& all I have
has gone
into the doings
of the day
nothing to say
the poor tabla’s
gone rasa
7/6
another to-do list
take the evanescence
of the day
(caught like bubbles
on the edge
of a glass)
in a perennial garden
on the cusp of a morning
or a late afternoon
passeggiata as the
piazza fills with
pretty girls strolling
arm in arm
hold all this in mind
like the first song
that changed your life
7/5
a sojourn beneath
one terebinth…
i
took silence for an answer
sucked meaning out of nothing
then spray tagged
two thousand & one
monoliths
with
YOU HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN THIS
7/4
in
dependent connexions
with the elements
(earth/air/water & all)
dare we expect
a show of respect?
so
independent minded we
mine soil
foul air
& render water undrinkable
why so unthinkable
to ask that
a greater good
could override
a lust for increase?
independence--
an illusion--which
in collusion with greed--
preempts need
with desire
& like fire
leaves only ashes
to mark its
celebration
7/3
songs
rise from the pavement
like steam
after tropical rain
waft from windows
scented by exotic
curries
flurry like snow
thru frozen air--
transport to
other wheres
& whens
reveal secret
connexions—
buried oracles --
runes hidden
in tangled
synapses
7/2
the Tao of Water
is to know
the wisdom of
the downward flow
so well
as to be
one with its inevitability
to readily pass
as solid-liquid-gas
as demanded by
condition
and accept with equanimity
an absolute utility--
its worth--
as blood
of life on earth
7/1
as for the agonies of mending
stretching, using, bending
that which has been broken—
traumatized—
the realized
brutality of healing—
the post anesthetic
reconnect to feeling…
.
some say sometimes
(when speaking of the soul)
that in the end
it's hurt
that makes us whole
6/30
the shadow
of the Under Toad
thrown across
a path
visions
of crumpled steel
on the autobahn
blood on the cross
walk
a skeletal
finger tapping
a vulnerable
shoulder
with
intimations of danger
whispered forebodings
of fortune's dirty tricks
as another finite
second
ticks
6/29
girlfriend in a coma
“never stop questioning
until the world stops
spinning”
the beginning of truth
youth is for burning--
earning a wisdom
hacked out
of trial & error--
bursting
through the
terror of risky
trysts with
experience--
and the nativity
of under standing
6/28
“to write LOVE on her arms”
& lift a black veil
of sadness
from a tear streaked face
here in the land of
everything
where emptiness
metastasizes
& feeds on clutter
as it sprawls
like strip malls
to become a parody
of life...
& flee the real--
hide from the gem like
clear spot shining
in the
banal rubbish
of the same old same old
& ignore the miraculous union
of circumstance & awareness
until blunt trauma
rips away
the cataracts
to reveal
some bitter
truth
6/27
The Saint’s Reunion
40 years later in
downtown sports bar--
name tags don’t say
who we are—they
only grant a faint
hint of who we were
her: former 3d prettiest girl in school
him: still the fool
the faces give only
vaguest clue
voices over the racket:
“after the divorce she burned my
letterman’s jacket”
“he’s upstairs somewhere--
he wears
his World Series ring”
leaden oldies
no one wants to sing
along
with those songs
tonight
“I’m a bean counter
now--
I remember you used
to write”
still do
though it’s time
to go--
away
into another night
2/26
Fleeting Beauty
I
snow depicted
as negative space—
bare trace
of line
defines
with a vestige
of intention—
just a mention
is enough
& will suffice
II
greed
arrests the eye
with a need
to hold contact
with the iconic--
a reluctance to release
the masterpiece
6/25
does the butterfly ask
enough
of the chrysalis?
an armored silence
should suffice—
a carapace
in which to
metamorphosize
into another
life
of air & beauty
leave leaves behind
& fly
if there is more
what is it for?
6/24
in the Acropolis
the Dionysians perform
(butt rock
hip hop)
writhing simulacrums
of an older dance
as the owls light
on the tables
& the eyes have it
all
6/23
Reality TV
the wolves of suburbia
will stalk the tangled cables
of this gibbous night—
ravage the rec rooms
or their feckless victims--
dine on the vestigial marrow
of their intelligence--
as the drunken stars
dance around Polaris
& the empty blue
lights flicker
in half-
blinded
windows
6/22
St. Paul In Our Times
life is
the original sin
the audacity of existence
here in the meat world
of fucking & killing
all the while dreaming of
a cold & perfect alternative—
to live in pure spirit
(our creative cortex
can imagine it
so obviously
it must exist)
our failures to
live up to
what could/should be
is the flaming sword
that keeps us from
the garden--
wailing at
the brutal truth
of life
& death
6/21
the longest day
oy with the funk—
the let up from
the grind down—
& the big zero
that ensues
use time
listlessly
list to do’s & do
& wait
for the season
to settle
in
6/20
Greenberg
let us drink
to the Lost Boys
of the American Century
(& the Post-American Century)
whose vision from high
atop the Pyramids of Maslow
of a world that that refused
to live up to
their Golden Expectations
left them more
hollowed than hallowed
6/19
Fremont Faire
celebrate
solstice
at the center
of the universe
get nekkid
paint your
self
& ride
the city streets
on two wheels
as the crowd
goes wild
dance
make music
in the bazaar
of the bizarre
6/18
Ronnie Lee Gardner Executed by Utah Firing Squad
the killer expired
it two bursts
of state sanctioned gunfire
after his rejection
of a lethal injection—
a modus too
unreliable for his taste
he preferred a
vestige of LDS blood
atonement
perhaps
too barbaric for our
pseudo enlightened
post modern
sensibilities—mean-
while my father
sinks into his senility—
the eternal darkness
of the brain’s
betrayal
6/17
School’s out for Summer
last day
books packed away
& months of untouched grunge
exposed
why no elation?
the weight of the year
belies the expectations
of them as don’t
measure out their
works & days
on an academic calendar
have a good summer
goes the chorus
close the doors
in an empty hall
return come fall
6/16
Giant Ohio Landmark Depicting Jesus Destroyed by Lightning Strike
“It appears God sacrificed his only son. Again.”
Monica Hesse/Dan Zak Wash. Post
Farewell Touchdown Jesus
Your days as the Solid Rock’s
Golden Calf
may be over
but
Your life as
a hilarious metaphor
has only just begun.
6/15
“Juneuary”
says the wag
on the radio
sodden gray clouds
temps bare sixties
newspaper weather
map showing
bands of
red-orange-yellow
save the cool blue
green hued
PNW
the gratifications of summer
will be delayed
deal
6/14 my morning commute
lupines line the interstate
(white bird in a golden cage)
on the cusp
of another solstice
(darkness hide my yearning)
burning white carboniferous haze
(listen to my bluebird laugh)
mountain skyline hidden
away
6/13 graduation day
graduation day
array of
medieval wizard wear
incongruous there
in a land grant university
anyway
say what you will
it does instill
a twinge of awe—
a linage of knowledge
a millennium or more—
the door
thru which
these scholars pass
into the machinery
that drives
the continuity
of civilization
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