#460. List Of Friends

February 16, 2011

List Of Friends

“I think a lot about things, and

I think a lot of, well, a few anyway

think like I think and see things

the sane way I see them. Right now

I’d just as soon groove.

c razy.”

— John Daley

Transition.

What?

a touch?

No!

I don’t wanna touch

it just

upsets me.

No touching.

No risks.

Just self

pity

aloneing

in my room

all the dirty clothes

cracked walls

smelly sheets

they no longer smell of anyone but me.

Being nothing.

Really.

Just dying of bitter summer

first time alone in my life.

just dying.

But

What letter is this my soul receives?

What letter is this

my soul receives?

Is it a pardon?

Is it painful?

Is it you?

What letter is this my soul receives?

Riding the chaos blues

the difference between us

is a list of friends

typed up and laying on my coffee table

my bitter and pained list of friends

I want to tell you something

but I didn’t

wanna say it.

need some ups

can’t clear my head

fuckme

fuck me.

The beginning

again but no

you are not here

satisfaction

I on the phone

reverse the charges are collect where is my proof

you are still there?

porcelain shattered dial tones.

all my ingrown fear and laziness

is rising like the yellow smoke of your last cigarette

to choke me

but the mistakes have been mine.

can’t clear my head

fuck me

fuckme.

Separate

the Earth

the life of all.

the garden is prepared for growing

but the gardener is choking on a mind

twisted toes spread in the mud.

and the children sing

‘dig that phonedaddy’ yo

cloud!

come back here, I can’t catch you!

the fist closes

tendons curved and jammed into the granite crack

two walls faced stone corner

and kills

or cripples

can’t pull myself up can’t clear my head

open

happy letter

“hello i love you”

Fall is may-blessed this year

“won’t you tell me your name?”

Here I am, hunkered down on the niagara, drawing my face up

into my eyes. The Earth is polluted here, making the sunset

beautiful and sad.

can’t clear my head

fuck me

Fuck me.

It has always been the lie

separating me from my laziness.

perfection?

try bleeding for a while

what does it matter whether the cigarettes

take away from the t’ai chi?

dance perfectly!

smoke perfectly!

and leave me the fuck alone

since you do it anyway

do it all the way.

can’t clear my head

fuck me

fuck me.

I have a shy and virgin heart

so I send poems to play.

Tell me, what is relativity to you?

flashed

mashed

potatoes and peas

event

fills a potion of mind

and two friends

now tomorrow

we will drive to the sun

by a lake drive

with friendly

women i

get

tired

of

sunsets

tho

can’t clear my head

fuck me

fuck me.

My list of friends I am afraid

its the shadow

pass it on

it belays me to the light

pass it down

depth of experience

telephone’s disconnected the gap

can be no bigger

than buffalo to st. louis

But

What letter is this my soul receives?

Is it a garden?

Is it a vision?

Is it a basket of flowers and leaves?

What letter is this

my soul receives?

decade dance

“I could have been one of these things first.”

–Nick Drake

My hair

is longer than it looks

new scene

life bed and board

the decade dance

has me in hand

it’s like an aroma

strange words

to hang on iron.

Arched back

bowstring

in tension pulled

to pierce a gaze

catching and killing a spring time

object so simple

a choice

either or

a buttercup

your lover’s strong back.

Before fire, there was lovelaughter and dark to contain

them.

The light showed up fear.

Before fire we met.

Transaction

the speech patterns the game

patterns the eye

and mouths

and hairshining

flying low beneath the ceiling

above the pool table

in the bar we met

and brought about the moving

the months.

Who are the friends?

Biopolitics

deal the cards

dance the decade dance

dance with me.

Move.

Separate the seasons.

rain sun snow wind

MOVE.

there is weather out there

taste the gorge and scree

Move!

a morning summer wind is strong

as the leaves it

MOVES!

(kinda like this

terra d’ ombra earth of shade

decennio d’ ombra decade of shade

decennio d’ terra decade of earth

ombra d’ terra shade of earth

ombra d’ ombra shade of shade

But

What letter is this my soul receives?

It is spoken!

It is written!

It is me

my soul doth receive

List of friends

how distinct it is see

the faces you know

backdropped

by faces you don’t know

standing on line

and then you know it’s love.

my list of friends,

“it’s the eye of God, there’s no bottom—“

–Jack Kerouac

amen.

#405. autumn terrace report

October 13, 2010

fragment of summer
night stars
over
manhattan
a brief piece of peace

the free joy cries of children
and the barking answers of dogs
with the scent of street vendor barbecue
tickling my nose i lean back and close my eyes
as you reach over and playfully gently tug my beard

#299. earth and swan

June 20, 2010

for myself as papa
without my kids again
midfathers day laughing
with lover wife playing
tug of war with the dog
i still know the truth
of the experience heart
love and time gave us
my children and will
wait as long as i can
as you need

#283. lost

June 4, 2010

without a word
the little girl
draws me in
small and bouncing flirt
who pushes me
to my memories
of my own children
lost so long ago
that only their vague shapes
remain to me

#260. legacy

May 12, 2010

i try to
ensphere time
within these lines
because the colors
run out of my dreams
as soon as i close my eyes

i leave my colors in front of me
that my children may find the now
behind them

mother
love
redfingers
daughters
clay
sons
damp
salt
straw
wine
charcoal
bread
kiln
pain
firing
work
bellows
weather
mortar
joy
house
shelter
home
wisdom
grandchildren
earth

beauty is crying
bleeding birds
because of the words laughing
desperate diamonds
art shouting
empathic eons
imagination embracing
cloudy children
passion singing
low laughs
tenderness understanding
mad mountains
of an artist
reaching alone and across
death before my birth

without truth
there are only bells
stuffed with dead rain

my children
working on playing
out their lives out there
in the world night and day
lighting my life regard
less of me than of experience
of all those others who
are they that hold
my children
i hope they are
safe happy
and self
aware

#194. opening day

March 7, 2010

opening day

the game always started
on the trolley
with my head leaning
against the glass thrilling
at the closeness of the trees
and buildings rushing by
the ground disappearing
as we whizzed over bridges
the pittsburgh gorges opening up
ground returning more slowly

half an hour later
one little paw in my dad’s
the other in my mitt
smoky vaulted forbes field
with infinite flat green grass
opening up the day

#157. Between

January 29, 2010

between
the grey rivers
alive with ghosts
the fishing boats
have pulled away
from the port
the market the battery
long ago gone
with the kids
on the concrete beaches
of the island
to grow up and live
to thrive and die and haunt us
between the grey rivers
that lead to the sea
that liberated our spirits
when they were our ancestors

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