i could talk
but could not be heard
for the white flour clogging my veins
my face is caked cake with no sugar or dreams
old man rivers a barking dog to change the schedule by an hour
or an entire history of mirrors broken and so submerged sisyphus
you may follow or just take a picture or write a poem make a choice so
as a king i think this is it

the river is still in its course today
she rolls softly and enfolds this string
in the multiverse with a quiet song now
on the open flow to whatever sea dreams us 
forward the river is still in its course wherever
it sings flowing open soft forward in string dreams

#519. thanks mom

December 29, 2011

feeling time
the river branches around 
all the ghosts becoming more and more
frequent riding the current down to the sea

#493. private lothlorien

December 3, 2011

sun in my face
crispy leaf space
brown hounds share it with me
there is the path
say yes and walk

listen creek water 
stones  and deep roots
join up clearly and sing
there by the path
late afternoon

air flying south
geese honking call
past the pale winter moon
there on the path
shadows go deep

lights flick alive
weave thru evergreens
up down familiar hills
there with the path
dogs lead me home

#487. splashes

November 27, 2011

rivers
are not always
the color of water
and leaves sometimes lead
downstream
over
round stones and sharp 
rocks flowing over this dream
bridge sweet black and grey 
splashes
colder
seasons than this
autumn waiting snow
drifts ice thickening deep
muffles the rivers sweet 
singing

#479. irene the vacation

August 31, 2011

thin shade
the light from clouds crossed sun
water speaking
with the wind
pressure changes ozone depletes
exhilarated
run on grass
bright day after high sky blue sea
shout

#463. weathered

March 10, 2011

i am walking 
along the river
gone down again
to the sweet wrack 
and wreck of beauty 
and water raining upon 
my brown hat gone grey 
as my hair is going into the
new strength of my daily age 

who cares about the aches and pains
moving fast towards new rivers

#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.

#458. pittsburgh (for evvie

February 10, 2011

sometimes man its the poem not the poet 
time counts up the years and down
meeting space too is sacred water

sometimes man the grey rivers are so cold
and where they meet they are Oh Cold
meeting and roiling new waters

sometimes man february is a song for spring
snow and ice singing on the rivers
helping a child to the morning

sometimes man the function follows form
space and form following functioning
warmth following spring and cold

#456. belief?

January 21, 2011

time is caught
in my head
is caught in time
the heart too
is pulled strung
to then now
from wild soon

fire a kiln burn beautiful
air scented by wood and water
earth blooms constantly returns all home

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