Monthly Archive: January 2018

State of the Union

If I had to guess what plans were laid
while holding back a busted blade

or how we’d greet the morning moon—
which took a bite that made us swoon—

I’d say our daily due was set
but hasn’t gotten settled yet,

and things will happen anyway
based on thoughts from yesterday.

Tomorrow’s crises, like the sun,
are bittersweet, though just begun.

If I had to guess what we would pay,
my mind just simply fades away.

Yet feelings spread both far and wide,
and all that’s out is still inside.

Live

awoken at dawn
beginning to know
did you fly through the light
over the sky

did you keep the old moon
wrapped in your wings
as you flew and you flew
and she started to cry

did you help with your heart
as the world took the glow
did you fall from on high
as she drifted below

there’s nothing to lose
in the nature of things
did you hold your way true
with all that it brings

A New Little Box

There’s a sack on his back
holding boxes of flaws,

so he takes a deep breath
and rests for a pause.

There’s a tube in his guts
that circles around;

like a rube or a klutz,
he sits on the ground.

He carries a hope
that he’s destined to lose.

What he doesn’t yet know
is that by paying his dues

his entire scope
will open so far,

that all he holds now
will shine out like a star.

Snow Day

I look out from
—I have no head—
and see

wool braided earflaps
hanging down

on either side
from my warmest hat.

It’s a good hat
that reminds me of Kristina

Tibetan
thick, crude wool,
tall and sexy.

I can feel my
primitive beast rising.

The scarf wrapped around my neck
I got while visiting her
in NYC countless winters ago.

We tried on
lots and lots of scarves
at shops and kiosk street vendors

down by the pier
and walking under bridges

different types of scarves
different kinds
from all over the world.

Ones made of fabrics
soft and silky
to the touch

others rough and hot
against our skin.

But this one

this long, blood-red vixen scarf
with a Gaelic plaid
of tartan jazz

made us want to—

On this unusual
freezing winter morning

as I tap the faucet handles back
from stream to drip

bit by bit,
tap tap tap,
cold and hot

here in the southwest
my seldom-used winter gear
reminds me of a vigilance
we used to have

about things that
I can barely even remember now.

Like an old, yak-hair jacket
forgotten by everyone
who once wore it

on the mountains
in the coastal plains
out on the high mesas
later, on frozen, black soil

displaced in time now
floating free

bound only
by ancient memory

released
as time expires
through the Void of Being

like we knew finally
everything would

deep down
at last.

weidh-n-jo

Wouldn’t you know,
it’s a snow day!

A time when the forest people
come out and play.

They bring out euphorias
to wild men and warriors

while everyone’s wasted away.

We all dance to their tune
discovering soon

that our destinies
are fading away.

And for those
who’ve come only to slay,

requesting their leave
on this very same day?

They have only begun
their time under the gun

and will stay there until
their minds start to splay.

And then they can join
us all on our way,

because then they’ll finally
groove to the sway

that is leading us all
right back to play.

wobble

lonely station up in the sky

been there for years,
been there for years

do you hear the rush of space going by

isn’t it clear,
through all the gear

do you feel the weight of time flowing nigh

though maybe a sphere,
we’re starting to veer

do you see the crush of form throwing lies

is it just the veneer
of all that appears

do you know your fate is to recognize

that truth is sincere
and there’s nothing to fear

and only creation understands why

looks like

looks like the last time your eyes
passed over words like these

back when you ate
a different kind of fruit

to break your fast
in the morning

as your thoughts drifted towards
the day’s accomplishments

beyond the few dreams and reveries
that you couldn’t quite remember

and sipped a drink no longer
found in this world

strange ideas pulled at
a part of your being

and flowers you never suspected
were allowed to blossom open

made of symbols long-forgotten
in a language you no longer recognize

and the scent of their bloom
not known to you now

filled a void still hinted at
as you finish reading this now