Thursday, May 27, 2010

A basic Savagery

I once wrote a poem
That I thought was of me
A song of myself
A person to be

But upon further inspection
And deeper reflection
It came to the surface that alone
Is not to be

In fact to find alone is not to be
And not not to be
But not to see
Not to hear not to feel
Not to want
But dark

For to be is the inverse of me
It is, fact, the we

I saw it creeping through the black
Leaving behind a golden track

It still reminds me
From under the rock
From under the shade and
The safety and security and hate and cynicism

Every once in awhile
It comes to the party in a black cocktail dress
Showing just enough leg…

Just enough to wonder what’s beyond
But Christ we all know what’s there
“Why yes I know him
Indeed, the thickest of skins
A real man’s man
Oh What a deer
Vest he is wearing…”

I saw it creeping through the black
Leaving behind a Golden TRACK

A hunter, a gatherer, an assimilator are they
A curdling crisp air built in a flood plaine
THOMAS what a coincidence a derivative
Of the word and of the paine

The inverse of me
Is we
Without we cannot be
The inverse of me

Monday, May 17, 2010


This happens, doesn’t it
Everything has a volume

Not an empty or full volume, no
It’s all empty and full
But a volume

And I am turning them all down
Not consciously
But so consciously that I don’t even

And that’s always been the secret
Hasn’t it?
Live, dead, meaning, not meaning
Bright happy happening fiction

Volumes of knowledge and experience and life
A simple knob creates one from the other
God’s fairest equalizer
5th gear
the fragile

a metaphysical bug zapper
at 1400

headed due southeast
I Saw him

Dressed in denim shovel
In hand the savior had come

He was no diviner
No soothsayer
But a simpleton in

“necessary” garb

for he repaired while we slept
shielded from our cast aversions
he creates lines for us to dwell upon
and within our lives

lines connect
lines divide

that bug zapper, the lines were pulling me in
who is this mystery, such thankless work it is
repairing these lines

thankless for a reason
i’m sure as hell not thankful

Monday, May 3, 2010

a prayer

What, did you see Galileo
When, gazing through your
Glass, eye

Why, did it blind you so
What, was the empirical fool
To, gain from such meta
end, deavours

what, if your eye were diseased
where, did you find hope then
were, you not more lost after seeing
nothing, now seeing nothing but
knowing, and having seen everything
now, nothing

why, should the light blind you so
why, is the light there