if you will have no children
Who will you Love?
for whom will you have been?
for posterity you were
could you be for
imagine the dead
Who have lived
If not the dead to come
build what you will
When all have gone
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
We sank timber in the water
To build bridges we could walk on.
Though we could not see the far shore
We stepped out to cross the water.
as the salt wind stung our faces
we forgot where we had come from.
When we stopped to sleep, our nights
were filled with waves' persistent lapping
at the bridge as it grew weathered.
And we learned to sing like sirens
calling out to be remembered.
We looked down into the waters
which protected their own secrets
We looked up into the heavens
which were maddeningly open.
when we tried to fathom either
we imagined we were drowning
And ran forward, our feet sounding
On the boards like distant thunder.
When we reach our destination
we will cling to it like children
to the bosom of their mother.
we will live as we were meant to,
We will start our lives anew there,
With the story of our travels
To remind our sons and daughters.
In the highest of the mountains
We will carve our aspirations -
only there - all other places
we will leave as we first find them
but the highest of the mountains
we will carve with every poem
till our many words have ground it
down to stones, down to a valley.
then we'll sift among the pebbles
for the words that best describe us
And we'll carry those, and with them
lay down in the fields and forests
to await the final trumpet...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
through rubbled concrete
and everywhere shattered bottles.
cold filters are without cigarettes
and bags shred in bare branches.
a footprint in mud
but across a small field not even one animal.
the houses don't move with the wind
nor the people with the seasons,
everywhere signs are posted
even when only the clouds are passing.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
ride into port in boats of Peruvian packing peanuts.
Poor regulation allows insufficient inspection and
headaches for everyone.
there are accounts of headaches in Roman medical writing
before much trade between Peru and Eurasia but
There were still Aurochs then and
they were loud.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Meat bird. Skin bone flesh fat. warm...cold....hot...cold. Eat. Suck. Taste. Bite. Chew. Gnaw. Gulp. Fly, eat, peck, flap, sleep, lay, cluck, strut, be. Feather. Down. Chick. Egg. Born. Died. Plucked. Sliced. Carved. Beheaded. Boiled. Salted. Stored. Cooked. Roasted. Picked, parted, clutched, grasped, shared... salty. Greasy. Succulent? Sweet?
the beginnings and ends implied
by a lack
not like destructive arts, where the lump of clay runs out, the pencil nibs,
the song breaks silence
poems just sit
like fat toads under mud
they might be rocks or dead
you could die without knowing and be alright.