Thursday, July 30, 2015

Shanties for Landies - 1



We'll stay where we are and we'll live and we'll die here.
We'll stay where we are and we'll never more roam.
When you work for your bread there's no time for adventure
We work til we're blasted and then we go home.

Monday, July 20, 2015

Parts in Reflection

I. I. I.

I'm extended.
I'm contracted.
Self views self
views part by part
a mirror of myself in a mirror
tight shiny pores of a brow under quarter inch hair, a bare
shoulder with a spider of dark lint drinking the sweat
an other shoulder: peripheral view: deja, already, yet...
 blurred.
 Memory's less silver than tin:
 was it of my body, of the image?
 Was the image of my body,
Was the body mine,
was the body of my image,
 in his image,
my body
was
warped
a reflection of glass and looking. To Become.
Multi-Limbed                                                              (in secret)
As Kali. In her image. Wearing her skulls. I wear them. They wear me.
                                                                           (out).                (out.)
her. (an enthusiasm, possessed) by
her e. (an enthusiasm. possessed of                                                                                                                                          
 her memories,
    small and large objects
 tarnished love                            a missed affair,
                       misplaced papers.
These once were shaped                                          one
                    wore differences, but are        become
 brothers.
unfinished books and dead relatives        all                      

II. An Epilogue. II.

And here the bathroom light is harsh    (there.)
And here the crickets are. preparing. their autumn threnody.
       here I'm round faced 15
               I'm 35 and rounding second base
Here        these words my thumb is weaving. for the web. on a phone.
                                                            /remember the spider</>
I snored once in a West Philly studio on my way to Mars.
     this is a true story, compressed.
              I was there.

III. Afterthought III.

 a beginning breeze sways the yellow "no outlet" sign beyond my window
 planted like an obscene sunflower by the wood mulch where I found a dead possum to plant with a sapling of black walnut.
Round that tree will pups of foxes, skunks, and groundhogs play, together as I have seen them, when the tree is tall and I am reflected in stone