Thursday, February 16, 2017

I The Digger

I The Digger

I know I am immature

Yet I know I will find it
In the denied
In the forgotten
In the shamed
In the beaten and browbeaten

A slavishly self imposed prison
In each of you

Everywhere I aim
My special powers see

Telltale signs of

Making so obvious
Your trigger-prison

In seemingly empty fields
Minute quarks of jailed

Potential dash in and out
Of existence...

You inadvertently show me
Where the hidy-holes wait

All my dogged hunting
Senses dive and dig

My big nostrils notice
One pheromone

My big eyes notice
One cheek tick

My big ears notice
One stifled syllable

All of my own reenergized
Slavish joining dives down

You will not see my maniac digging
Tail wagging with certainty anticipating

The base dirt of your discontent
Flying between my back legs

Yet you may notice that hole
With your vulnerable dirt flying out

And your rising bile

There... I The Digger have
Inevitably found your mood

And my adrenaline

Thursday, February 9, 2017

You Might Find Irony

You Might Find Irony
01-31-17 For Mothers, Sisters and Constance

When you appear to be mourning.

I notice
My never finished sadness

My uncomfortable impulse jerks
To finally fix your mourning

I move huge rocks unnecessarily
In name of your mother and your sisters

I fill infinite wall cracks
To make an unavoidable
Thing-symbol of love


When I am in my senses
My feeling remains sadness
There is nothing for it
But to have it as I move about... until

My fanatical focus simply... inevitably
Moves on

Later I may notice the irony

The rocks will be a feigning garden
The filled cracks will be ephemeral

But if I distract my fantasy
Of fixing you
With risky work

And then

I manage to avoid wounding myself
In my sad little dance

You might find irony in that

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Truth Comes

Truth comes to my head
From my ears eyes
And extremities

Every organ and my own skin

Not through

Monday, August 22, 2016

The Hot Clay Of Stars

I do not have the math
To say
I understand the sub-microscopic
Or the expanding macroscopic

Or the sand
To say
I understand the before
Or the after

I am no religionist
And I am full of unknowns
Going as far back and forward
As may be

I keep faith with many dogs and humans
Having known many good souls
Cats are a puzzle not to mention lizards and spiders
Evil appears to be at work within and among us

The space between us
Between atoms
Within atoms
Interests me

We play together in these expanding spheres
Creating ecstatic musics
And disastrous complexities
In mindless competition and boundless love

We each fervently choose
To believe what we will until
One day we face again
The hot clay of stars

Brave fragile beings every one

Friday, April 1, 2016

Too Late

We float
Above a field

Seeming empty

We label normal
The empty underneath

Some are always speculating fantastically
Numbingly for gain

While innocent despite great effort
Simpler listeners toil more urgent-quiet
Knowing chance is always birthing monsters

From this field seeming empty
Ancient seething pestilential dread
Permits all
Meets no devouring corpuscles or savior birds

Too Late
Spreads invisibly inaudibly

Detonating compounding exponents
Banging Out in self surpassing shock

This field seeming empty
Now waves of burning breathless devouring sky
Noticed briefly

Tuesday, March 15, 2016



Will I
Listen to
Large loaded magazine
Impulse thought repeaters?

My choice to impulse
Forgetting who I may be

Perceives nothing
Forgets all
The intentional
Annihilated by the inadvertent
One generation inviting another
To forget

My generation and decade and instant of
Depends on momentous physical choices

Only flesh can prove

Stopping at Stop
Stopping at Perhaps

Going only with Go

Now I may accept all consequence

My deepest physical echoing cavern
Will speak next
Nothing but Truths

Will I listen self-honestly

Agonies, rages, tendernesses
Abandoned for an age

No longer

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

To Sip You Once Again? (For Constance)

The old person
Looking at you
From across the way

I see in your garden
The last honeysuckle
Behind your youthful ear

As you were 20
Unable to see nearly
Five decades gone

Stretched by hearts
So great
Time’s sheet folded

Upon itself
Have I rolled
Closer to you

Along a field stretched
Quantum thin tight
To touch

The fine hair on your neck
Near the honeyed blossom

To sip
You once again?