Without a Net –

When fiction stalls what are we to do?

Are we lost,

unkempt in a bruised prayer left cooling in our Palms? Who

is this mountain to our molehill? Can

we subsume Our piety

in a dare? What

reeling phenomenon curtails our steady Gait? Who

can blister through hot metal

to arrive baleful and filled with Sorrow?

We are the gnomes of an intimate knowing

who work our Magic

incognito hauling water to the fire consuming flames

and white-hot heat We here

are the lucky Ones who God would save

for some other Purpose of our knowing laced with Skill

and doubt We attain the freedom

of Our fears we wet our lips our coursing blood enough

for the Task, this day a solemn

undertaking

of Spirit and Substance all told in a minute’s time

We here

the ghosts of our growing ache --

rarefied malefaction –

bruise your shin with your shovel;

it will heal; hug

to your chest the quiet

child asking the right

questions in a supple yearning

for knowledge – he

will deliver to you

a nocturnal Song of longing

unalloyed --

if I were a Christian –

let me have another minute with the king please

I need to know when I’ll die and how

uncertainty is not good for my anxiety – aching cramps

in my side utter prophecies I cannot understand –

who is the sea beast? Who the land beast? Can

we come up with more convincing answers

than we have? –

(they should not read Revelation

to children) -- What was

St. John saying of the ages? – When

will the angels descend upon us

with death and destruction, renewal? Will

Christ surely hang a double-edged Sword in

his Mouth? We

ache for Jesus, give in to Jesus, imagine

all the world

communing with him

at Calvary, the Mount

of Olives, Gethsemane; but

we are caked with worry

for his blood is too rich

for us to take – in subsuming unction it purifies Us – we

the stumbling acolytes

of a surefooted Lord lying in Wait

for us

with longsuffering Grace --

lengthening –

under red skies replete with Sin's omission

we scramble to repair

our hurting Unities -- fissures of

glance and despair

succumb to frost and ice we here

hardly warmed

in the fire's heat --

catcalls –

under Vast ramparts, killed and Sure, we

broke into the Auditorium waving flags

and Scantily sang

our Mixed-up Chorus for the Year -- it

was a breeze, you said, inclining

your head this way then that -- What

manner of being

are you to Muster such Courage from Fairy-Tales?

the surefooted

deities of another Age arrive

ill-kempt and badly behaved; we would Push

them from the hall

before Us shouting lamentations to Raise the

wounded in Spirit, forlorn but not forgotten; (What

kind of Life is this, that

Stutters when it proclaims? -- What mewing Essence

survives our Subterfuge?) -- Under

irreverent

Skies we Mate; or it

is utterly lionized, this

inclination for Sweat, for Tears, for

dried

peppers spicing the Eye -- Where

are the Characters in

this Redacted Story? Can we

believe

our Elders this Time?

our growth is not Stagnant; merely we rest

under

the Willow wondering . . .

in long Vowels –


Shore to Shore, life to life, all
that bursts inspiring
action beneath a haze; Where
do You stand Now, now
that nighttime has you in her Embrace? --
the death of the echo
sensed in your breast
emerges through palms and glories to
uncover
inches and miles, the
Hesitant protraction of hours into days --
we wilted there in the Summer Sun -- had
at our Disposal
a quiver full of lightning; (We
broke our Sense
wide with lingering forests of kelp
and brine) -- Have you
seen the denatured Faun bellowing with
blood rimming his eyes? --
(We will stand alone
and Welcome pressure from Above if
we are to Obtain
our Utmost of Spirit) -- until
all is Spent
we will Retract
our Commandments and utter a
birthpang
bleating in the world --

*

1492

burgeoning Corpuscles brim with Ire

before our Suppurated Whimsy – liquid-quick

heroics of Sultry sessions

stabbed-in-the-back and blessed

these requisite virgins relocate

to the desert

in witness-protection schemes aimed

at lizards and toads – I wandered

the dunes

aiming at illusions; the

poor are starving

because they don’t have enough to eat, they

protect their bowels

with thin cries reeking of a holocaust

of sense and Spirit – untold

certainties beckon Us from the darkness

deliberate in their obfuscations – We

who stand Naked

before our God need glasses it has

become too hard to see

through this our Conquest --

Eden

half a beat here, the Nuance of the Edge,

the half-incorporated

sun the heat the dry air the dirty roads we follow

on our way to some encounter

with a tired deity -- We glow in the husky Night

gently and with Purpose, your

hand in Mine, our Eyes locked

in a give and take we

walk the backstreets with a cat in our step our

hair swept back our handling

of the Situation

replete with apt omission our wise years

stretching out before us, the days

we will swim in Sunshine, the

garden planted

for Us --

when settling in –

I test your Waters

with a leeward Smile – it

is here, in

this Conjecture, that

We promise Each other the Night in

our arms our quiet

breathing

issuing together a soothing balm these

Seas the rolling Seas

here to wrap us in a swirling Embrace each

look a lover’s last Stance

against uncertainty unhinged and Knowing --

Polyphemus –

I stare back at you even though I’m blind, Odysseus, I

ache in my head but I know who you are – I

would’ve devoured you all if you hadn’t tricked me –

Poseidon will rage against You for this Man

of many talents – where I rage

you will know Me and I curse you in your travels –

wine flowing from mouths pours out your blood on the Earth

the beasts of Helios call for vengeance you are lost

in this world wandering Man hope will shipwreck you

on ragged shores before you reach Home – I

cry out in my sudden blindness here in a Solace of waves

surging out in a blistering Sea you will

remember me here in my fetid Cave alone

and longing --

in pasture –

when the bubble bursts we

can see the edge Sublime; it

is Our notion to Survive, here, in

this Vast expanse, to Come to

expectant joys

of sudden Longing and

intense Repose -- Lines

of white lime

on the grass Lead us

to Each other under a hazy Sky --

distillation –

crestfallen and broken, divided

in parts, chloroform and ether, the

mind made up

to disclose its inscape in fits

and starts -- brass tacks

and iron bars, prisons

underground and Sheltered -- all

the Weapons stowed

away for Next year's War -- it

is in our Hardened condition

that we Resign

ourselves to Reason and hold

back our Tears; what

heraldic duty

can fasten Us to Push past

breakers

aligning ourselves with the Tide

as Salt-starved virgins

ripe with Nectar? -- We

are the quiet Soldiers biding Our time

here in the Mist -- We

will find Occasion to unleash our Fury

out and from

the breast, bursting

with Opinion matured and arid

under

Night's Embrace --

between Words –

I weave sticks together with string hanging them in birch-

trees as notices to the spirits which gather around; bending

back I peer into the canopy wondering why the water is

so still there near the rocks; sudden

protestations of a marvelous undoing wrack my

nerve with an unasked revival I cannot surrender

I will be poised and deliberate

beneath this mask of a star-clustered Night here hurting

in sense and sinew the altar of

my youth rich with Sacrifice -- What worlds are

these, created in

a handshake cousin to our bloodline these

mute and deferential children

nuanced with a subtle fervor? Can

we walk a straight line

here with quartets playing in our Minds the

instrumentation

of our gloried ache the backdrop

to our theatre

bursting forth with declamation

and arrival?

liturgy –

here you will obtain a Sacrifice from Me; i

will Take your Place, there, on the Cross,

weather Your blows and cry for You

as you cry for me; there, take

this Cup from Me, it is bitter, I

cannot drink -- I heard

you in the hills intoning supple

lullabies a rabbi calm

and intricate; we hear you

here

bowed in Spirit, rife with a Yearning

you can Satisfy -- What

manner of a Man are you

that you can make us all your Bride

here on this scarred Land? -- You are

I Am -- our Intimate guide

unto Rapture

and bliss, the good God discovering here

Our humanity; at One,

we

surrender here, in order

to become --

in peacetime –

dancing, tripping, dwindling down sure streets

in half-stance, half-beat

these our things gone raveling

before our Sight; who

would you, Angel, say

is the mouthpiece? Who conflates

the theories

to produce a story? Who are

we singing for?

(Is it in our Ache we arrive at Unity, there

the mongrel kin assuaging pain

with careful petition?) Here,

where the warm sun and

the cool night confront each other

you discharge

your duties with tact

and a certain awe at your surroundings; what

of the children, they who search

you with dark eyes wondering

who you are, a soldier lost without

a battlefield a

bearded Man now finding Truth

in subtle things -- Veteran of a vacant War

now simmering, unsure --

after Hours –

bursting in Intimate Arrival, these Sensate Beings cohere to

impugn their Deity; theirs is a Misstep, a hallowed

Glance

at an Age-old Custom made Rusty with repair – Idle

hands Divining the Nostradamus of Our Times

to lay Still awhile and Listen; here, in

the darkness, there are no

prayers, only subtle Supplication to Remember Us, we

Held you up when there was no helping hand, we

guided you through Terror

and submissive Worth; We

are the Ancients of this Land, we blow

the flute, we Sound the

drum, we snake

in and out of Survival with our Tangent

ache

of bone and Whistle; who

are you Now,

Errant child with a Wicked Eye? – do

you Remember Us we who

fed you in the wood, nurturing You

in the ministrations of

the Wild?

Will you come Round and search with Us

our patient brothers and Sisters, our friends

given to Oration

and Surmise?

It all lowers its head, this bestial Thing, it

demands to be Fed – You

cannot leave

her at Your doorstep

waiting

for long – She is

the

remittal of Sin, the

blunt

Incision of a Formal Ruse, this

trick for you

a Truth garnered from Long

Observation; we

are You, Child, you who come

to us

with thanks and Hope, your

thin body

wracked with Unsung heart, Long

Heart, You, there

on your Horizon,

Salute our Tribe, usher Us

into your Purple Earth

with

Workman’s hands . . .

in twilight –

drifting, knuckled-under, tense, the treetop bends

and cracks its stem, hard juice filling its roots

with water, grass, the upsurging sap subsumed

in rarefied Contagion; we all

can feel it Now, the black bark rough in

our hands

a kind of Seizure of being --

*

blessed –

surge from death into Life; present

yourself to its Enlarging

presence -- minute Instances

of pain and disclosure

give Way to sudden Storms and

unknowing Shipwrecks -- our buoys

bob Wisely

in a distant Sea -- our Mermaids

sing to Us -- We

cut

the cords of this tight Sinew

to revive again

our hurting verities and hold

our

loved-Ones true

in this sun-blessed

Earth --

*

Incentive --

in this our house we have hunger and heat

we break down doors and commit fraud

in an intimate Way; what of the Night, its Seat

there at the border of a wine-Colored God? --

is it happenstance that glues Us together?

Here where we die; here we are Reborn;

are we to be bought? Under the Weather

that shelters our Instincts we are Shorn

of Piety, that Everlasting Symmetry; what

of the days you stop to drop in on me

while I am Unaware? Is it that

we have come to Understand the Sea?

Apt decisions form headstrong ideas

flush with Measure; cooled by breeze –

*

distillation –

crestfallen and broken, divided

in parts, chloroform and ether, the

mind made up

to disclose its inscape in fits

and starts -- brass tacks

and iron bars, prisons

underground and Sheltered -- all

the Weapons stowed

away for Next year's War -- it

is in our Hardened condition

that we Resign

ourselves to Reason and hold

back our Tears; what

heraldic duty

can fasten Us to Push past

breakers

aligning ourselves with the Tide

as Salt-starved virgins

ripe with Nectar? -- We

are the quiet Soldiers biding Our time

here in the Mist -- We

will find Occasion to unleash our Fury

out and from

the breast, bursting

with Opinion matured and arid

under

Night's Embrace --

culmination –

when in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

i disagree with you it is not unseemly

or not meant to be it is only diffident

surmise we can bow out

of this obligation with ease but will

stay with intent and surefooted Longing

making our way for the Storm

of minute Action in the Sea -- still

waters undermining

circumstance

we look to the blood of poets for satisfaction,

the bombast

of indemnity made Sterile

with desire -- Who

will Round this corner at high Speeds

to attain

a Sudden conjoiner of Childlike grace

and

impunity? What

measure of Certitude yields its mute dimension

of Refusal? Can we

balance Words on a Wire

waiting here

in burst skies of Sere clouds rising

past hope

and into Survival? --

Long Heart –

Here, on this outcurve inclining

toward deliberate outcome I

surrender my

arms and cry to the Moon, grand-

Mother moon – twigs break

beneath my feet

and I feel an Ancient fear in

my breast a heaving

surging thing that splashes

like water against

glass – here, in the darkness

there are only

prayers of

surefooted Engraving her

arrow fletched

from the bow finds

blood and censure, pain

and Recognition – We stretch

back our Memories

of an anxious child inching

out of the rain

to say

yes, I loved you, even then – We

dance because we cannot walk, our

promise is deadly, Sure; it

is in darkened

catacombs that we

come to Our creator, trickster

Spirit from on-high

who holds us

lingering in his embrace, brujo

of iron and silk --

long pressured waves of variegated Coils

pulse

in our intent, Our homecoming one

unseen but

understood as supplicants before an oak

tree trembling in the Wind; we

are forsaken

there in our shower shedding violent skin

from our legs, scarred

by fire and sacred rites

our wrists

cut and pleading we

wander naked in the Street as

God

commands

Us looking to each other

with supple

Hope, a virulent Intake

of breath; --

the sudden Longing now Enlarged

with

curling Suns

and washing; --

Our hands rough in

saltwater

intone libation

and Surmise

in this, Our sacred Earth our

burial truth --

one love –

dusting for broken syllables in

in the conjunction of self and Spirit

the wise Men silent with

respect I thrust

my urgent Prayer before you

for perusal --

out of Time –

winding up alcoves and altars

we ascend at our

behest the wild Leviathan breathing

out to Sea --

our Elder –

the widow's on Stage in the final phase of her maternity --

She warms under a hot Sun baked in earthen Colors

to discover her Children burned in blood and hustling

for Survival here blessed and uninformed -- in

winding streets gypsies tap their feet in rhythm

with her Measure -- who will

bear the load of her Wisdom now that she is dying?

Who sees her now as a girl? What manner

of guide leads her through these darkening Corridors?

Hers is a subtle-Shift leeward

and incensed; these

days that resound

in Silence make for longing and Receipt -- Aged bones

strike postures of inclined

longevity and Surmise --

the breaking of her waters has led to war and

surrender, to love replete and daring, to the

generations

of inscape and intent -- daughters boasting

veins of iron surge through

her hair through her rib-cage through her

precipitated Woe to arrive as subtle Spirits

caressing

husbands in the Night -- sons of

strong Sinew

and ample height come to her to pay respects; the

towns and valleys echo with

her Song; Ministrations of mere being

suffice to

Say what needs Saying -- her Smile

the long avowal of her

legacy --

remembering –

I painted you into a composition

with a window

and a cat your back against me

your head

turned Slightly to the right seated

in an Antique chair

your hair blue and tumbling

around your body

elongated and pure a simple

pleasure

of remembrance the smell

of your skin

your skirt billowing and sure

around your ankles a

smile upon

your lips --

tempest in Mind –

i was a calculated Risk, i burst

through thunderbolts and black Rain

to Wash the Earth in

pious Longing -- Jesus

knows me

in my Heart and I cherish Him

with

instep and Faith; these

battling demons flare once then die they

are the chaff

to our Wheat; we are the Wheat -- longshoremen

of intuited Grace

we Reveal ourselves in Silence structured

for Arrival, our Joy

outstretched

and Knowing --

*

unless –

here in the hurting terror of your eyes

lies the secret to my infamy – nights

unseeded and virile

explode in Calumny and Derision; we

who are thoughtless divide

and conquer our own intentions to arrive at

the gates of Inquisition; we

are bleeding whole bullets of desire, our

musty bones shallow

with dew and Regret – it is here, in

this Unkempt silence that

we attain the freedom of our Fears, a hot

incision cauterized and pulsing

in our hearts --

passing through –

we who are blind welcome darkness the

equalizer -- shuddering in dim hallways

our forms emerge lonely and afraid here

wet with a nighttime's terror bleeding

hard stones unkindled in the Sight of

inner knowing we are sages of

ideas and requisite yearnings hoping we

will be seen for what we're worth

a handful of rich soil in the earth our hearts

glowing with a radical surmise

you on the horizon could beckon to us with

lithe hands and a dancer's poise here

the muscled Sun burning us in sanctified Awareness --

seizure –

convulsing on the floor

sparks flying from

my mouth piercing

my tongue smoke

and burnt flesh

flaking from my temple

i seize and desist

palefaced and Sure

my mind

gone haywire with electrical

discharge spasms of pain

wracking

my form i stand

frozen

in harmony with despair, my

concise

suffering stilled in a bursting

chaos

of intention my brain underscored by

heat

and intention -- What

kind of

Man is this that would Sing

through pain

to achieve a beautiful High

of Stretched

vowels Parading in circus grounds

an iron limp distending

the loss suffered

upon Arrival? -- I am

an unemployed

barker heaving out Syllables

pure and round

under a blue Sky looking to

my

reflection under

a starry Night --

*

Saving Ache to Word –

here, at the end of the line,

we feel

the instant pressure of

your breath

on our lips we Now

hear

first in our deafness last in Our awareness

these days baked under

an unremitting Sun You have

arrived, quiet

Girl

unfathomed and shipwrecked in

this petty Storm our Eyes

like minnows

darting

around your ankles, this Church

is the Church of Sun

and Mount, grass

and dirt, rocks, moss, spleen, hoary

Sacrifice of a jesus

grown Old with wear and Sudden

intimacies – We

can embrace you here, delicate One, you

with the underpinnings of Remorse, tragedy

struck you low and whitehaired

the shock of metal twisting cars colliding wheels

upturned the cab of the

truck bent sideways as they extricate

the quietly breathing forms

who will die on the roadside this

is how we see death the last glimpse

of a young girl, a stricken man

curled around a fir tree

in the cruel ice of Winter – We

who await in the Shallow water of a

southern lake are itching

to play the saxophone, be-bopping our

interstices blasted

with moment and the Solace of

a singer in the Shower

hope and reconciliation beckoning

out to Sea

where we can spin Glass

and blow heraldic bursts on a conch shell

calling out to

those who care to Listen; these

intricacies of Self and Spirit symbiotic

here in our tunneling

through musty caves and layers of

moss the degradation of the Senses, the

blind Ogres and

bilious brujos skeletal with sideways intent

here make us suffer long antiquated lines

of bleeding Verse

the Coitus of page and poet

ungoverned

by any Instinct; these

are the shallow intemperate Shores just

asking for naked bodies

to succumb to its

far reaches aiming with gulls

in the sky

for tomorrow’s Tempest – if we

could drag the ocean floor we might

find half-heard ecstasies of

power and Submission – our muscled

backs glisten with

saltwater and seaweed we who would

walk the trail of tears would

tear down Hadrian’s Wall we are the

sprites and dryads

unhinged with hilarity our Worship

in step with

the swaying of the Willow our

caveat pulsing

with accident -- this Night

a glowing Purse --

un cuadro –

instill in Yourself a Shackled Response; Use

bright Color and intense Hue; Saturate

your Canvas in crimson Pure beside

Cobalt Blue, Raw Sienna urging Earth

in painted trees and Violet your incoming

Waves -- Splash liquid Gesso white Upon

your Grid; hold it all together

with a Fierce Geometry tamed for Sudden

disclosure; in days of burnt Umber logic unravels

a brush

stroke -- Unleash

some Semblance of your Muse

for such Rendition as you can Afford --

my Vision –

i saw her there in the darkness

when everyone was asleep

taking off

her sweater

i saw her breast outlined against

the Night

like a quiet Moon --

locked Ward –

laying on a plastic mat spit on my lip

i lean into her, my magic muse

watching me at the door -- keep

quiet she says you will be ok

look at me i will watch over you -- words

go ravening in my mind conflating

reality with desire pouring out

twisting spasms of time and place -- i

can't remember my name

i keep falling and falling

through bloodred skies aching

with longing in my heart she

there at my door looks kindly

on me with boots, high boots she

sits one leg crossed over the other

she is my ticket to salvation a

manic mind hurting with intuition

yearning for remittal of my sins

who am i her child here

suffering the lessons of youth in

a locked ward pianos sounding out

summertime in Sound

and logic

behind blue eyes? . . .

the breach –

under lines of sacrosanct indignity

the poplar breaks -- the Storm

surges -- We

divine the Essence

of the Thing, the

thing itself -- We are here

round with

Incision and glorified in back alleys

and tumbling uphill

with all our Might -- What will

Sustain you, You

who wander on moors reciting

unsung Chants of

foreboding?

under cliffs

sienna umber purple blue the colors of the desert

subdue the sky – We who survive

wish to know where we Are – We subsume

our longing in a dry awareness

of pith and Cruelty – who

is it who can arch

his irony beyond his reach to tell

a story of inclusion

and depth? What do

we do when the tolling’s ended? These

ochre shapes

lull us to Sleep with

a careful dignity – We yearn

for water

our fists held tightly in

expectant surety --

waves –

collate, dilate, intubate

schisms rescind

unction untimely

wicked unraveling

we are at the mast

here heaving

our unsung harmonies

blistering -- what

shallow water here is rising?

understanding –

painters, poets, and prophets;

any other

day these would do – But

not Today we

have a flood in the Basement, the

mice are afraid

and we carry Our Lantern

into the Mist – what

Creatures survive

at Your Altitude? Are

you the Worse for Trying? – Who

will duck

your Fastball?

Ruins leavened with genocidal Fury

hold Up their hands

to Us -- “Honor

us

with your Prayer and

We will

warm Your Heart” – ancient Stones

warmed on the Hearth; here

We can obtain a Sincere

Infusion of sheltering Embrace – Our

eyes

moist with Expectation

We surrender

to Our Spirit, hands Mingling

in the half-light --

*

why we care –

winding through dark days habit becoming Sure

and rehearsed We make signs in the smoke

our houses on Fire

with Remorse and accurate depiction; Who

are we

to aim at studded Formation

here in arcs of pure light

supplanting headstrong life with Purpose?

subversion –

kill me softly with your eyes

aglow and murmuring in the

reeds; shelter us

evenly in

nighttime's embrace your

yesterday's imagining now

alarmed and charged with

tension,

elastic and keen, in this

surrender --

wanting –

sister disco sings a song

it isn't long

it's pronged for defeat and foreclosure; what

can You make of it, now that

your hair is Wet, whisked

up into a Lather

unending? -- You, then, the

stealthy Ray

who stings the Heart must give birth

to a Pronounced Oration

for those Who would Follow You, the

acolyte Now served

as Impostor or Saint -- What

difference is

there, in this arid sky, between

dust or bracken, nails, or

flesh? What would you Allow past you

and into the Goal

without a Second's hesitation to

take your Dive in Sacrificial

realms? -- Sorrow

accumulates

on the doorstep -- it announces itself

quietly but

with Pressure -- You can wrap its

satin hooks

around you and Cry

for Once at her passing -- She

the onerous

falcon unused to fly you will

teach tricks

to the late of birth

and reverent of ungodly love --

body without organs –

because i told you so, there, reveling in

car crashes, lust, or hatred

you deconstruct us leaving us limp

and stoic with surmise we

hobble on to the next theory

to bask in for awhile -- we are the

upturned scions of a intemperate age

here fornicating but not

making love our minds latinized with unkempt verbiage

we conflate reason and insanity in

a vulgar brew of happenstance and

intrepid irony we are the leftovers of

a passionate meal

served at our feet calmly embalming our brothers

and comrades

here to unhinge delicate indelicacies --

virtue –

will us to achieve with urging

supple and resounding; inherit

our Surprise

in Strict disintegration; We

are

bounteous in our display but

cannot

hear you

under the highway our

wasted Forms

skeletal

in the Night entwining bodies

lithe and full; We

are

handsome in Spirit if not

in appearance -- we

lust for piety

in a fast-shake; a Sudden, mere

shiver

rifles our hips

recycled in our boughs -- We

will underline

the important Words

and leave the

rest for Our shadows; What

kind of Man

is this who Yearns for

recruitment to his Cause

unforgiven

and unformed? -- Silent Firs

whisper

sureplaced harmonies under broken branch

until

we Cry again,

Alone --

*

Until Then --

words for the Grecian urn, the

shallow

remonstrance of a long night; these, the

delicate

underpinnings of the unsaid, will

they gather

until they glow, struck down

as

so many statutes undescribed? Can

you hold

her there in the darkness, this

girl

with sudden aspirations and acute

longings, She who

will remit

and succumb? -- (Have

we

begun to desist, to

stand

firm before the blows that knock

us down

in alleys and side streets, these

ghosts

unheard of in the natural world

who

come to us

fired by imagination and despair

lurching toward

our Embrace

with glowing Eyes and

intense

orchestrations?) -- Is

there

a World for you

to describe in

your circular

semblance of an idea, is

there

glory

for the victors and pain

for the vanquished? -- have

you seen her

there with bleeding palms,

the iron

stigmata of inchoate

union?

*

Undelivered –

blistering past Notions of shame and deliverance

we fade into Ourselves, holy-

holding doubt as foreclosure -- Where

must we be

in order to Understand logic? -- a shy

girl standing against the wall

says "No,

I was not aware of that" -- We

bridle

at this – Our spirits coalescing here inside

the Light; our Steps

are measured, here, as

we count down the days to our Circumspection --

awareness non-compliant

and destitute – Is it

here

we find Ourselves much vaunted

and little by little

overcoming our Inertia?

*

Again --

There, in the dark, between

the wrought iron fences

and the branching trees, under

a hard sky, I wept

for joy, for

the spent

occasion of another day, for

the rolling back of

shame, for the

instance

of arrival, here,

beneath the moon, here

the palm tree

blooms and the algae

explodes, in

a land beyond

horizons, in

a fast shake, a

sudden suture, a glance

unknowing

and aware, here I find my

love

again . . .

*

Until --

these, the dark, uninhabited waters come

flowing through

the wood with

a wind skirmishing

over foam, vortices

swirling

in shadowed spaces a night

unformed

and grieving

for lost opportunities --

*

any other sister

She wouldn’t have it any other way, this

Woman who stood up to bombs and blows

Before she realized she was not the victim

Of this particular cosmic joke

But rather the hijacked heroine of

Somebody else’s poetry --- Why

Do you laugh, Titus, she

Murmured

In his ear, now with the leaves

Shaking in the autumn wind, is

There anything

Left to do but laugh, or cry, she said,

I’ve mustered up the courage

To stand still until I fall, tracing my thoughts

Past naked bodies into purple heavens, these

Girls, they

Dance an Arabesque, they

Swallow our swords and live

To tell – We

Are the words that go round and round,

Quiet now with hungry fathers

And blackhaired infants – our mounting of the

Steps is monumental

Given our stretched and broken limbs – We

Climb to meet you there,

Under the stair, in a perfect hideaway,

Where only Saints can find us.

aqua --

turnstiles are aching Visions blistered with Light

the listless mute undying Children beg

for More -- at our Core

insight inveighed or barren, these sticks

prune-Out drive inherit you

obtain No it is Nothing! she cries, flagellant's

Woes on the bathroom Floor -- Keen

Sepulcher rousted,

enjambed

in Sheltered-Substance, these vicious untuned Weights

un --

weildy Now --

a liquid Sacrifice from

Courage --

*

The Watch --

if you have it in you

to line the box

with glitter, I

will wrap

it for you

with my

trembling hands --Our own

package

bound for glory, the

heavy

weight

of an unknown quantity

at an

unknown space, here

maybe

deleted, may-

be

cherished

as the sentinel gift of the sniper,

his crosshairs fixed

between our eyes --

*

what she sees

if I have something to say it will be delicate

it will be timed and placed to your breathing

as feeling forgiven now infinite

surging in a shallow night stealing

across our brows the icon holding still

with pleasure and pitched warnings

at our feet to bend there to our will

in wild unmoving storming

skies – We are here, we are belated

with birth, with the time taken

to find ourselves denatured

and vilified, fragrant

with desire; We are the womb-fed

children straddling the air, Naked

to our Own purposes here Shed

of all Pretense – We are glazed

with the terror of knowing, our eyes

slivers of your enduring

faith, these upturned ironies

of our cherished longing –

*

Sacred words –

tense, this, the allocation of our Lord, he

who would hold us up in fire and brimstone

there to mold our character – to set us free

from fear we who can survive on faith alone

waiting, waiting – there is a structure in your mind

that skids across the ice, lightly, winding around

our heads – Our hope for rapture blind

to you – who come here within a certain sound

enclosure of spirit, a groveling at your feet

while we give alms -- break bread --

we will be ready when you come, thief

in the night standing by our bed

to whisper, head held low,

“If it was not, I would not tell you so.” --

escape –

certain of a new terror and fed to the wolves who have nothing to do with it

i glide through the night on highblades and sudden precision only wanting

to be near you there where i can sense your presence by the scent

of your perfumed wrists and hold tight to your powerful embrace as you

cry it was not me, it was not me -- it was someone else, she said, an errant

god who had grown tired of his disciples and gone wandering in the wood

looking for fungus and bark to sustain him -- When is

a square not a square? When it is a circle, you suppose, you, the

wicked one gone astray through multiple thunderclouds

holding on to the legend of the white buffalo-woman -- Where

can you hire your Sisters to hold you close to the fire

as you relent, unburdened and restrained, here, at last to

sustain your marrow surging --

*

What we plant –

what we plant and when we plant it

seems to matter more and more

what we stake and what we hunger commit

to beauty; it is from lore

we take our cue to stand among the files

of soldiers waiting here for war

a sudden instance of unwanted bile

here at yearning’s steadfast core;

are you a victim, pained, and slow to start?

can you overcome this ravening earth?

when wheels grind out their purpose, part

worship, part terror, what will you rehearse?

i have seen you coming, seen you all

there but for the breaking of your fall

what we wish –

angry young kids eyeing the doorknob – is it here we reinvent ourselves only to find

we’ve always been this way, always have structured our Glances severely

in Order to find mute reasons for remaining Still, our Silence not taken for Granted

but held forth as some kind of Justice?

(It is not what we meant to do when we straddled the lines to come across as

more Vulnerable than we actually Were) –, these children

who gainsay your altitude to arrive en masse seem oblivious of their poverty, they

who would dance all night as if on fire holding hands and waving their arms

at the long tall trees bending through their graceful minuets, these

girls and boys searching out what hidden meanings await them in the dark, shadows

that undergo timed explosions of color and light, this vivid reimagining

of Youth for us a Necessity, a romance of pure thought

and sudden-held Emotion – Where will we Stand, unbowed

by the Wind, our happenstance no Contrivance but a worked

idea ground to dirt in our coarse hands

and held out for

more than we’ve been given? – Schisms

urged to Unity, edging

out beyond the Earth to float freely in the Air; our

hedged-in geometry of Desire

Obscured by Mists; the milk of some

Mother’s enchantment; We

hold Ourselves in Awe as if Witness to some

great Tragedy – Our purpling bruises

the Remnant of a Vicious beheading of Ideas; – Can

we halt our Minds, instill in Ourselves a quiet Calm while

the deer Spring startled in quick ballads

across the Lawn?

Instep is inscape, She thought, the

inner Profile of

Plenitude and Discovery – She the Victim

of hurricane Winds holding

Still in her breast, this heritage; the

Overture

of an unkempt Symphony – Why

do we Wind across the Page in leaps and bounds only

to be Silenced by Solitude – It is here, preoccupied, We are alone

but hardly aware of our Loneliness – Sparrows

flit in threes and fours beneath

our impoverished Skies to arrive, Innocent, at

the branch; We

wait below, counting the hours of Our indecision, our

halfhearted thrust at

irony

Or inception – We laugh away the heady Sorrows

which tie us ankle-to-wrist, front-

to-back here

to attain a yawning birth in Spring’s incision –

*

Coming to terms with Christ --

Impassioned, Fragile, down

at the Mouth; bitter Wine, Vinegar of

a pure Sort – marathon

ascetic in the Mountain you

battled your Devil

for forty days, they said – What

kind of Man

are you? – “Get

behind Me, Satan,” is all you said

and it was Enough –

You would

leave this land

heavy-hearted our blood flowing

in your Veins you cry Salt tears looking

upon Us – What manner

of Man are you to be when you

come back

to this Earth here where we await you

prayerfully holding our hands to the Sky?

What is the Sword for?

(Some say if there wasn’t a Christ,

we’d have to invent One); He

is a ghost we acclaim as Saviour, the

suffering virgin burnished by the Sun sweating

blood

this Carpenter’s Child who walks on Water

under Circling doves

above the Sea

his beard grown long in the Wind,

this Nazarite, student

of books and stars the Careful

mapping

out of a Life before Him here

where

the desert Sands wash away

pious longing

in our Hearts – We

are master and Slave to his

will – he who would redeem

us with

his blood an aging poet angling

for Conversion –

in the sand

in the dark, subterranean world of water spilling over moss, rocks bleeding,

there is a harmony of justice, replete, an iron vase broken in the fist,

the hard stare coming slowly, inching past despair to

some irrefutable union, a right unbroken, heralded still as one who survives,

is lethal, can convince

beyond a doubt, instill, enact, forestall . . .

I heard her in the darkness, moaning the one syllable she

could contrive, twirling around her own unique maypole

with blood burning, eyes opaque and

blurred, shuddering, freezing -- She saw me, the one there,

in the distance, ironing his smile, leaving

off where she began, telling her amid the frenzy

of her lies, her joys, her sudden blossom, about

and not because, of all the things that would be told

his had utmost in her horizon the beam of

light fulfilled, occasional, divine -- I heard her there, in the darkness,

counting, late, iridescent,

shallow, blue -- She was the mute goddess of the moment,

balancing on a pin, devouring raw the

uproar surrounding her . . ..

She had to give in, had to hold it close so that it wouldn't die,

so that it could thrive in the murk, this baby, this infant straddling life,

choosing its words with a sudden glory, this eye shining,

that one closed, all it would be revealed in slow blood circles

of lined intensity, the bursting instance

of a glance gone haywire, these the bold rocks shattering

the creek surface, shimmering in the

sun's glare, occult, aware . . .

I began life as an urchin, a treesprout gone wild,

some unstilled moment of deliverance,

these the icons glowing in the mist, my fortune

would play out on the craggy beach, I would hold

her there in my embrace, sheltering her body against the wind,

my sore feet inching slowly across

the rock, there to dive in, there to surrender, this day

the holiest as this is the day I died, I died

again . . .

Is there a man alive that can match me, she asked?

Is there somewhere the conjoined

spouse pining for an unknown Sister, a breath on the neck,

gold chains in the hand, the sutured

instant of cold-love in a barren world?

It counts. It is the One to be. (That is, she will hold me

against my Will and I will

scratch and kick until I'm spent,

unglued and unattainable.) She hit me in the face with the back

of her hand and I collapsed,

groaning at her feet, this She-goddess, this Night-Mistress, all black in

spades, imprisoned and forlorn,

these the minute-toes grasping in the Sand, uncoiled, nervous, bare . . .