Monday, November 18, 2013


 division of division of division of division of division of...

                                            into another

                            we come

perience                                                                     of se



                              a branching

(The mystery of the origin of life as it is related in mythology or the beliefs of the world’s major religions may be cast as the following problem:  how can something come from nothing?  Or rather, how can life come from death, or at least nonlife?)

                                                I and this mystery here we stand

                              above,                                                           below
beyond                                                 behind

“no name no tongue has soiled it”

                                                                  the mind / the spirit

                                         leaps!   to hold it, to behold it


The animate and the inanimate are not so logically discrete as we might like to think.  
E.g. the virus.

Why should death be the defining experience of humanity?
1. because it is universal?
2. because it causes the ego pain?
                                                                              fuck that

A collision of molecules brought you into being,
                                you in-process you

a process never present to itself as complete
                                            completed, it no longer           is

                                                                    What molecule(s)
                              will you meet
                              that stop

                                                                           the becoming you
that you are?

AND IF (ah, the beauty of “if”)

                                                        you bumped into
                                                        (“Hey Mikey!  He likes it!”)

AND YES (good old “yes”)

the bird, the wind, the wave,                       the star, the clock

The mysterious                                   “and”
            the mysterious    “yes”             &            “earth”

                                                       a plural of parts

part AND part
                     night AND day
                                            pain AND joy

               empty of unity
                                                            empty of transcendence

Friday, November 8, 2013

Not What They're Looking For

Today one is taking out the garbage of judgments.
They stand in noisy steel bins outside the mind.

It was the clutter, the clatter of others,
The self parsed by the self, that had to go.

And yet it is hard to part with what feels
So familiar, like a second skin

The way a chevalier must have felt
Steeled in comfort astride his horse

Staring at the latest, the villainous harquebusier.
Is it a matter of life and death?

The death of something, yes.  Invisible,
Molecular, a spring cleaning in winter,

The smashed and bundled furniture of the spirit
(Gaping at its vacancy) brought to the curb

For the homeless scavengers to pick over
Till the garbage men arrive.

In throwing it out they are what they are,
Free, stinking, and strong,

Whatever Tsarina and her minions think,
Of themselves, and of their own glass Easter eggs.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Brownfield SIte

Drifting into the corner a knot of thread
Not of wire plugged into the dirt of a sofa
In the forest the walls soaked in urine
Like the earth just a portion of which
Can never return here to what was built
Are layers of paint on broken walls still
Layers under choked vines when the core
Of the wall exposed is cracked and laced
With the song of a hospital’s mother
Everything incites us to walk deeper
Into abandon the leaves the pharmacy
The dank tile floor of the woods
Now would be the time for a story
A pang of suspense in the rank brown air
But sometimes the stories are over
Told once and dispersed in aerosol bursts

Signed dark outside the abandoned lair