The sun, she smiled
when the warbler sang
yellow in the red pine
branches — moving
through the space
between.
The clouds retreat
until only the sun
and blue sky tell the story
of this music echoing
about the forest floor.
He sings for song’s sake
and the prayer of love,
and oh, the sun
she smiled.
i saw him monday
eating a bowl of brown rice
talking to pigeons
all about necessity
everyone passed by
thinking he was unstable
without any words
or any wisdom to stop
they saw what they saw
they knew nothing that they knew
a man with a big laugh
is almost invisible
he was once rich and
not as fat as you’d expect
his clothes were perfect
long ago, now they’re quite plain
no one realizes
yes, that is him, he’s the one
that is the way with enlightenment
— it never looks the way you’d expect
I hear you, lovely bureaucrat
in plainest grays and browns
screeching at the moon
and hard work for fear you
will be seen undoing and
unknowing. This is a dangerous time
for the heavenly to know the
process of entry into heaven.
Do not be afraid, you will rise
up into the glassed in vestibule
with a view of all the sad
people swatched in colorful garb
searching for the doorknob
to turn their way into the busy
rigamarole of the making
who we are at our best.
Money means only what it means
no more or less and this
is not freedom or a prison —
only clothes that offer no information
but the certainty that you are dressed.
Do the job for the joy of doing,
nothing else will purchase the ticket
or reveal your value half as well.
Oh lovely bureaucrat, yes
you are hated, and worst of all
for all your best lines, long and
in the giving so sweetly unforgiving.
i got hurt on the mind
i got hurt in the gut
i got hurt I gut hurt
i got hurt — tell ya what
7 little angels
where ya gonna land
7 little angels
singing in the sand
i got hurt on the head
i got hurt in the hand
i got hurt, i gut hurt
i got hurt, understand?
3 little words
what ya gonna say?
3 little words
say’m again
i got hurt on my mind
I got hurt in my gut
i got hurt, i gut hurt
I got hurt — so what?
1 more chance
grab it if you will
1 more time
let me love you still
i got hurt and left behind
i got hurt, you know what
I got hurt, I gut hurt
I got hurt — so what?
The frog on the branch is green
and poisonous — not venomous
that’s a different thing — watching
me, two-footed, walking below
the canopy. Sunlight is no mystery,
from moment to moment it remains
unseen, the shadows are. The frog
chirps in search of love (but only
at night). I keep moving,
careful not to touch his shining skin.
the face is hidden
for fear of finding god
in the godless
art, with all the truth,
is too much for such a small faith
the words are left
untranslated — as if translation loses holiness
art, with all the truth,
is too hard to understand for such heretics
rage and rage and contempt
yes, leave that painted in the pattern
yes, leave that sketched & revealed
yes, let that silly little fat little nasty little god
be revealed in those billion liars lies
would you stop
just stop pretending
i am real
look up into the branches of that tree
we climbed in years ago
beside that rock
i am there
on the ground
my head beside the rock
look out over that clear cold lake
we swam in years ago
in the summer
i am there
in the waves
my body below surface
look into the empty blue cup
we drank from years ago
beside the river
i am real
just stop pretending
just stop
remember that night
we talked about art
and i painted you
naked — 5 lines
3 colors — a coin cut into parts, and flipped
until chance left us without any possibility
to speak again.
to speak again
about any possibility of a chance meeting
in the colorless twilight — a tale of two heads
facing a long line
of naked truth
and an unspeakable body of work
in an unremembered night
oh my friend, if you ever knew
this was you, perhaps you’d slap me
you’d say, no
you can’t say words
like that
the sting of your hand on my face
the sting of your words in my head
i’d say, no no
i didn’t mean
it was you
because a lie is better
than the truth
to protect a dream
from a world like this
all the bounds of unbounded sea awash
with brine and froth and fish of constant jelly
— these are the boundaries of self
the recklessness of the emptiness between the stars
alive with light traipsing the invisibles curves
— this is the unbridled id that sings a truer self
the sting of touch reveals me
neither water nor the jellyfish floating
on the current through the blessed abyss