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Poems

the day after

After moving we stand still long enough to see the cobwebs.
There is a spider in the corner of the cradle this night.
There is a breeze come through the cracks,
the smell of hay and crap this night.
We have journeyed so far to get here, to this little town
Surround, surround
It in barbed wire, bullet holes over Bethlehem.
It does not feel like the bleak midwinter,
it takes five days for the wind to change, hearts are dead as iron
and love sinks like a stone.
I am afraid of moving, I am afraid of moving, no, let me rename
my fear,
the fear of standing still as comes another year,
Like a rough beast, like a rough beast, and did you ever know
that a three hundred day slouch could slouch slouchingly
so slow?

Two years ago, on the second day of the year, a friend called me
and before I could think I was whizzing down the road with her
ex boyfriend to visit here in her home,
I mostly spent my days alone,
the first night she boned a guest on her couch while I watched and while she left,
I make up the score,
in her bed, I fucked two more,
this was how that year began, the screeching wind and then
the crazy father of her child whizzing through the wind and wild,
the approaching blizzard and the ice to bring us back
to south bend, indiana.


i n n o c e n t s

In my hands are beads of blessing but I still worry
For the darkest, saddest times.
Look, the journey to this stable led you to a new
beginning
that looks like no beginning, and now you know
that justice is like pilate,
and people love barabbases
and herods
more than holy babes.
Make right now this choice,
to move beyond the sentiment of songs
into the holiness of hymns,
gather what remains of the old candle.
Consecrate yourself in the hands of the Mother,
take the offering of these three kings
and set out for the Kingdom.
 
There is more coming, but I was just posting too much to be throwing down poems too! So none for a while until tonight. Thank you.
 
Yggdrasil

I had just the magic to read the sign around
the great trunk of the tree that told my witch’s eyes
in plain print: pin oak.
Druid that I was, waiting for a magic bus,
I could not reach up to the splayed crown
of that ancient tree
(planted in 1970)
and so it dropped,
perfectly,
one slender wand.
It is on such small and precise miracles
that magic is made
Here, on the edge of the great deep lake,
we are making the new religion
I spun around and you are round,
the bare crown of you,
middle aged tree,
is round
and the roots all round like
spokes


baptism

I plucked the thorn branch from the tree,
and all about me surged black water in the approaching night,
the last of the light revealed high water overflowing every tree,

was this the speed of the river Jordan when the son of man and
every sad man came to it to be baptized by john?
or was this the speed of the water when it swept Egyptians out
and israel crossed dry shod,
or the grey and black of the water for noah and his ark,
or was this the heaviness and speed of water when an eighteen
year old boy fell in and was found two months later?
I wonder as I slip across the bridge taking me back to
the living land,
and,
in that case
if these rushing waters be the beginning of new things,
what is the difference between that
and dangerous death?


O.

Do you remember when I stood before you and
you stood before me naked, stripped of all drink
and drugs and so called friends,
stripped of stupidity,
pale after prison so even your brown was gone?
almost your lust was gone, almost your lust was gone,
you had forgotten to feel like a man,
and then I took you in my hand,
held you till you grew and grew like a serpent
or like a sausage, till I took you in my mouth,
my hand, my mouth again,
where salty and slick you spilled for me?
 
The tell of you

Sometimes we get it right, we didn’t know
we were trying,
we thought we were hoping and hope is
a hollow sphere of glass,
it’s hollow, but it isn’t empty, and hollow
isn’t nothing,
the hollow is waiting, the hollow is longing,
and I was longing to get it right, for just
one
moment,
at eleven am, with cigarette in hand,
on the second cup of coffee,
drifting from proofread to write to the
proofread
and write down in this book,
and I tell you, living alone,
doing without lover,
having no child,
risking this world,
it isn’t about selfishness,
it isn’t about you,
but about listening.



They told me I tell you

Don’t cling
You cant hold onto everything
That shit was yesterday
Fuck everything they say
I got ride of them
Got rid of all my friends when they told me
who I was, and where I had to stop
How could they know?
I didn’t even know myself
Drop all pretense of your limited essence
Go
Grow


This is the song

This is the song of someone who loves you
This is the song of someone content not to know you
This is the poem of one who guzzles one a.m.
coffee and smokes a two in the morning cigarette and
then another
and
then another
This is the prose of your motherfucking lover who
you haven’t met yet
Who you couldn’t forget though you tried,
I am the redemption after you lied your way out of love
The hand that fits your dick like a glove in the cinematic
darkness of the movie theatre.
The waiter you masturbated to
Cause he was looking at you
And the tip in your wallet wasn’t the tip he was wanting
So you said, as you went to bed
Gripped your head
And the head was me
And the need was me
I am the song of that someone
This is the song of someone who loves you

Lullaby

Its alright to say goodnight
You’ve done everything you came here to do
Put up your cigarettes
Put up the breath mints and ashtrays,
the coffee and all the remnants
It is alright, when you shut off the light
let the day get ready inside the night
 
lullaby two

This is all I have to say
Wherever you are I love you
All I gave this day was tiny threads
in a rope to net “I love you”
Even when my eyes are ready
to half close in sleep,
these lyrics can be deep enough
to almost be so deep,
and all I have to do, as the last
star hangs in the sky,
when the moon winks and wonders
why
is say that I love you
I love you,
goodnight


t h i s

I almost lost my mind
sometimes you can forget all the love you know,
sometimes you cannot believe it will all be all right,
you have to light a cigarette and smoke your way
out of this shit,
meditate,
but not too much,
you have to bathe and stand under a shower for this,
you have to turn off television about hardworking
entrepreneurs for this,
put all the manure away that makes you feel worse,
you have to plug in the Christmas tree for this,
maybe eat a sundae through this,
remember those who can’t remember grace,
who are suffering with you through all this.

You were glad he didn’t come over,
you couldn’t have stood to be with a man anyway,
you have to cry out to crows for this.
You gave your whole head away and ended up
like this,
you burnt yourself out like a candle
and ended up with this
 
West of the world

Let all this flesh keep silence and in quiet now abide
Keep yourself from noise, come unto the other side
This work which must be done,
must be done from a different place,
it must be done from the noiseless.
You know what is left to do.
You know what is left to do.
Be something different,
this day pray for the strength to hang
yourself from a tree
Leave little pieces of me on ash
Try out calvary’s dragons
You wanted to save the whole world
and you can’t even save all of yourself


e p i p h a n y

i would rather stay here in my own rage shrunk by small needs and pickled by unfit desires
not ready for the fire cause only cold can
preserve the things i hold
childish, not childlike, unchanging
the formaldehyde fetus is not a child is not the babe reborn
and you have warned the fire next time
and not the water, but to be ready,
krishna like i must come back, three times through water, fire, wind, then in your lightning
and if in rebirth near the jordan, in this bedroom
i feel my burdens lightening they were never mine
well, then despite reasonless reservations
and ignoring coward hesitations since you chose to be human, then so will we
and in the making of that choice there is epiphany
 
b a p t i s m

and passing and passing over the desert without comment, spilling on concrete tripping on cement and glue to you
to the edge of these waters
don’t you know, out of the corner of my eye i saw them, wayward sons and daughters of the same
mother
and the father?
we followed each other though up until now
we thought we were alone under the water
for this brief moment for this ancient hour when we are home
pinioned under the mystery of you penetrated by you, and penetrating, loved in the bedroom of you
made love to on the plush sofa of you every single thing is all right
your flesh and your blood against mine the contours of holy body say all is well all things shall be well
all things shall be...
you
under the water
this baptism is the new creation barely, barely, understood
is the hot, fluid, climax


d o v e

here
under the water we are
still swimming in the mystery of your delight,
haggard we traveled
now we are renewed in being called beloved
beloved is what gurgles in the water spilled out on us, in the waves that swirl about us
this is what we were returning to this is why the sky opened up
it was to give birth
it was to make a door
it was to end the long war we’ve been waging against ourselves and that
all the bitter words we’ve tasted would be wasted in the sweetness of the waters and their word
the word
is
love
 
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