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Poems

midnight

And even now, late at night, the only wish i have is to be
under the shadow of my wings,
run a finger down the valley of yor spine,
take in every line of you,
your best years were not wasted,
i have not tasted you till now,
thirty years young, i am undone,
by the round white hills of your ass,
your thighs
and
at last,
arms lips and hair,
i dare to thrust my tongue where only you
will hear me speaking
 
its fine the grey day is fine, its fine to sleep past nine and get up at ten, and then sleep and get up all over again, its fine to light this cigarette at eleven thirty and say, what will we do with this day?” and make your way slowly to the river, and to slow turning waves deliver all your devotion

these are the loose lines, the half put together assembly, these are the thoughts that come and fall and need to be put down before they are forgotten again, thoughts of how you sleep right now believing its time to get on with your life and all our conversations take place at five a.m. and then we sleep like vampires through the night to have them again, and all the times we meet make up for so much, because the first and only time we stood flesh to flesh, was in a dark room, and I only gave so much time for our bodies, you wanted to switch the light on, you always do, and I, I would not have it. I always remember a five a.m. spare room, you, me and the boy who did not remain, and magic of deeds performed at six a.m. You passed into my world and out again, and here you are and here are we.

I was going to get things done, but then this cigarette needed to be smoked
I was going to do the useful and the heady, but the eggs were ready and, well, they had to be eaten, life had to be lived. They say you get what you give, but you get what you get, and to get, you must enjoy
 

on all hallows

We can’t do all this in a day.
We cannot hold the celebrations, mourning and fear,
joy and the dying, communion with saints and hope
for the sinful made one.
Last night I lit candles in my window for the wandering souls.
Last night I went downstairs and took two pumpkins
with no lights carved out for decoration,
I brought them up and putting candles in them,
used them for true purpose, with evil holy faces
they glared out into the night and held spirits at bay,
welcomed some in.
We do it all over again we’ve done it twenty years,
open that window a crack,
welcome the spirits back,
all these old window ledges become
doorsteps for the dead
 
all saints day

And what is a saint?
You talk about how grandma is in heaven, but you don’t believe it.
The saint was not the good man but the dedicated one who knew
where he was going, sing about the saints and light the candles for the lost souls.
And did you know lost souls live in bodies and you see them every day?
Look up into my window and say,
someone is praying for me,
someone is praying.

Last year’s poem was good but that doesn’t mean this one can’t be better,
before I wrote in rhyme,
this time my world is wetter
and I dry it with meter and look out this window at the gray skies,
windows battered by the hard wind,
and then
I understand the meaning of Hallowmas.
To be eccentric, to understand, to go beyond understanding
I once gave things uncommon names.
It’s not the same,
it’s not the same.
At Allantide we put the embers in turnips and apples
and reconcile the happy with the sad,
the fearful with the glad,
the dying of the year with the beauty we fear,
we, like jesus stretched out on the cross,
at a loss for what was once called power
reconcile in weakness….
Everything.
 
in november

Oh god, get me to the healing through weakness that could not be done by strength,
the sacrifice of the fucked up ram,
the offering of all we have, these ashes that are everything

My sins are not waking the dead, and your sins are so
many they are piled upon your head, you need to get clean
and speak in clichés,
you are starting from a low place, no one ever taught you how
to stay round, fucking since you were thirteen.
A hard one pulling you like a slave master from cheap forest to latrine.
My dick has led me like a slavemaster,
I’m exhausted from my coming


I was so busy living I forgot to write about living.
This morning I got up when the sky was still blue like
a polished dinner plate,
and there was Venus, brighter than the promise of day.
It was a single point in heaven, and the moon looked
on a world where people in their cars crawled through
the narrow streets like beetles.

I’d seen enough of the human race by seven am to last me all the day
and when the sun came like a giant,
painted its client sky pale reds and blues I went out to the river
and tread through all the thick leaves.
My ears are full of too much noise, my eyes too much excitement.
Now is the time to settle to the dark world and remember all its secrets.
 
Look soul, you said, there is as much to learn from pleasure as there is from pain.
Remain at the drinking house though all the world has gone sober.
Turn over the leaves of the rotten world and remember the promise of new beginnings.

I cannot write about all souls the way I want to.
Having lived a thing I have lost the time that will describe it.

Hello, I said, goodbye I said. you said there is an end of words
and a return to being.
I got tired of seeing whey faced people,
full faced people, and turned to look at the leaves in their
red and orangy dying, not even trying to hang on they go
out of the weary world, the trees with girly hands
wave them away.
They know the leaves return and return as dawn goes into day.


I don’t feel like talking to you right now
And I can’t be bothered with hearing.
I’m a little worried about all this not doing,
is there enough of being? My hands pick up the clay,
those hands have little to say as do my lips.
Sometimes this is enough.
We have taken on the fullness of the morning which
became the fullness of the day
and now the deep dark golden evening comes slowly on her way,
the next lines are all bad rhyme and sleep has more to say
than carefully crafted words.

There was a time when I had to have something to say, I looked for right words all day
but now all I have to do is be
 
NOTEBOOK

I have given myself to you
This is the blank spot, we sit in the unfounded city waiting for the first cry
Light one more cigarette and get the peace that did not come from praying
We are tempted toward just a little more noise, re remember the green wood and the brook that ran through it like a trickle of blood down the thigh, do not forget how you said, sure of your own revelation, this world is the very house of god, and our lives are his strange passion.

Now is not the time to be obsessed with names
None of the angels give a fuck what you think you are
Even the dog has the sense to know when you call him, no matter what the name
So why would God be worried?
You think this shit is the end?

It is the reeling of the fisher of all souls gathering you in

You are confused by the bugs beneath your skin, let it begin, soar out your soul

Fuck your fine feelings.

What does it all mean what does it all mean?
Like trains down tracks what does it all mean?
The clicking of your brain, this or that, point a point b
What does it all mean what does it all mean?
Means the battle of the blue jays darting through the trees,
means the jumping of the black birds from rock to rock, ticking of clocks and stocks,
barreling of the heron’s pterodactyl swoop
You have gotten all confused and knotted
All your vowels undotted
You have forgotten the pleasure of the bed and the gospel of the geese who swoop their necks to take the grass and spread webbed feet all through the water
What it means my dear…
What it means is all here.

At 3am I was a prophet, now I cannot feel it
At 3 am I knew the shape of God and she was soft as sand and smoke
I had no fear and perfect calm, and what was not revealed… it did not matter

Now all the troubles of the world are under the ass of your soul like gravel, and you sit and breathe and breathe before the peace you worked so hard for unravels

Hush now, remember that in the end peace was a gift, the gift was grace, the face of jesus before religion was born
You have worn these beggar’s clothes so long
You forgotten that these rooms of words you built you didn’t build for anyone else.
They were the house of vision, and anyone who made decision to walk right in was welcome, but it was not for them,
oh no,
it was not for them



michigan city redux

i. the shoreline

When I get myself a little further from you I will be able to say something
I need a night to think, something to drink, things are a little hard these days, my back a little more tired
The weather was fair in Michigan city
I spent far too much money there
The water was cold in Michigan city. Wherever you went the air had the smell of lakes and gulls, of mermaids tails—I chased along the clear waves, as a strand of mermaid beads washed up from the inland sea,
grabbed and grabbed at them too insubstance substance to hold, but those beads, they weren’t for me.
They sank back into the waves and then, down to the mermaid kingdom again

There is joy in Michigan city
A man throws up his window and waves
There is joy in Michigan city, people cannot stop talking
I am in love with the world in Michigan city, in love with old buildings under bright skies, and then I looked into their windows, shops all closed like dead men’s eyes

I want to be a fool for you
But I am still afraid
I want to be the witch for you
But half of me is made of the paranoid man
And the old accountant
And of course, when five Black men are suddenly and mysteriously hung
Well, then
Is it paranoia if the thing is real?
Even in our joy we are surrounded by these dogs of violence

I remember this station in Michigan city.
In the summer it’s just hot as fuck
With no real walls but all shaped like a large bus shelter,

There the hell and heaven of life comes together,

Last year I talked for a half hour and smoked cigarettes and drank beer,
now the firsts here to take me from my silence are
seventeen year olds smoking cigarettes, whisp’ring of fucking,
waiting for friends. And you know what, these kids,
they do have manners, say softly, sir, do you have the time?
And I find it and their friends come trying to sell…. Marijuana?
For too much money.
They laugh and bid goodbye then leave me behind,
for a twitching addict or two, then they pass from view.
You’re never alone long, and now here come new teenagers.


ii. an elegy to teenagers

These five kids are getting on a train. They took one’s car to this station,
didn’t even know how to ride or what to expect, they’re at the beginning of their lives, two girls so pretty, two boys black, and one white, all good looking, looking like little people, too skinny or too short to be full grown, they’ve got their teenage on.
Sixteen as they will never be again, the last time it makes sense to be in a group of five friends.
Later one of you is going to lock yourself in the bathroom and cry, but before the loneliness, the struggles, the coming out and going back in,
before the pregnancy scare and the women’s care facility,
in these moments of your freshness, I am so happy for you
I love you so much,
no I don’t have a hard time helping you get on the train,
no I don’t mind reminding you to take your bandannas with you,
no I don’t mind your silly questions,
and yes
I know it’s good to have a grown up
when grown ups don’t get in the way.
bless you,
bless you all,
bless you girls, stay strong and bright because its never easy for a woman in this world, young men bless your black, black bodies, blackness is the essence of truth,
the most cherished thing and that which is cherished is often
ravished, hung, lavished over by clinging klansmen.

white boy, remember who found you, that these were your best friends,
never forget, never leave them,
remember this moment when you go out alone
into the lonely world.



iii. moss

I still believe in the immortality of my own soul
Even though my eyes are glued together and my head still aches, even though I can hardly walk into this world
And there is a report of a swan who died of a broken heart cause some assholes took a brick and smashed her eggs
I do believe that when the evil die they do not go to hell, no they go to the fauna and become trees. they become the moss, the mollusks, and the amoebas
punishment never did redeem us, when something is bad it has to be remade, there, nourished and nourishing all things, there made to be a mollusk on a half shell is more than redemption
is remaking
And is it vanity to hold onto what I am? to believe the difference between salvation and damnation is the never integration as myself? I do not know, I never ever get what too much means until I have a cigarette.

I have to get back, I have to get back to you and that place with all the water and sand, to remember I am very little, sort of useless and almost nothing.
That depression that comes when your room is too large and you think you are important, fades away when you’re bite size, when the water stretches out blue and blue before your eyes and there is nowhere to go but to another sandy place on this shore

The more I smoke the more this shit makes sense to me. I remember a bitch saying she got up at five a m to write poetry,
ten has to suffice for me
Last night I had so many dreams and did so much in them that when I woke up I could only dully look around, pour some coffee, take a breath and go back to bed so I could recover. For forty minutes like some hungover asshole I sat in the car crash of my head.
This bed has rarely seen such goddamn dreaming.

This beast that came for you, this creature that slew men with dark faces, women in places it was decided they should not be. The beast that came for you, oh it’s coming for us all. If we do not stand together, then we will surely fall.
 
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