Let It Be Now, Let It Be Now (For The Saint)

I stole something which I had plenty
and of much better quality.
Wickedness filled me.
I remember its feeling
being full
like a thanksgiving feast
of pear stuff birds
we made dance by
alternating their thigh bones
left and right.
I nevertheless felt forced to imagine
something physical occupying space
perhaps even growing
like aunt Sysaphus’ gut as she pushed
another meatball through infinite space
outside the world.
Perhaps today she will explode.
And the space remains evacuated
of anything physical.
The child of my self forms mashed
potato into his fancy in an enigma
as if in a mirror.
I thought of my sister’s dolls
the heads of which I removed
in an attempt to horrify.
It didn’t.
In surprising ways these thoughts
had a visceral effect

on me.

Now I am an adult
and my old loves, hold
me back. They tug my grament
of flesh. I still want
people to know I steal things,
things I don’t need,
but I steal to be social,
to claim purpose,
to snub even my inner voice
and in so doing
claim the freedom I am owed.

Yet still the voice continues:
Let it be now,
let it be now.

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Unimagined Imagery

She asked for a simple answer
to supply her with definition
bored of metaphors
and expectable precision
she asked me to tell her
what is was we were living for.

Pasta with a simple sauce
passed ejaculating words
choking on the broken
wisdom lost.
“Save the bread for the birds.
We desire something more.”

Eye to hand, hand to mouth,
taste the food, feel her stare
silence, simple reliance
on the ability to repair
pains caused by our wealth.
“Love comes to the poor.”

For a moment it seems that simple
to be Adam and Prince Charming
Relieved by Eve,
her nudity alarming
the snake’s symbol
she forgot how to ignore.

She stood like mother Atlas,
A world in her simple hands
a shrug and a drug
strength taken by a weaker man.
She can fall in love at last.
Her arms were getting sore.

It is perfect in the imagination
to be with only the most perfect.
Love is at the core of
the overgrown roads that intersect
as they lead from, and to salvation.
A simple world that is complex to explore.

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Fell in Love Too Late

Woman.
Woman.
Its too late now.
You lead a class
our child should be in.
It’s drawing toward twilight
and it’s too dark to allow
two lines to find their origin
in each other.
Oh Woman.

Woman.
My woman
what should be
an anniversary
is an intersection.
Drunk driven elucidations
aborted assimilation
despairing procrastinations
over wine and literature.
Oh woman.

Oh woman
age’s kindness on you
is a burden on me.
To see in you everything
10 years past
our last romantic
situation.
Now you beg
to make me the enemy
to say no, again.
In your voice is a vague
and frightened thing called
woman,
woman.

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She Digs

She digs and she finds matter
little things like ancient games
foot marks from leap frog,
hide and go seek spots,
and atlatls hidden under
the humans that made them.

She orders a latte with foam,
her mud covered hands
wiping clay off her clothes.
Marks on her face remain
after an itch was scratched.
Dust that never saw the sun
clings to her cheek under her eye.

Would you believe that under it all
there is bone. The only thing that remains
after the cells have died. She digs
she finds nothing and stone.
An artifact the world forgot to keep –
the idea of a fossil
the words that were never said.

Nothing connects her to these things lost.
A vast and omnipresent nothing –
the fabric of our being,
the color of our eyes,
homo sapien questions, she digs
but never finds the reason why
in the end, everybody
is captured by time.

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A Piece of My Mind

I
sit refusing
sand particles become me
they sit refusing
shape.

Ages ago
water broke us down
from the whole
words, waters,
baptism

the once united
now claim their
nothing individual
dry, dry, dried by the sun
They are one.

I
sit wet
from rain
we are now mud
together

what is left of the rock
is the key
and I am the lock
shhhh says the
falling rain

just be.

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