The way we survey the land,
I tell you everything is a poem!
Now, what's a drop inside the Ocean?
Love inside devotion, try to be a
Particle, no need to talk. They walk
With fire even as we fall. In deed
A hand full of rocks and a head full of hard sense.
No need to be mentioned,
No need to even call, but then
Who will be reporting, who's outline in chalk?
These hands are my father's hands and
These hands are undone fists balling love
In the form of dirt-clod wisdom.
A certain sort of 'no-duh' spiritual practice,
The kind you wake up right gradual.
Whose tent are you supporting?
With what lens do you see?
No interest controlling, I
And I will be, again, it's
Nothing but nonsense. I plan?
The plan, no-man—one sense.
Crevasse, I am X.
If you close your eyes you can almost see the
Swallows darting across the Willamette. Lapis lap wings
Laze-uly circumnavigate the cause-ways. So much rhetoric
Wiggling in the places.
The bright and shining faces
Wiggling in their chairs. If you close your eyes
You can sometimes see the lines
Pouring loud & clear, out of nothing.
Pouring in the mind, not
From the mind. It's just a
Fool's errand if you think
I create this beauty.
What is not? Where isn't?
Forget what you have thought
It isn't all that relevant. If you listen very carefully
There's something there that I
Won't call. I don't know,
Maybe it's buried in the snow.
I know there's something there
But what it is ain't exactly
Clear, maybe we'll call it air.
Ether/or and all in all
They sing so silent. Chalk it up to experience,
My art has transformed into a science.
It's a rough translation and not too
Many have the clearance.
I'll just say 'The Fall.'
Foul or fair is a game of appearance.
Pardon me, madam, merci
Illusion and allusion are two different things.
I reframe trans-continental exchange,
I'm cut from a different pair of jeans.
I offer clarity, often appearing to be
'In the wrong,' or 'just plain mean.'
I don't ask for anything
I just look things in the eye, like, how am I feeling,
And how are you tonight?
I enjoy this instance and
I may enjoy more, my
Only wish is to remain open
And exist in the roar:
The wash of the ocean.
My mother's own wisdom
In me, I am the same but
Different. What chains have
Held themselves unveiled by
Light of moon be spoken.
Something intrinsically different—
A mark of the fortune, an ever changing fortune!
A song I've held within my cell for
A thousand nights unspoken. Not even
Remotely close but then I'll sprinkle
Down a portion. Northern king's norse hand,
Narcissus of purity, no remorse, please, no pity.
Those who want a lot
Work less,
Them who want little
Work more.
Cellar door
Are not
The most beautiful words anymore.
Wanna know what is?
I can give you a hint
But that's pretty much it.
I always hit the hammer
On the head. 'Nailed it,' is
What they said, the diamond pitch,
No yaw. My lips are sealed speechless,
Cupboards boarded on. I'm pointing
Straight for the fences, you know,
Right out the park. A bit ballsy
But a job well done is
Enough for my senses.
I don't need a car.
I don't need a pat on the back,
Or, 'Good job, work hard!' I'm down
And in the trenches, everyday I'm in the yard.
I need a bed to rest my head and a roof above my hat.
I need a well-balanced diet and time to hone my craft,
The tune comes when pursed lips finally crack...
I am Proteus, old man with
Wizened dreams. I put rosin on some
Walnuts and shake the rain from my keens.
I am good sense in a
World gone mad. Lightly
Press the sails, please,
Shadowed geese and the
Overpass.
ΙΧΘΥΣ
The wheels of the
Whirlwind, pattern
Of a well-themed
Husk. The pearls
Begin bursting forward
Against a sharp exhale
Of dust.
Now, if you can just close up your mind's wind
You can see it for
What it was, tough
Mustard, but the trucker's seeds are even more rough,
Either way I'm a tumbler,
Foul is fair like
Macbeth, done.
