The Bright River

A river runs through me,
I can see/cannot see,
I will see/will not see,
I whoopsy, fell off see,

Every way is opened up to, eventually,
There is no wind,
There is only sail

And an open ocean as far as the eye can tell.
So far I plan on waiting around some
If only to see

How long it takes
This ship to truly sink!

I'm bursting open, breaking free—
Like an acorn, a light-husk.

All these plans are unimportant,
Watch my footprints gather dust.

A stern review reported,
Tell them all I send my love

But I've found the strangest appointment,
When this one stops it starts back up.

Existence/Non-existence,
All these words just cover up—

I haven't found a point yet,
I'd report back if there was,

Until then, draw the curtains,
Against all that is and will be

And all that has been done.
I wonder why it has to be

This way, why it has to be so
Tough.  If God makes souls

Only to suffer, I think I've had
Enough.  Tennyson is not the

Best, Lord Byron is, dear buff.
Au lecteur.

In Saying Son

Such a human form,
This love will cover us.

Searching a human form
This love lost interest
To petty crimes or deeper flaws.
An inquest relinquished,

Therefore,
I love your arrogance,
I love your gall.
I love your meanness,
Your disinterested yawn;

Your self serving speeches
And your pages in tune,
Your mornings, your evenings,
Your nights and your noons.

Wrapped up to the neck
And waiting with baited breath,
Directive held firmly,
Each step unto the next.

I see you running around to each of everyone's houses.
I watch you peeking through them, in sickness and in power.

As much as I wish to stay, as much as I wish to listen
I'd do well to walk away, only looking into within.

The fire's warm and bold, stories told and happening,
I do not wonder why you're so cold

You sleep so far from your own crackling.
You have a light-pail inside of your person,

Don't go around asking for love to put in.
Inside of you is a love that is perfect!

If you find some of that,
You won't settle for less.

You were born originally worthy,
Let's not compromise that for less.

A fish fits within the purpose,
It is easier to flow than to run against.

Some more chicken-scratch
Intoned in earnest,

Just like as a child
I looked up to Dad.

A Mischief-Bird

You see feathers.
Wash them, don't foster.

In this case
The wolves will make the quickest
Profiting.

Obviously the Rooster won't let any harm come to the flock
And then there is the fence for this business with dogs.

It's all talk.
There is no fence
And thankfully, these wolves are not dogs,
They have extra-ordinary senses,
All work, no talk.

Wait for tomorrow, and the next dawn,
Then we will talk.
No words, I will use pictures,
A bit more room to walk.

I will give praise as it is taken,
Not my hand, though it chalks.
Echoes only aching for that fresh breath, again
A friend of no-man.

The Rush

What is the extent
Of these groves half-sullen?

Vines wrapped up in
Messy mountains—stolen, accosted.

Ramble, Granted the Gravel and
Dirt don't Hurt like The City

And Hail Mary full of Grace
I watched as men fell down, men took their place.

Full of heart yet heavy,
Pumping chests and shooting lead.

Howling veins of fury,
Roots dug down among my kin.

Brothers all around me
But my bed of roses is just a bitter cup,

My day is started and yet my day is done;
What dire weather fosters in the hearts of us.

I have heard those shots, half-fired if not in anger
And I have heard their replies deafen us.

Neither God nor King or Country,
The modern war is as modern does.

I'll mention Eisenhower
And the military-industry, all for what?

I am merely a child
In a company half-strangers

While empires rise up
And decline as the sun.

What I will say right now
Is change your course.

What I will say again
Is

Resh

And if you want to understand that
Then you have to throw out everything

I mention.

Now I will just try to say
Something about the sun

Relative to your perception,
Said in myth a chariot pulling it

On and on round the heavens
Relative to all of our senses.

In this pen there is no deception, now then,
Do you think the sun can care a hair

About your perception?  No and with good reason,
It is there just existing and you're allowed

To think about it as anything.
Do you think the Truth cares a hair

What you believe in?  With the same proof
It is there just being

And you're allowed with the same reasoning
To believe in whatever the hell you have reason to believe in;

The sun doesn't move relative to us
We move relative to the sun.

The truth indeed gets covered up
But it screams beneath all varnish.

I cannot refrain, in truth, I love.
Tell me anything half-hearted, or hold

Up some deception there-of,
What shines bright, imposed against that backdrop

Like a diamond in the rough?
I am only moving, relative to what?

Distance, envelopes half-opened
Relative to what?

Priceless, sister, what elegance is effulgent?
I tell you everything is love.

I am the ear of a patient listener
For the sound of echoed guns.

Make your self a careful center, you are a taste-tester
Relative to what? Opening each and every morning

Everything is love, my dear, and everything there-of
And on and on forever and always,

All that will be, all that can be, and all that was.
Fuck, what can be said of it?  Any semblance

Seems to get in the way.  Shining innocence
I'm parting, dearly departed, give them all of my love

Again and again and again, half-open,
These shimmering plays are wrapping me up.

Parsifal

As you say, a safe practice
Inside these walls.
Intrepid maneuvering,
A parchment to call.
All this whine of engines,
All these spirits for fight
Distilled apparent entrails
Parcel to the sight.
And lo and behold
Monsalvant, Percival
And a festival of light!
Details, details,
Give me the swift kick, alright.
This wish, this distance, cannot be
But might.  This is the list of
Whispers, this death the dish of night.
Now hold up and forget your feathers
Fallen to the ground.
Breathe deep the air of winter
Weathered dark with sight and sound.
Brazen, an intricate conception,
In time given and in time taken away.
Eventually, everything will fade
Into the chaos, into the fray.
Into the frenzy, yonder mountain awaits.

Half-naked

Picking up again, where were we last glance?
This on-again, off-again trading
Is long in the past.
But once, just once more
Is the price I drive too high
Or a bargain to last?

Pistol shots ring out in the dead of the night
Tonight let me bury it alive.

This Jesuit Jury was
Long on the benches.
In Boston it snows now
Like it did last Christmas.
Knock it out the box, kid
Straight for the fences.

My hope has now known fear, and in knowing returned.
It replies,

"A rapier week for week
I work, I work and watch shipwrecks recovered from
The depths, correct?"  It's just a question
And yes, I tend to live beneath her patience
With this grace there is much I have taken
But if it still snows in Boston
(And it's true, I'm a layman)
Then I am still needing favor.
So as this pad is my witness
I'll call Temperance my patron.
My life is signed within these lines
And every page her sanctum.
The still and silent prayers;
The laws of love and labor.
This house of oak, this house I know
Like an empty, empty painter
Half-taken.

A Sword

"What the sinew holds together
The steel still cuts through."
The simplest and most profound
Will always have the sound.
Now, suit up
For war and for plenty
For famine and for party
A cloak is friend to every.