Did you know…

You were being tricked
When the moon pretended to be a heart

Yours sometimes but others also
Sunlight’s mineral

So cold and tight
I didn’t understand

Of course I read books
Stupid rock and roll

Amusement park graffiti
All the while

That moon picked my pockets
Parents weren’t helpful

The priests and doctors of the moon
Were just as poor

Ask this moon
Where’s Herakleitos

The dark one?

They Call it Mystic

They Call it Mystic

                --for Sanni Purhonen

When I cross the street
They say its a miracle
(You just can’t get away from it)

Buy a sack of cherries
Blind in the market
Vide et credere…see

And believe
(The blind eating fruit)
Cripples traveling

Hand in hand
Autumn winter
Crazy God lets them out

To stroll with
Sandalwood and incense
And their true bodies

Do you remember the little outfits you had in childhood?

Do you remember the little outfits you had in childhood? There’s a photo of me somewhere–I was dressed as a grocer. I thought the market was a magical. In another snap shot I’m leaning over a cardboard toilet paper insert (my microphone) pretending to be a news broadcaster.

When we wore those costumes we had no faces. Sometimes when I was very little I’d press my face to the mullioned window. I couldn’t see but the glass was cold. It was possible to be no one and everyone.

The imagination allows us to get around on the tips of our toes. My father bought me a cowboy hat. I was the tippy toe outlaw among the pine trees.

Let us dress up as we once did–not to impress anyone but to admit our hunger.

And without knowing the outcome….

Study of the Object, or “Wrong Job”

I was on the wrong train
OK let’s see where it goes

I was in the wrong room
OK we don’t get many blind people

Silent stares
Should we tell him?

Maybe he can make something good happen
We don’t get many blind people around here

Irony: academic desperadoes claiming diversity
Worst of all–“his behavior for god sake”

“He should wait his turn…”
“Such a malcontent!”

At least the creaking “literal” train
Was entertaining

It was summer and then in turn it wasn’t…

It was summer and then in a turn it wasn’t
Birds in the hedgerow vanished
Summer kept beating on the door

Orphan wanting to be let in
It was summer and then it wasn’t
The hunter cleans his gun

A sorrow from the gut
A tear from under your boots
The wildfire of consciousness

The boys were playing catch
I was reading and then I wasn’t
“Love is the flower of life

And blossoms unexpectedly
And without law”
Lawrence coughing it out

Summer/love
Enjoyed for the brief hour
Of its duration

I don’t know if anything…

I don’t know if anything matters when my neighbors who don’t look like me are devalued. This isn’t late breaking news for me. Here’s a poem about disability in America.

Walking around my study with a blind cast of mind…

I write in the mornings when the flowers are just ideas
The abiding chancel of Sunday is an idea
My dog sits beside the desk liking middle distance
I jot a few phrases—up river, low sun
Think of Allen Ginsberg who once touched my shoulder

This is a test of the emergency love system…