THE MYSTERY OF KNOWING

THE MYSTERY OF KNOWING
for Larry

In the beginning was the word, meaning the big
vibration from which all things animate and
inanimate issue forth, but it could very well
have been Hey! You molecules virals spirals
stardust bacterias plasmas miasmas and scilias
swimming in the cosmic sea making your way
to the shores with the Australian crawl
or the little bawl of wax...Get off your
microscopic asses and create life, all right?
Okay? Now! I have spoken...
And that's how tricky those before times were
when all things short and tall were delegated tasks
big and small by the invisible boss with a thunderous voice
or the still small voice from a boss so big
you can't even see him or was it her
don't you see? Oh say don't you? The more
you know the more of a mystery meaning
each of us as the bard would say has her own
entrance and exit the lights dim or grow
we put our lips to the mask and blow
this is our time the much feted now
the elusive running grasp...come, let me clutch thee!
Oh reality, my head's spinning with inner
nebulae! The Aztecs had it right all along
with their crystal skulls. So much for bipolar
dichotomies! What's frozen to me moves too fast
for the representative from Sirius. What's more
important is that space between, not the thing.
Resurrection gets four syllables, one
for each corner of the bed and it's time...
Oh, yawn, stretch, fart, oops, really?
to wake up and nourish the soul
break the fast and sing the endless song.

THE WAY OF TOTAL INTEGRATION

THE WAY OF TOTAL INTEGRATION

First in the beginning and from the outset
before before before input when laughter
merely stuttered and your name mumbled
in the eucalyptus which did not sway
the snake came and knotted itself inside
your brain into the Celtic sign for geese
in flight you had no say in this although
you knew thirst and all the other cravings
but one which we will not talk about yet
in the circle no one knows how the boulders
moved by sound waves or by brute force
built for the first pit fire that gave birth
to the first constellation the shadow crossed
over and we truly understood the wildness
that would stalk us and watch us even from
inside the cage we so fearfully assembled
mounted and kept in that place the question
that brought you here the one you will take
with you to the end where there is only
music disguising our confusion

how rivers begin

snow crust openings
icicles reach into space
over mountain stream

EMPTY SHELLS

a cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away
—Basho

EMPTY SHELLS

counting syllables the haiku
disappears from the branch

blossoms that called out in the night
now fallen under the bed forgotten

the tree in leaf moves on without moving
unless the wind says otherwise

short or long the breath of the wind
has no regard for chopping up its words

we hear wind we don't even know
this language we've been hearing all our lives

the insects leave their shells behind
as do the molluscs on the shore

leaving their shells how convenient
all these found instruments for a breeze

watch out a gale will scatter these remains
like so much debris inside such a sound
that overwhelms like a flood like a drowning

like a barking dog in the night
we speak out against the darkness of the wind
that hasn't yet arrived

KEEP ME FROM WHIPLASH

KEEP ME FROM WHIPLASH

Hold me back the world's on fire
too fast too much or not enough as usual
can't make up my mind
not with the lights all green and the roads empty
mover over ghost I see you there
cycling down the margin in daylight
the testy owl languid over your
bobbling frame see how she launched herself
from the fencepost is somebody timing this
the slowing down of the heartbeat the counting
as the breath pulls in yes pulls my friend
I've got the bellows working midships
the belly of the beast a white man in disguise
you know just an ordinary bean no distinctive
confusions only the tingling sensation
as the warmth grows up your arm
get out of the way I say
I'm coming through you can watch the clock
all you like I'm down to skin on the road
slow as a guitar string returning to the fret
these vibrations and hand slaps don't care
anymore about keeping up with no
Joneses I don't even know anymore
except that speed does kill
exhilaration's the name of my game
and it's dripping like honey down the road

SHORTER WITHOUT A NET

SHORTER WITHOUT A NET

You can do it!

That's the voice I want to hear

with me stepping out into space

from the branch of a tree

onto the roof of your house

I know you're in there although

there's no doors or windows

I just need the small voice

to stir me on

all these years thinking trusting

waiting for that permission

to fly slowly by like a comet

give me my mission statement and

three days or so to get off my ass

ah the roof tops

slippery in March

when the cherry blossoms fall it's like

stepping into heaven

with the green leaves in their infant ways

unfolding watching it all go down

it’s touch and go up here on the ridge

smoke curling out of the chimney

somebody's in I know it though there's

no stairs no rooms no furniture only

a space called home and a vibration inside

that sounds like yes

I should have been listening long before now

but this is it

with the fall

all in my mind after all

perspective rushing at me like the ground

still frozen in some back country hollow

that's got my name on it

I should know better

I've played cat to this tune before

landed on all fours keeping my knees

bent my arms outstretched thinking

of Leonardo and the Wright brothers

and our long line of flight attendants

real and imaginary