The twists and
turns of DNA
Have entangled us in this
Amino acid trip.
The colors we see
And words we speak
Are as illusionary
As money and culture.
Values have been assigned
To symbols and souls,
All calculated with
Ciphers of smoke.
Cry out if you must.
Rattle your cage of bones,
Curse the name of the jailer,
Until, exhausted, you accept
With the greatest reluctance,
The fact that you are,
Or the illusion that you were.
Those Eyes
Those eyes are after
me.
Those eyes require an answer.
Those eyes will not let me rest,
Will not let me sleep,
Will not let me stop
Being a monkey
For a half seen organ grinder,
While all that is inside me
Cries out with burning pain
For those eyes to look elsewhere,
And let me live my monkey life
Unchained.
Hide and Seek
The secrets I tell
best
Are those that are most hidden.
Peruse each line
With a microscope.
Dissect with pleasure
Every hidden meaning
While discovering
Sensuous curlicues
And rusted metal consonants
That grind against
Your tongue.
in
between
after the earthquake
and before the hurricane,
we wait and watch the news,
all these little circles and triangles
moving across maps,
and wonder if this cartoon,
or the next,
will end our lives,
or simply make
a bigger mess of it.
Speak your mind
never judge
others
if you cannot judge
yourself.
if you know you are
a bastard, go ahead,
tear them another one,
but if you think
you are good,
hold your tongue,
lest the devil laugh
and hold up a mirror.
Wallowing in it
there are those
who know the rules,
but instead choose
to dive down manholes
and disappear
into sewers
where they are lost
among the rats
and refuse
until they are
forgotten
by those who dwell
above ground,
until some strange geyser
of law or luck
shoots them up
into the light
where all can see.
they cringe in the light,
embarrassed or brazen
while others gawk
at the layers of slime
in which they are
submerged.
My
Lovely Singer, Farewell
I will always sing
her praises
And suffer her rebukes.
Her affairs were numerous,
And barely hidden.
The names and the faces
Sometimes escaped,
But never the evil
Smile on her face.
On
the Other Side of Town
The honey dripped
slowly from the counter.
Bees gyrated against the window.
On the floor love was being made.
And elsewhere, in another house,
Another room,
Love was ending.
How sweet the new thing found.
How bitter the parting
Of old friends.
in
this age of cannibalism
the cannibals
can’t swallow pearls
locked inside this meat,
spit our precious souls
into mire and mud
where they lie
amongst our bones.
there they sprout
longing hands
reaching for the stars
the
unknown quantity
a man or man-like
being
cannot be known
from the contents of a poem.
lines written with a pen
cannot communicate
the complex hodge-podge
of biology and experience
that walked on two legs
and raised a fist
to moon and sun.
nor can a photograph convey
the worms squirming through
microbial flesh,
hidden just below the surface,
you cannot see
the tightly wound spring
of the clock work mind
tossed in a closet
with junk and old clothes.
these thoughts, these feelings,
these aspects exist
outside of the world of language,
and cannot be observed fully
with x-rays
or slides under microscopes.
the constant ticking that you hear
is the bomb
that never went off.
it had much explosive potential,
but never could find
a crowd or church
suitable
for full expression.
count the bones,
sponge up the blood.
examine all the small bits
of meat and fabric.
place the gathered findings
in a copper bowl
hooked to a kite
by a metal string.
if there is no storm
use and old car battery.
shoot the remnants through
with electricity,
trying to raise some monster
sewn together from refuse
and memories
in hopes of knowing
what it was and is,
how it moved,
and why it thought
the way it did.
whatever you assemble
in your mind
will not be the truth.
it will only be
a mask
of flesh and words
hiding an illusion
that even the subject
of study
never knew itself.
the
white wall
you
stare at a white wall
heading towards you,
or are you heading
towards it?
a door there is open
onto darkness and shadow.
you cannot tell
whether it will
let you out
or let you in.
all you know is
you are heading towards it
at ever increasing speed.
when the crash comes
and your life hits that wall
the you that is you
will be ejected
from existence
as you know it
and fly through that door
to land in paradise,
a baby’s cradle,
the center of a sun
or nowhere and nothing
after such a long run.
mystery man
there is the man
and there is
the vision of the man.
the latter has two parts:
how he sees himself
and how others see him.
the sad thing is
that the visions of the man
and the world
rarely agree.
sadder still
is that these mind pictures
have little to do
with the man himself.
the man remains
a mystery,
a walking, talking, thinking,
conglomerate
of cells and bacteria,
a massive meat machine,
throbbing and pumping and oozing,
eating and shitting and
fucking and breathing
and bleeding and bellowing
and barking and being
all too real
and overlooked.
interloper
the one who is
not here
and who I have not met
cast a wide shadow
over house and home
his scent is nowhere
his footprints can’t be seen
but the walls cry out
his presence
in everything but name
