Spring and All

I

By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast-a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees

All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines-

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches-

They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind-

Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined-
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf

But now the stark dignity of
entrance-Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted, they
grip down and begin to awaken

-William Carlos Williams

Horizon for Spells

The shadows lay us down spread us out across the breeze and I feel at home
believe in us all
we breathe into the fire
discoveries with a fine tooth comb

we speak slow
grossly
gestalt we gather the motions
hide below

The sun burns us flattened and immoveable prairie of light
horizon for spells
we gather the dust swarms
don't leave without a fight

And you speak of the power of might
but I might disagree
and the moon sets slowly
with a subtle fade
and you might believe in what I disagree
But it won't matter much
when the light fades
and we're left with sand and sadness that we wash away with
the day light

we speak slow
in pattern
sideways in motions
hide below.

A Modern Day Mummification

I'm in lust all over your summer skin
shed around me like a snake shake your face that sin inspired grin
Wince at the light that wakes us from behind the blinds
The piece of glass pivots, catches us off guard as it hits our eyes

Bodies and brine, a modern day mummification
Wrap ourselves in each others shedded skins
Purification from the depths
Steal the rubies and emeralds to fashion our beating hearts, gleaming eyes
gold and rust, the markings of elegance and age

I hope we grow old under a grove
because we both know.

yes : summer

YES : SUMMER

wild nothing : chinatown
mos def : hip hop
iggy pop : gimme danger
tricky : hell is around the corner
perro del mar : change of heart
black lips : before you judge me
calexico : contention city
pedro the lion : bad things to such good people
ariel pink : round and round

"i'm in lust all over your summer skin
shed around me like a snake shake your face that sin inspired grin
wince at the light that wakes us from behind the blinds
the piece of glass pivots, catches us off guard as it hits our eyes

bodies and brine, a modern day mummification
wrap ourselves in each others shedded skins
purification from the depths
steal the rubies and emeralds to fashion our beating hearts, gleaming eyes
gold and rust, the markings of elegance and age

i hope we grow old under a grove
because we both know."

en tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.

Mientras por competir con tu cabello,
oro bruñido al sol relumbra en vano;
mientras con menosprecio en medio el llano
mira tu blanca frente el lilio bello;

mientras a cada labio, por cogello.
siguen más ojos que al clavel temprano;
y mientras triunfa con desdén lozano
del luciente cristal tu gentil cuello:

goza cuello, cabello, labio y frente,
antes que lo que fue en tu edad dorada
oro, lilio, clavel, cristal luciente,

no sólo en plata o vïola troncada
se vuelva, mas tú y ello juntamente
en tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.

Read Your Fate

A world's disappearing.
Little street,
You were too narrow,
Too much in the shade already.

You had only one dog,
One lone child.
You hid your biggest mirror,
Your undressed lovers.

Someone carted them off
In an open truck.
They were still naked, travelling
On their sofa

Over a darkening plain,
Some unknown Kansas or Nebraska
With a storm brewing.
The woman opening a red umbrella

In the truck. The boy
And the dog running after them,
As if after a rooster
With its head chopped off.

Untitled

When we die will we
be wrapped all up in ourselves
still.
And when we die
will we
still be remembered
old reserves soiled on shelves.
And for the rest of us
still wrapped up
in ourselves,
be still
beside ourselves
in anthems of recessionals.
When I die I hope to lie next to myself with enough space
still
remembering my lines.

A Strawberry Bang This Blue-eyed World

nothing false and possible is love
(who's imagined,therefore limitless)
love's to giving as to keeping's give;
as yes is to if,love is to yes

I, unlike many, love the idea of a holiday based upon expressing love. I lovelovelvoe it. If you're so inclined, here's a little song about love performed by yours truly: Listen & or download here. mp3

The Roots of a Scream

Murder
(Two early morning voices on Riverside Drive)

“How did it happen?”
“A cut on the cheek.”
That’s all!
A nail that presses the stem.
A pin that dives in
until it finds the roots of the scream.
And the sea stops moving.
“How did it happen?”
“Just like that.”
“Stop it! Like that?”
“Yes.”
The heart came out on its own.
“Oh my!”

-Federico García Lorca

They'll Sharpen Their Teeth on Your Smile

Here is a little bit of William Carlos Williams for your Friday:

"Libertad! Igualdad! Fraternidad!"

You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!

Brother!
--if we were rich
we'd stick our chests out
and hold our heads high!

It is dreams that have destroyed us.

There is no more pride
in horses or in rein holding.
We sit hunched together brooding
our fate.

Well--
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
and--
dreams are not a bad thing.

April 10: Black Again

I'm tired, goodnight.



Reading recommendation:
Wallace Stevens

A HIGH-TONED OLD CHRISTIAN WOMAN

by: Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.