The Space Between Objects

The substance was the doing, the process of moving out
into the day.
Transposing the objects and dilemmas with an action
That led you beyond meaning, siren call of distraction
To the roots here in the quiet under the tree of life.

The reality of plumbing pulls me back into the rooms I left.
It clunks away. I have not been inspired nor turned
Inward enough to you, who is always standing
There in the back of my mind.
I am not going to put the trees in though they stand
breathing softly,
Attentive as dawn in the famous calligrapher’s picture.

This part of the arena is being closed.
I am left here with only words.
They flare briefly on the bare floor and go out.
The scenery is rolled on to the next plateau.
The parts, (buildings, animals, destructions, lusts,
cars, etc…)
Are going to be still and become a homogeneous us.
My dreams I will to that other you I have chosen
Hoping to tame a contrariness which is the other side
of the coin of submission.

Now the lights are on, have been for awhile
And, in this feeling at twilight
The forest and trees become one.

Published by William Cowan

I'm from the East Coast, have lived in SoCal and now Northern California for some years. I've been writing quite awhile, published in 1992 in a literary quarterly: "Suspicious Humanist," vol. 2, #2, (20 pages.) Best job: fm on air personality on a now defunct station, "Evening Eclectic" music show, and a weekly poetry reading show. I played jazz and free/improv I enjoyed. Read Wallace Stevens, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, etc. and commented on the poems. I have read once at a local coffee house. Love the Bay Area, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I am going to appear in an east coast anthology of best new poets of 2010 by the end of the year, published in Pennsylvania. I'm reading once a month at a brewpub in Marin with a group of fellow poets. We read to each other our work, and personal favorite poems of authors we enjoy. It is a pleasure to share with a community of fellow enthusiasts.

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