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Dreamlessly
she twirled through the mists dancing to far away music that she barely could hear the ground was uneven slippery slanted she swung out her hands to prevent her fall and she awoke in her bed in a tumble of sheets blinking panting slighting sweating another disturbed dream she stares at nothing nothing to see…
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In This Season
Night and there is rain in the background hitting all the surfaces available out of view an invisible gamelan orchestra of no one there playing a song we cannot follow to a non-end Machinery sporadically strums a counter rhythm waiting its turn, biding time with no purpose to propose The emptying out of all desires,…
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nothing here
look/hear before it disappears: the sump pump dumps & overflows the sharp edged wind slams ’round like a spoiled child in an enclosed room light sparkles off the shaking leaves as we leave observing for work routine put away seeing the attention to detail, say, in Robert Ryman’s white canvases and the slowing down it…
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Love & Chaos, Canto I
How can the sun shine so, and freeze us still? In my body there’s an unearthly chill & I think of a woman and wonder why gargantuan love must dwell alone… Why the pink-bloomed tree is never touched once by hands alike, & then I think each cloud, each tree, each soul must go on…
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Part of the Story
Making lists at night to close the eyes and mind Street light seems to blind as the shades move in the bind between Dreams flows the islands I will never “see” to unpack the list sublime & at last to consume this desired, fading, rapturous time
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Within the Forest are the Trees
Everything that is not gist could be clutter or the forest with the distant sleigh weaving a message. The saxophonist solos running scales, changes that reflect, play on the melody. It is all relevant. A complete atmosphere of meaning fills the scene. All supports what all you perceive.
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Change
Things that bring Dusk Dust motes Collections Unmade thoughts Harbingers of stasis Rolling over tables In compact stillness Gather the unseen Data that compose Life Moving Self-edited incomplete Just out of grasp.
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Sugary Prague
O Sugary Prague draped in its gentle snowfall – Hides love but calls it out as well, As the church spires still reach for heaven, Finding dark chill, still echoing her defenestrations and Kafka-gloom, but Sugary Prague finally falls, And pillows our hardy feet, searching for love amongst the cold stones & hot hearts &…
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Death
I wrote this while sitting in Funeral Parlor at a Wake…
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Words Are Mere Shadows of Thought
Sensing purpose, you propose: Totality always overflows the edges. The storm reaches farther than thought Possible, lapping the inscrutable. Casting off with no directions Courts sensuality is irrefutable. Other than that Hold the thought up to the light Breath the description, Hear the events, sing their song With all your might.