mmmmm"Invitation to a Ginger Lady"

mmmThe table set with victuals rare & dear,
every spice that one could scarce procure,
& truest Hearts of Comradeship are here.
And yes, they hope your presence here to lure,
to take the Seat of Honor, as it were.
All pleasures that an evening could portend
are joined to buoy up the throng with cheer,
yet Spare, enough to share with you my friend.

mmmThere's witty ladies, elegant & fair,
with myriad kinds of mind & heart's allure,
who wear the clothes of gaiety with flair
to share with us Le Haute Cuisine du Jour.
Their jests & friendship drives away all care,
since girls of all the nations will attend
& one of each of every shade & hair,
yet spare enough to share with you, my friend.

mmmThere will be music playing everywhere,
& many kinds of well-aged wines & beer,
sweet women singing, saucy savoir faire,
your host himself a loutish clown to jeer
until there will be naught but pleasing cheer.
And if our guests, too drunk their way to wend,
should chance to ask, there will be beds, no fear,
yet spare enough to share with you my friend.

ENVOI: This plea is done. If you will not be here,
then know, my Lady, that this heart won't mend.
I could give every girl on Earth a tear,
yet spare enough to give to you, my friend.

[("Methitabel of the Yellow Eyes")]

mmmSHE CAME a homeless waif from the streets
petite-- probably stunted-- with eyes too old for her age
we took her in--occasionally-- we were a meal & a crashpad
& then it became apparent she was quite
quite pregnant...


so she stayed for several months more-- just until she got
back on her feet-- so we said-- & she gave birth to triplets
so now we're stuck-- she'd raised them to nearly toddlers
& left us to watch them on an errand
then disappeared...


her family wants her kids-- the family that nearly killed her
with neglect-- as for our latchkey-- by this point
she's presumed dead-- no doubt at all-- not with
what we know now & her children swarming the house
like locusts...


one day we'll happen to chance upon the poor-thing's body
what will happen when our temporary custody expires? what
will happen when their foster wards them worldward? what will
happen when they stumble on their doorsteps? they have their
mother's eyes...

mmm[('The Weird & The Lucky")]

mmmmmI-- The Weird

mmmFOR HE on whommmmfate's finger has fallen
there is no escapemmmmmmthere is no power
neither wind nor willmmmmmmcan move its mark
be he king-- churlmmmmmmmplowboy or prelate-- still

it will end hardmmmmmmmmmand be so endured
it is for himmmmmmmmmmmmas a player in role
who adheres to textmmmmmmmthe words speak through
but are not hismmmmmmmmmmthe clown ends bad

but can not turnmmmmmmmmmbut for this fact
he's sore with smartmmmmmmmand paces planks once
since these props piercemmmmmthe script skull enseared
and no repeat performancemmmmis allowed nor commanded

the horizon is flatmmmmmmmmmand has us encircled
the way is darkmmmmmmmmmmor is blazingly blind
the woods lies thickmmmmmmmmand hides all highways
but thicker lies fatemmmmmmmmand it suffers us


mmmmmII-- The Lucky

mmmFOR SHE on whommmmchance change has broken
there is no awningmmmmmmmthat can shield her
there is no high groundmmmmmthat can uphold her
for she is windblownmmmmmmlike a leaf falling

like a stray coltmmmmmmmmmbewildered in a hailstorm
splayed and then sinkingmmmmlike twigs in whirlpools
upon her is fallingmmmmmmmmfortune like the rain
nothing here is certainmmmmmmneither man nor woman

nor steel nor dogmmmmmmmmall is at random
like litter in barrelsmmmmmmmtumbling about from breezes
and all our precautionsmmmmmforesight strength and preparations
are set at naughtmmmmmmmmone with the litter

who can now scrymmmmmmmmthe trial of tomorrow?
who can now saymmmmmmmmwhich ally will turn?
chance wheels about usmmmmmlike tears in a cyclone
and all is forgottenmmmmmmmmlike teardrops in rain


For Sean & Shel

[("Libra")]

mmmIN CROWDS she felt an unaccountable sorrow
& the happier they were the worse she felt-- what was wrong with her?
did she love stillness-- solitude? or was it an inward balance?
for she was always contrary always fighting upstream in this river of flesh
it became automatic-- she abhored the home team-- sang songs
of other peoples 'til she hardly knew her mother's lullabys
& why not? why does this all have to be a bad thing?
or do you admit the possibility of aversion to yourselves honing toward instinct?

mmmmm[("TIRED'')]

*

mmmSHE IS falling & has always been falling
she doesn't know why she is falling nor why she has to be falling
but she is certainly-- instead of standing upright
instead of strolling-- & none could know what she makes of this
this perpetual fall...perhaps one could ask-- perhaps one could be
but nonetheless she will fall & will not stop

**
mmmHE IS grasping at ghosts grasping
at things of light & substances & shape but yielding
as water & numb to the touch-- who are these or
what are these if anything & could they be or are they
delusions-- no-- they're too vivid-- have weight & place
but here's the horrid thought: they do not include him...
he is the spirit-- he is the inconvenience to be disavowed
to be rubbed out-- to have never been-- who is that
reaching out as if for us?

***

mmmPRIVATE AS the toilet are our bad dreams
our fantastic self-deceptions & those nightmares we can't shake
like the ones about the fat lady who breaks the carnival ride
& sends you flinging to your death-- or the assumption that
your closest women friends really wanted you all those times
you were closest of closest-- instead of wanting who they always want:
an abusive fuck with money who treats them like shit
& as far as that goes-- they can't even imagine you with a penis...

mmmWHY BOTHER at all? it's the very unanswerability that hovers
like an evil star over the whole proceedings-- threatening to crush us ant flat
if one could know with distance-- in survival of one's demise-- it meant something
then there would be no tension-- but would this flow as effortlessly?
Old Stevens keeps chirping about in the branches-- falling in the raindrops:
Death is the Mother of Beauty...rushing down crick beds & snapping up worms
the pain is the beauty the beauty is in the pain-- & moreover the uncertainty
okay-- undeniably & powerfully the uncertainty-- there's rising realisation
after initial trials that one must choose one idiocy & stick--
because time's not enough-- born beneath the event horizon the funnel closes
about us & we're drawn into singularity to boil away into atoms into x-ray

"Dandelion"

You saw outside, in lawn half-mown,
the kitten's grave beneath a stone.

Well marked you once his mew & moan,
then, when he chased the rat & cone',

& claw in paw on wall he'd hone.
His coat was red & gold in tone,

his eyes like sun itself had shone,
but now, beneath, he lies alone,

with sluttish earth girt 'bout his bone.

"Say, what a sack for us is sewn,
by three damed Fate, each one a crone,

unless we're like the leaf, wind-blown,
that neither far nor high is flown.

We are yardwork, the rest's on loan,"
you think, then answer your cellphone.

"Cape Horn: Dire Straits III"

mmmAFTER ROARING fourty there's only God & Satan sailors tell
& after fifty there's no God--well...somewhere about fifty-five
you sight the horn right where expect him to be--with nothing working
the winds contrary the weather horrible your bearing badly off


but other men have made the claim:
they have pressed through the dragon's jaws
below the sharp incisors bristling
around the cleaving tongue of flame
& the crushing wide molars of pennisular ice
from the drowned Atlantis of their childhood
into the pacific dreamland of the starry clouds

they are entirely off their rocker
for here is no beatific star guiding through
the pall of flake foam & steam
as you are spun about between
his Scylla-gray pseudo-pods
his Charybdis-black canines


so what if--like Virgil & Co.
you pass through the gullet undigested
into a second realm of punishment?
you can't get around the world

even Magellan didn't sight port again
and he wasn't the sort of fellow
one would wish farewell & Godspeed
never will you--nor am I

[("The Trophy Wife of Tony Lucre")]

mmmALONE HE watched the site as he was told
she passed each evening in his limosine
he saw she--who was his--in wet & cold
while she convinced herself they'd never been

and who was he? he thought as through she'd pass
she thought the same--and why would he dare stare?
and heads home to a house of stock & gas
while he pretends he doesn't really care

if ever I did love her--I was sick!
if ever I could want him--that's not sane!
and so she's chauffered back to her rich prick
while he is still a watchman in the rain

[("Butterfly Effect")]

mmmPRECISE UNVARYING it all seems at times
because we in our conscience rise into our smallness
then we learn the pathetic radius of our ripples
upon an indifferent universe & that among infinite universes
then again no--the universe isn't infinite nor is the number of them
in their collegium--not without end but unimaginably massive
both in their absolute quanity and each in their individual scope

there was a film & the leading lady was pointing to the rings
on a slice of giant redwood then moving her finger oh
ever so slightly: here I was born she said & then
here I will die... but even the stage will be wiped clean even
the forgetting will be forgotten

"Little Redwing" (or "I sleep far from my Beloved")

I

NO ONE shares my tears
V & S you fucking liar
not for a second nor a thousand years
nobody will care...

II

NO ONE has any right to tell anyone
their pain is not unique
no one has any right
to tell the sufferer he isn't alone

III

WE ARE too weak
we are too slow
we are too selfish
we are too ignorant

look! (surprise surprise)
we're humans

IV

I AM a mere spectator
this is not me
where is my tea?

I should be dictator

V

OTHERS SOUGHT salvation in love
others sought salvation in compassion
others sought salvation in dreams
others still seek salvation in alchemy
no one now seeks salvation in verse
the ink molders with the printed page
and yet so many more eyes to read

VI

SHE DEMANDED a prayer over the wild baby rabbits
they caught but could never have saved & so her father said

God keep all we dumb little bunnies of the universe
in and from the hands of our self-appointed hare-brained caretakers

we who suffer among aliens & die alone

VII

AMEN

[("Of the Becalm")]

WHEN ASKED a devotee of old time sail stated
that storms were but one of several crises
that then & again fractures either brain or vessel
some problems one could scarce imagine
such as when the polar opposite of a storm
strikes you far from port: the wind becalms
& all that animated bone of pine in hemp sinew entwined
declines--thank God this is a modern time and not
The Age of Sail for we have stowable engines
& wireless communication & can power up or call a tow

the options for those tars of long ago? blister--or throw a longboat out & row!


we live in fear of tempests when the becalming's quite as vicious
peace tries men as harshly as does war--riches rot a man
as sure as any ruination and a body will drown in grease
as soon as water--and thus dear Lord the most of us will live
between silent storm and deafening calm in need of fair trades
in latitudes never to be found


[Nota: a young man once read this poem, got a wicked grin on his face,
and whispered ironically, in a mock conspiritorial tone," I'll take my chances..."]

[("Florenzia")]

YOU WISH to go
into the wood--good
and may it please
you never to return

for there is more
good--Alighieri--in exile
amongst these darkened leaves
than can be found
in heaven--hell--or
within your purgatory town

"Riviersonderend"

THE SOUTHEASTER blows until it reaches
the Hottentot-Hollands losing moisture
that Karoo will not receive--the koppies
are filled with wet proteas whose dew burns
through contacting sunburst-shooting stormclouds

the sculptor sits--lounging in the shadow
of the berge above all his wild blooms
that are dripping lightning sapphire raindrops

his signature is on the shadow
as if to say--this is mine--you also

FONDNESS FORBIDS--darling--from having any hard feelings
not in this life--draining & jarring--and so look
at the flowers & the long tall grass
smell the blossoms & feel the chafing sharpness
feel the stabbing brightness of our sun
do this--and forget--and forget much


love prevents--prevents much that needs to be said
not in this life--an insult from first to last
& so feel the rain plash your pretty body
feel it drain through your fingers & taste it
on your tongue--hear the wind
echo through the wooded hollow & know
everything--thankfully--will be forgotten eventually

"Les Demi-etudes"

We rise in dark, we sleep in light, and in between we cry,
and admit to acts of violence, unless we tell a lie.
We rise in dark, we sleep in dark, and in between we dream
of how we'll use our loves & friends, and make our rivals scream.
The stars arise, the stars descend, and in between they fall,
and 'though another starves to death, we'll have ourselves a ball.
The stars will flair, the stars will fade, and in between they shine.
And we shall argue through gunfire, what's yours and what is mine.
The planets climb, the planets fall, and in between they roam,
but neither they nor we can halt, nor find ourselves a home.
The planets won't, the planets aren't, and in between they scowl,
without the medium of complaint--no air to hear the howl.
The Spring has sprung, the Fall has fell, and between is hot and cold,
but not a thing we hoped & pled can put the change on hold.
The Fall shall win, the Spring has lost, and in between we wait,
and grab much more than we can use, to use the rest for bait.
The tides come in, the tides retreat, and in between they shake,
but do not care how much we hurt, or how much we can take.
The tides withdraw, the tides explode and in between they seethe.
We have no secrets to reveal. No, nothing's up our sleeve.
We were just born, we soon will die, and in between we laugh,
because we see our foes in pain, or think our friends are daft.
We were not born, we will not die, and in between we fear
that we will rape a woman-friend, or pass out from the beer.


We will soon die, we were just born, and in between we gawk,
and when we're not the hunted quail, we're certainly the hawk.
We will not die, we were not born, and in between we hate
the woman who will give her love, & those we can not mate.
The tides retreat, the tides come in, and in between they wave.
And just like us, when they don't roar, they rave & rave & rave...
The tides explode, the tides withdraw, and in between there's drifts,
'while we steal anothers' goods, but throw away their gifts.
The Fall has fell, the Spring has sprung, & in between's a loss
to stop a murder even once, or others on the cross.
The Spring has lost, the Fall will win, & in between they leak.
God only knows just what they sought, much less what we might seek.
The planets fall, the planets climb, and in between they spin,
and have no virtue over us, but surely lots of sin.
The planets aren't, the planets won't, & in between they scar
in all that vast not infinite, the cruelty of stars.
The stars descend, the stars arise, & in between they hide,
but there's no one to keep our trust, in whom we may confide.
The stars will fade, the stars will flair, and in between they yawn
and no one knows just why we wait, or day of week we're on.
We sleep in light, we rise in dark, and in between we lie,
that we're reborn a thousand times, or twice, then do not die.
We rise in light, we sleep in light, and in between we weep,
but prayers and threats won't soon prevent the date we all must keep.

"Wampyre contre Felix Animas, PhD "
(c Rf. opening paragraphs of Dmitri Shostakovich's "Testimony")

'Though never forced into a war or draft,
you father tore me through both fore & aft,
like a bomb burst.

Like Schroedinger's Cat-- dead & yet undead,
I could not find repose asleep in bed
and it got worse.

I preyed apart from ghouls who thought me daft.
My profit in your teaching of my craft
is I am cursed.

I left the schoolroom textbooks all unread,
I found your golden 'bus of life instead
a piss-stained hearse.

The piper tucks you in no gay mine shaft
the rosy garden that you planned so deft
is thorn & furze.

The sea we leech does not allow a raft,
'though we undrown, we still are not bereft
of sanguine nurse.

ENVOI:
In this mean world, you live amongst the dead,
thus I can not forgive the coaxed or led,
in life or verse.

[Nota: response to two poems by R. Wilbur]

[("Fragment")]

BROKEN BROKEN broken
the words that we have spoken
the phrases we've repeated
are themselves defeated
and we are alone
in a world of blood and wishbone
and tales left uncompleted...

The Author feels no preparation is necessary. Wallace Stevens spoke of men made out of words. This is all there is. Tolstoy decided that humans were like rivers...deep & tranquil in some bends, shallow & coarse in others. This applies. You have been warned that this is not fare for the easily offended or sensitive in any area. Walk away. You will lose nothing by doing so... If you are now offended by the material you must remember you were forewarned. This was never meant to be seen anyway.