(older poems #1)

................................................................



extreme and long-standing


I live for the artist at the bottom of the ocean.
I long for that silence.


Her cup can't run over.
She no longer names/signs 
her own "vessels."
Some thin flaking layover
between her and "eternity."
Her "private" love won't discriminate
nor will it satisfy anyone 
except with what they 
already "p o s s e s s" 
in seed form
for "themselves."

And yet, predictably, "I", 
still as thirsty and unwashed as ever,
gently dip my own knotted lips 
into the sink after failing, 
times without number, 
to crack open 
the 
following 
sea
floor
style
uni-
verse:

[in process, forthcoming, from oblivion's presses]

smudged and anonymous glass-
ungrateful, unseeing, disgusted, impatient-
for a certain period of time,
much like her,
I 
too 
was 
denied 
isolation.

And the ways and means I attempted 
to "work with" that 
not-so-minor affair
became my pathetic first book
of near-unpublished 
fragments, diagrams, and digressions
and the comic author's 
photo and fun biological pair-a-graph.
(Thankfully, these items
are no longer
seen or read
as terribly 
relevant.)


I live for the ocean at the bottom of the artist.
I believe I would die for that silence.


........................................................................



Nathalie, dearest, 
I write you in anguish-
(peculiar sensation, that!)
I am afraid for my health,
my well-being, my life,
my tumbleweed-style salvation-
youprobablyknowbetterthananyone 
that I have not the respect
for money or masters or death
as becomes a man of my age,
and not nearly enough scorn
for the "truth" and other such
matters ephemeral that
have ways of stringing one up
well before one has tasted
ofboththesugarandbitter.

I read your little notes 
to be "healed,"
ifthatmakesyoufeelanybetter.
I lay out my ashpile "heart" 
foryoutoexamineorignoreasyouchoose.
Makes no actual difference
because I pretty much 
continue to rot either way!

I am sinking and swallowing,
losing track, losing interest,
making lists of mistakes, misconceptions,
that I had back in "everyday life"-
and it's just coming out now
that never did I really comprehend earth,
never did I realize what had importance
back there in the valley, 
never did I come
to know "myself "
or any tangible "other."

Nat, put your hand over the light, please,
lay your scissors alongside my throat,
dangle your hair upon my eyes,
pressyourswollenfingertomylips.


............................................................



hypergraphia


Tonight i am broken,
and like a text/booked humanoid body,
so precisely and fabulously 
indexed, footnoted, picked clean, and calibrated-
the mind is also frail and subjected 
to unnecessary violence and excess-
i did not want to write or speak-
did not want to listen or read-
did not want to wring from such fragility
stricken words or signs which indicate 
nexttonothing-

(there is something holy in silence,
writes Rumi.)

(allegedly)

i am cold and untenanted
but when chances arise to walk/gather up coals
i usually just start to scribble or babble compulsively,
or, even better, causally turn on 
the computer or television.
It is this kind of evasion
that leaves the mind tonight feeling broken,
like a cartoon human body,
mis-used,
laid to waste,
ridiculed,
polluted,
sedated,
sickened,
bloated,
divested
of
poetry.

desiccated.

i have not searched the hills
nor spent my compulsory time
wandering aimlessly 
without raimentslashwaterslashfood
amidst the demonsslashangels
of solitudeslashisolationslashnothingness.

i have left the screens, walls, and corridors 
standing around and about me,
have let them defineslashdefile me,
taking refuge
only with 
the glutted
and spent.


(i love culture!)


............................................................



Your beauty is such
that when I go for solitary walks
in the evening I invariably
turn west because there's something
out there which reminds me.

The pure pain of a moment
when you suddenly decide to withdraw-
the roses after a rainstorm-
the sandy creek imprint of a bottom-most rung-
back on earth, slightly ruffled,
because certain thirsts went unslaked-
but they was temporary,
and simply could not compete.

I want to come visit you
sometimes where you live
but I'm nervous- never sure
what crazy shit you'll suggest!
I don't think there's been one time
when you did something predictable!
I'm always holding my breath, 
and then finally, when you do 
reach out and touch my fingers or eyelids
I am always inexplicably healed or calmed
in some manner.

And believe it or not,
sometimes that healing 
or calming can hurt!!!
I'll end up staying away
for months and even years at a time-
I hear about you third-hand, perhaps,
and learn that your own life is crumbling-
I am sad and perplexed-
we never lived 
like it was 
our last day 
on earth.
And then I think it might be too late,
and frantically start trying
to contact you.

Dearth.

The gang has all scattered now.
We don't even know our days from our nights!
Most of the flowers we planted
have been obscured or even choked out
by the tall grass of summer.
We don't know what to answer when
strangers inevitably ask the obvious question-
all parties concerned saunter on,
and that is probably precisely the way
that it should be.

Your beauty is the kind
too insane for this tidy new world.
Most people won't touch it.
They protect their children and parents 
from ever even hearing your voice-
because if they did,
it might change things-
it might upset the cute little apple cart.

An absolute downpour you can be on occasion-
total drenching, unremitting, 
a species of melting/washing/facading away,
unidentifiable colors/textures/dimensions 
shot past gutters too inundated
to accept any more, 
yet it keeps drumming down
all the same, even worse,
in spite of the pure 
and very real pain 
alluded to earlier-


(but it's still fun having you as a friend!!!)

(keep me posted on facebook!!!)


..............................................................



One day, early in the morning, around 4:13 am,
it was still very dark, not much food in the ice-box,
the town slept, trains still passed-
I didn't turn on any lights and soon
found myself hovering 
out on the roof
over Pittsburgh.

There was nobody around,
not even a car or bus passing by, 
just the pine tree, the fire-escape,
and an old telephone pole bowed under
the weight of so many cables it seemed, 
to my own highly un-technological eye, 
on the verge of being pulled back down 
to the original wormhole/motherboard matrices.

Boulevard of the Allies, Uncle Jimmy's,
Grocerie Mercante, the laundromat,
and a new billboard 
for Misty brand cigarettes:
light and sassy.

I could feel and see the skin 
on my face and lips growing tighter-
I had a Greyhound bus ticket inside
and a framed photograph 
of Walt Whitman bedside.
I had a pitcher of tap water
and a lot more
where that came from.

I knew that the small sliver 
of mirror inside over the sink
would only distort and mismanage
the delicate project of shivering breaths
racing in and out thru my "system."
I'd gone ice-skating the night before
at good ol' Schenley Park Caverns 
with some of the best company 
I'd made since "moving" 
to this semi-mythical city.

Remnants of gods, my new job,
my old friends, and my "art"-
dotted and slashed morning skies-
almost legible!
I paid little mind, it was freezing,
branches clicking, the poor stranger 
establishing slightly humbler plans,
the world and all of literary history
as if "dead as ash
in its sleep."


..............................................................

a   pier   between   berths
............................................
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
||||\\\\\||||||/////||//////\\|||||}}}
;; ; ;;;; ; ;; ; ;;;; ;,,,,..;;;
and/or     ((  (((((( ((((( (
::   : :: : :::::: :: :: :;;;;::....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(possibly))) )  ))) ) )) )   )
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
))  ))  ) )) ) ))) ))))  )) )))   )
appears     via     breath
// ///  // ///////   /\\\\ \\\\\//
|||||||   || || ||| ||| ||| |||||| ||||||||
<<  >> >< ///  ;;;:::;^^^^
/////^^^^^^>>>><<<<<<<<<<
and/or   ) ) ) ) )  ))))  )) ) )
,,,, ,  ,, , ,,, ,,, ,, ,,, ,,, ,,,, ,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
secretly, 
   discreetly, 
           seductively
       a       l       mo  s          t 
;; ;  ; ; ;;;;; ;;;  ;;. .. .. ... ..
++++++++++++++
peering  thru  references
,,,, ,,,, ,  ..... .... . .., ,;; ; ;;:;;
//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
++++++++++++++++++
dearths  ////\\\\\\////////\\\
) ) ) ) )))) )   )))  )) ) )))   )
::: : ::: ;; ; ;; ;;;  :::::  :;:: :: :
;; ;;;;;;; ;; ; ;;<<<<<<<<<<<
//// // ////// / // //// // // /// /
and/or     (( ((((  ( (    (  (  (
:;; ;; ;; ;;;; ;;;;;  ::: : :: :: :::
 . ..    , , ,, , ,,,,, , ,, ,, , ,,,,,, ,
. ..... ........ ,, , ,. ...,,,,,,,,,,,,,
         immeasurable    riches
      ;;;; ;;;; ;;;;;;; ;; ; ;;;;;; ;
   , ,, ,,,, ,,, ,   . . .. . ., ,, , , ,
; ;;;;;; ;; ; ; ;; ;; ;; ;;;; ; ; ;;;;;
. .. .. .......... .. . ..... . . ....
as in   ... . ... .....   . ... .. ..
.... .. . .... .. ..... ... .. .........
     o ld      o c    e  an   .. ... ... .
.. ... .......   .... ............ ....
          memories 
(((( (( (((((( ( (((((((((((((((((
       o  l    d             riv e    r   s
)))) )))) ))))   )))) ) )))) ))))
        emptying ///|||///\\\\/|||
;; ; .. , ,, ,, ... , ,, . . ,,,..
; ;; ;;, , .. .,  , . . ,,
.... ......... .......
(movie-ing)
(movie-ing)
(movie-ing)
(movie-ing)

( the   same   s  ile nt     f  ilms,
    reeling over and over and over))))
((   )) ) ) )  ))))      (((((((((((((( ((((
)))))))))))))))  {{{{}}}}}}}}
     (( (( ( ( (( ( (((( (  ((  ((   (((( ( (((  (((((( ( ( (((
                             )) ) ) ))) )))) )) ) )))))) )) )
        old   f a ces





  
   


            tremor me

   







                   ol d        b ones






      

        


           rememberme










(credits rolling over
;; ;;;;; ;;;; ;;;;;  ;;; ;; ;;;; ;;;   ;; ; ;; ;; 
                   the sea chest. .. .. .. .... .. ... ... .   
  ))  ))) ))  ) )    ))) )    ))     )))))))) )))
)))) ) )) )))) )) )))   )) ) ))))())) )
    ;; ;; ;;;;;; ;;;   ;;; ; ;; ; ;;;;
 }}} {{{{{{))))) )))))))))))  ) ))
.... ... .  . .. ... .. ..  ... ....  .. 
like black and white waves ))))))  }}} } }{{ {  {{{{{
(( ;;; ;;; ;;;; ;; ; /... .. ... .. ... .. .
                thru decatur.  . .. .. .. . ..... . ... ..
;;; ;;; ; ;;. ... .. .... / ,, ,, ,,, ,,,  ,, 
.... ... .. . / . .. ... .... .. . . .))))))))
))))))))((()))))((()))))000000 000000o
00///\\\\\\\\\////////\\\\(((( ))}}}}}{}}}}}}}}}
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
. .. .... . ;; ;; ; ;;;; ;;;; ;;;;;::::::;;:;;;;;;;;;;
, ,,,,, ,   , ,, ,, , ,,,,,,''' ''' '' ''''' '    ' ''' ''' ''' '
;;;;;; ;;;;; ;; : ::::: :::: ::: :::::::: :::::

(the same precise soundtracks,
washing  over   and     over    and      over)
                 ))) )) )))) )(((((( ((((( ((((((((
)) ) )))) )))     )) )    )))    ))) )    )))))    ))))) ) )
))) )) ))))))) )) )))) )))) ))) ))))) )) ))))))
((() )))))))) )  (((( ()  (( ((((( ( (((((((
))) ) )) )) ))(( )))}} }}} { } }}}}}}}}}}

((( ((((( ((  ( ((((( (( (( (((( ) ) ( (( ( ( (( (( ((((((( (
 ))))))))))))))))) ) )) )) )) ))))) )) ))))
                  )))(()))))))((((((((((((((((((((((((((
". . . . .there was neither non-existence nor existence back then; there was neither the realm of space nor the sky which is considered, in some ways, still, very much above and beyond. . . . . .what stirred?          where?          in whose protection?       was there water, without any visible bottom?       was there shadow, do you imagine, without any discernible light source? . . . ."


". . . . .blow, o winds. . .crack your cheeks!  rage!  blow!  and don't stop anytime soon, y'hear?  you cataracts and hurricanoes, spout till you have drenched our glass steeples, drowned the armed staves and the militant cocks!  you sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, singe my white head!  singe it utterly!  and thou, all-shaking thunder, strike flat the thick rotundity o' th'  mesmerized world, crack nature's molds, all germain's spill at once, that makes ingrateful man. . . . ."      


". . . . .sir, sir- hold on there, buddy- chill out for a sec- there was neither death nor immortality back then- ok?  there was no distinguishing sign of, by, or between night and day.  life was a little bit simpler then, believe it or not.   that one breathed, windless, by its own free-standing impulse.  other than that there really wasn't much to investigate or discuss. . . . ."


". . . . .I know it doesn't make perfect sense, but darkness was hidden by other darkness back then;  with no distinguishing sign- wait- sorry, sir- I think I've already said that- there was nothing but water!!!         the life force, believe it or not, was covered with or obscured via emptiness, and desire, sir- yes, desire- also came upon that one, way back in the very beginning. . . . ."


". . . . .alas, sir, are you still here?  why, in the name of all that breathes air?  things that love night love not such nights as these, let me tell you.  the wrathful skies gallow the very wanderers of the dark and shut them up inside their desolate caves- aye, shut them completely up inside of their poltergeist hollows. . .since I was- what? a man?  call you this a man, silent sir?!?  such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrible thunder, such groans of roaring wind and scythes of infinite rain I never remember to have experienced thus-  human nature so-called cannot carry th' affliction nor the fear of m


". . . .like I was saying, sir- bear with me- desire came upon that one at some juncture-  poets, musicians, architects, statesmen, philosophers, wanderers, all dis-embodied. . .well, sir, you may not believe me, but their cord was extended across- there was no distinguishing sign.        sounds crazy, I know, but that doesn't mean it ain't true!!!           something drew breath independently!!!          was there an       "above?"           (do ya think?)             a "below?"               sir, I wonder if you have ever asked yourself what these terms really mean. . . . .the texts refer here and there to what are called "seed-placers" or "dances" or "powers". . . . .there was impulse beneath, the legends tell us. . . . .there was giving-forth from above. . . . ."


". . . . .good my lord, enter here."


" prithee go in thyself; seek thine own ease.  this tempest will not give me leave to ponder on things would hurt me more, but. . . .oh well. . .  I'll go in.  [to the fool]  in, boy; go first.  you houseless poverty- nay, get thee in.  I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.  [exit fool]  poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, how shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you from seasons such as these?        o, I have ta'en too little care of this!         take physic, pomp; expose thyself to feel what wretches feel , that thou mayst shake the superflux to them, and show the heavens more just. . . . . ."


". . . . .listen, sir- listen to the thunder of this almost unbearable voice and the rumbling that comes from this almost unbearable chorus.  he directeth it, believe it or not, under the whole net of heaven, and his lightning, so-called, flasheth unto the very ends of the earth-

"wait, wait just a second- back up to w

"he saith to the snow, for example- be thou on the earth!  likewise to the small rain, as well as to the great rain you were referring to earlier-  these serve as signs, sir, if you would but observe for a moment.  animals withdraw into their lairs and remain entire nights fast in their chambers.  by the breath of god ice is given, and the broad waters are paled and frozen."

[and at this point an escaped lunatic in a wheelchair rolls onto the stage and decides to speak directly to the audience members]

" hey gang- where were you all when I laid the foundations of earth?      inform me, prithee, if you have understanding.      who determined its measurements?    surely you can all account for all these matters, o scientists! 

"uh, well...

"not to come off as arrogant or anything, but still- can I help it if I am the source of everything, and everything proceedeth from me? filled with my existence, perceptive folks, realizing this, become devoted, attentive, expansive, indulgent.  even so, I am the self abiding in the heart of all creatures.  I am the song in sacred lore.  I am indra, jehovah, siva, tao, krishna, brahman, the vast, the indestructible, nothingness- indeed, I have been known by quite a few names thru-out history!  and you know what?           I don't mind it!         in fact, I sort of enjoy it!          it keeps life mysterious and pulsing and vital for all parties concerned!         who do you imagine shut in the sea with doors when it burst out from the womb?            any clue?         made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band?  Prescribed precise bounds for it, and set bars and doors, saying,        "thus far shall you come,       and no farther-      here shall your proud waters be stopped." 

"ok, but why is it then tha

"wait!  wait!   I know exactly what you are going to ask- I heard you late last night mumbling to yourself when you thought I'd fallen asleep-  you raised some interesting questions-  who would these fardels bear, indeed, to grunt and sweat under a bone-weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know little of?        Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,       and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of polling data and peer-reviewed journals-           enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn wacky,         and lose the name of action, adventure, comedy, romance, drama sci-fi- you name it!!!. . . .no easy answers, sir. . . .sorry. . . . .you're just gonna have to keep gazing out into that "vast seeming emptiness" you're forever referring to. . . .. . . .there are more things in heaven and earth, old and gullible man, than are dreamt of in your google news and twitter accounts!!!     but come, here as before, never, so help you mercy, how strange or odd soe'er I bear myself- as I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on- that you at such time seeing me never shall, with arms encumbered thus, or this headshake, or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase as "well, we know" or "we could an if we would", or "if we list to speak", or "there be, an if they might", or such ambiguous giving out, to note that you know aught of me- this not to do, so grace and mercy at your most need help you, swear.'  

ghost        [under the stage]        "swear."


[after a little hesitation, they swear]


"rest, rest perturbed spirit.- so, gentleman, with all my love I do commend me to you, and what so poor a man as hamlet is may do t' express his love and friending to you, god willing, shall not lack.  let us go in together, and still your fingers on your lips, I pray.  the time is out of joint.  o cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right!  nay, come, let's go together. . . . . .

3 random poems by czeslaw milosz

And Yet the Books




And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
"We are," they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters.  So much more durable 
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it's still a strange pageant,
Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.


                                               
                                                                        Berkley, 1986
                                                                         (trans. by the author and Robert Hass)


..................................................................






A Poetic State




As if I were given a reversed telescope instead of eyes, the world moves away and everything grows smaller, people, streets, trees, but they do not lose their distinctness, are condensed.


In the past I had such moments writing poems, so I know distance, disinterested contemplation, putting on an "I" which is not "I," but now it is like that constantly and I ask myself what it means, whether I have entered a permanent poetic state.


Things once difficult are easy, but I feel no strong need to communicate them in writing.


Now I am in good health, where before I was sick because time galloped and I was tortured by fear of what would happen next.


Every minute the spectacle of the world astonishes me; it is so comic that I cannot understand how literature could expect to cope with it.


Sensing every minute, in my flesh, by my touch, I tame misfortune and do not ask God to avert it, for why should He avert it from me if He does not avert it from others?


I dreamt that I found myself on a narrow ledge over the water where large sea fish were moving.  I was afraid I would fall if I looked down, so I turned, gripped with my fingers at the roughness of the stone wall, and moving slowly, with my back to the sea, I reached a safe place.


I was impatient and easily irritated by time lost on trifles among which I ranked cleaning and cooking.  Now, attentively, I cut onions, squeeze lemons, and prepare various kinds of sauces.


                                              
                                                                       Berkley, 1977
                                                                        (trans. by the author and Robert Hass)


...............................................................






Study of Loneliness




A guardian of long-distance conduits in the desert?
The one-man crew of a fortress in the sand?
Whoever he was.  At dawn he saw furrowed mountains
The color of ashes, above the melting darkness,
Saturated with violet, breaking into fluid rouge,
Till they stood, immense, in the orange light.
Day after day.  And, before he noticed, year after year.
For whom, he thought, that splendor?  For me alone?
Yet it will be here long after I perish.
What is it in the eye of a lizard?
Or when seen by a migrant bird?
If I am all mankind, are they themselves without me?
And he knew there was no use crying out,
for none of them would save him.


                                               
                                                                       Berkley, 1975
                                                                        (trans. by the author and Lillian Vallee)


.............................................................

nonetheless

(for my friend justin craig)

(and my other friend stuart craig)

(and another friend who shall remain nameless for now) 

(nonetheless, I wouldn’t make

too many assumptions

if I were you)

….  … …. .. .. …  . .. …. . …... . .. …. … .. .

…  . . .. . .. ….. .. . . …. .. . …. …..

... . .. . . . .. .. .. . ….. . . .. . …. .. . . ….. .

A.   there was a person that I ended up almost seeing

B.   there was a person that I ended up almost shadowing

dirt clay sand gravel asphalt

glacier    prairie     magnesium

infant child student stranger

studentstrangerstudentstranger

who is able to detect such transitions

with any degree of consistency?

who is willing to track them after

they have become irredeemable?

the evolutionary stage

in which the grotesque and poe-like

very obviously comes to the fore

(periodic

tables

of

constantly

updated,

improved,

and

outsourced

end

of

life

strategies)

and by that do I mean

end-of-life strategies

or

the end of life-strategies?

…………….. .. .. .. …… …. ….. ..

… . ….. .. …. .. ……… .. ..

… .. ……….. .. .. …. .. .. . …..

sauntering along the water’s edge

the natural debris breathed back and forth quietly

mussel shells, ash, splinters, driftwood,

spikes of chlorophyll, fingernails

all sucked down in a great gulp and held

for as long as it takes to reestablish liquidity-

and by that do I mean h-e-l-d,

the past form of hold,

or h-e-l-l-e-d, the active verb form

of “hell” or “infinite suffering.” 

(either usage is equally mythical

and equally vulnerable to

dangerous and decontextualized

forms of consolation behaviors)  

such as a schoolchild’s satellite model

detonated by a single wavering pattern of frost

which lines and caulks the latent,

soon-to-be-revealed hallucinatory

media engine mechanic

“calm, calm, what do you want from me?”

yes, ask questions, the calm likes that.

“ok, calm, why do I have confidence only in you?  why do I feel only connected to you?  why do you allow me to talk to you in words that separate me from everyone else, even though I learned how to talk only by copying them?”

yes, ask questions, the calm likes that. 

the calm is really into your questions.

“o calm, what is this role I am playing? 

what is expected of me?

haven’t I, didn’t I, already enter you? 

what could have possibly drawn me out of the calm? 

could the calm be destroyed? 

could the calm be disregarded as easily

as we disregard most of the major media outlets?

have they tried to make peace with you? 

or are they just rabid slaves to the calm

like the rest of us?”

teaching us all, 
with fun prime-time examples/exemplars

such as the following candidate's forum:

“I am healthy and strong.  I am honest and super hard-working.  I enjoy a  laugh now and again.  I am focused, well-rounded, reticent, sober, and modest.  I am always friendly.  I make no unusual demands in the bedroom.  My ways are winning and natural.  Everyone likes me.  I can deal with anything.  I am here for the people, the animals, the plants, and the minerals.  My love of order and cleanliness has never given cause for complaint.  My knowledge is well above average.  Everything I am asked to do, I do to the very best of my god-given ability.  Anyone can access the relevant and important information about me.  I am peace loving and have a virtually untarnished record.  I am not one of those who start a big hue and cry over every little thing that comes up.  I am an easy-going fellow.  I can become enthusiastic about every worthwhile cause.  I would like to get ahead.  I would like to learn what really matters.  I would like to be useful.  I have a concept of length, height, depth, breadth, and dimension.  In this wacky world of ours such things are really important.  I know that.  I treat objects with feeling.  I have already become used to everything.  I am better.  I am well.  I am ready for any challenge that life sees fit to send me.  My head feels intact for a change.  I can finally be left all alone.  I would like to put my best foot forward.  Given a chance, I will do so."

(?)

sandstone breathing,

etches wandering,

days and weeks not remembering,

no intention, no directive,

not related or spawned by

a now-effaced, interbred series

of split skull infinitives

shock absorbing our pettiness

in the face of infantchildstudentstranger

being torn apart limb by limb

. …. ….. .. . .. .. …. …. …….. . .. …. .. . ..

… .. . .. . .. .. …. …………. …..

… ………. . . .. ….. . ….. . . .. . .. …

packets of skeletal shavings

mailed back to his girlfriend and daughters

during his brief stint in the cinder mines,

dangling half an inch from the surface

the refracted glow of lake michigan

stubbornly clings to his memory

while he wanders around incoherent

in a tattered pink jumpsuit

filled with rivets

filled with siva  

filled with terrible delusions of permanence

a novel idea is suggested:

let’s meet up at the homeless shelter

then move on to the fast food establishment

from there proceed to the steel mill

and then the used electronics outlet

then the dollar store

the library

the farmer’s market

the courthouse

we’ll do our level best to find a willing subject

for whom this official document

might have been written,

this one I found just last week

folded up and wedged between the wooden slats

of a busstop bench near kimball and lawrence:

X was recently let out of a state psychiatric facility.  All the reports are that it was a decent and well-lighted facility.  This middle-aged man apparently dipped several critical parts of his body into a bucket of Mountain Dew mixed with hydrochloric acid.  The records indicate that he was made to understand and acknowledge his error in judgment and he is now once again at large, so to speak, circulating freely among the general populace, without any clear-cut sense of his past or identity, under cover of almost complete anonymity, and according to certain officials, “apparently without a care in the world”  (these last 7 words in italics- “apparently without a care in the world”

……………

...    .  . .. . .. . …. … …. .. .. ..

. … ……… …… …

….       . .. . … . …     ….. … …

.. .. . ………….. …

it seems

there was a person

that I almost

ended up greeting

… ….  .  . ...     .    . . .. .. . 

….. ….. ..      . .. .. .. ....     .. ... .

…... . . .... .........  . ....

it seems

there was a person  

that I almost

ended up channeling

….   . ... ... ......  .. ...... .. .....  ..

…..       . . .. . .… .. .. .. ..   . .

…  . .... .. .. .....……..
....... .. .. ... . .. .. .. ..... ...    ..... ..... .  .
.. . .. ... ... ..... .. ..    .. . . . .. 

wanted me to disappear with him

wanted me to go with him down to the bridges

asked if I had any interest in pirating energy drinks

straight from the pipeline near ravenswood;

turns out he had a private obsession

with the so-called tibetan book of the dead

and would chant these 13 or 14

particular phrases over and over,

recombining them, recklessly,

as circumstances or fancy might dictate:

[insert preferred translation here]

this particular version was rendered by the late Samuel Beckett, one of the few authors whom my friend actually ended up almost believing; one of the few individual atoms whom my friend almost ended up meeting- in person!  one of his characteristically odd and recurring suggestions was that we camp down along the banks of the sangamon river, in autumn, each in our own small makeshift tent, with only the most fundamental human materials, tools, necessities.  

we all have the same necessities, right?  

we all have the same tools and materials, right? 

it was his preference that we eat the same 2 or 3 foods over and over;  limit our conversation to 2 or 3 general topics; limit our bodily movements to within a circle physically inscribed in the sandbar, approximately 25 feet in diameter;  regarding musical instruments, limit ourselves to 6 or 7 apiece, yet insisted that we spend the first couple of hours improvising a general theme or motif,  and then utilize the rest of the time allotted to playing endless variations on that single improvised theme or motif.

[the only reason people got the idea that he had recently been released from a hospital was that he would slow down and then freeze unexpectedly smack in the middle of routine, everyday movements, slow down and freeze in the middle of sentences, slow down and freeze at the critical moments of sexual intercourse, in the middle of store aisles, on the subway, in the parks, in the marketplace of ideas-  not because he was weary or frightened or looking to disrupt society but simply because he had always been the type of person who was compelled to study his surrounding environment very meticulously.  (certain mental health professionals have suggested that his particular nervous system may have still been partially locked into earlier forms of the predator/prey matrix of open spaces and strangers.)]  

sure, during an earlier period of his life he had supposedly talked about a “vast seeming emptiness” or “large and terrifying tracts of completely uncharted wilderness” or “wastelands so immense and desolate that the organism is automatically suspended or cancelled” but that was then, before the incident with the one part Mountain Dew to the twenty-five parts hydrochloric acid mixed and stirred together in a cute little blue five gallon bucket.  


(apparently that little stunt branded a little common sense directly in or onto his skull.)  

in any case, after several minutes he would usually emerge from his "trance" and enthusiastically resume whatever "activity" appeared to be "underway", but people were suspicious all the same, and frankly, they probably had good reason to be so. 

yet when earl, my friend, sent me a telegram that he was indeed camping down at the sangamon, I cheered up, and was able to concentrate for several hours on my pathetic attempt to get educated-  to go and get the crucial information, ferret out those essential life events and experiences, those all-important certifications that automatically and instantaneously allow one to proudly stand tall among creatures barely resembling humans as we had been taught as cute little tykes to identify and regard them- now more like interchangeable updates to the massive network of screens and telecommunities, which seem to sometimes constitute the core priority these days- human beings being very obviously the inconvenient and disposable elements.     

...... .. .. .... .. .... .. ...... .. .. ... ...... . . .. ..
. .. .. ..... .. ... ........ . .. .. .. ... ...
 .. .. .......... . . .. .... . .. ..... . .  .. . ..

in any case, when it started to become clear that earl, my buddy, was missing, I walked down to the network of sandbars where he usually camps and, sorry to say, uncovered absolutely no trace of anything.  there were no visible human remains, if one could only bring oneself to believe that.  as is customary, several deer came out of the forest to drink around sunset.  it did me good to be near them, to be stared at in fragile and unbroken silence by them and to stare back in an almost but not quite equally fragile and unbroken silence.  it reminded me of old childhood fables of humans living full-time in the forest.  the ones about being still, being hidden, being alone, being swallowed, being breathed back and forth like the debris that snakes along the various waterlines.  the creatures would only come up to the visitor if he or she temporarily adopted their codes of behavior.  and if the visitor ended up being devoured, abducted, befriended, or brainwashed- well, gee whiz, that just ends up adding to the allure or myth of primeval wilderness.