The Tensions

Generally in the evening
When sleep delays
And the mind,
Devoid of all its stimulations -
Its readings and listenings,
Its many ways
Of turning away -
Is forced upon itself
As a wave in collision
With a wall
Comes back a mad fury
Of foam
And thrown dice white
Of broken drops -
And all is malformed turbulence -
So here,
While the body lies
Perpindicular -
The eyes closed
And there is nothing
For the ears
Or the nose -
The mind
Has no where
To externalize:
A small seed sprouts
And the world grows unstoppingly
Unhinged,
As in last evening
When a memory
Bit hard
Like a metamorphic poison
And this now
Dissolved inexorably
As a mountain rising
Or land sliding
Down and down,
Leaving only the attributes
Of a past soul:
The vulgarity
The stupidity
The weakness -
Then,
Even after sleep
Touched wakeful madness
With its blest, little pill
And the curtains drew closed
For spaceless, timeless
Reprieve -
Even in the morning -
As Nietzsche once theorized -
These acts of the past midnight-
Madness
Reside,
Impressed on the new day
As god has supposedly
Made man in his image;
So things are like
A bent bonsai tree
In the fingers
Of one of Pandemonium’s lot
And everything is dogged, dull
And displeasing -
As a cold, dank autumn morning
Where tree and leaves
Have to lug around
All this wetness
Beneath the unkempt moroseness
Of the thick, grey sky;
And since I cannot fathom
The ultimate nature of mind,
How can I not know
That his new entanglement,
Ultimately
Will not last forever -
That all the splendor of consciousness
Is to be sunk
In this warped being -
Like an inauspiciously bent
Bonsai tree –
And then perhaps today
I’ll be struck by a comet
And join the non-being
Of Eternity -
Though in all honesty
As I get older
And madder
The idea of metempsychosis
Grows more and more
Feasible -
But then again,
As already mentioned,
Who the fuck really knows anything;
I could die in an instant
And all dreams will stop
Like a city’s electrified rail system
When the generators
Burn out suddenly;

It was raining when I took the dog to the woods
And still I could not shake
This odd encumbrance of being
And yet somehow, insanely,
While driving on the wet highway.
In a broke free instant,
A bulb lit searingly -
Flash and the filament
Is a star itself -
A certain song,
A girl
A touch of music
And suddenly
The car has grown wings -
All the wheels are on fire,
Everything is soaring!
Madly awoken,
I give the steering to Gabriel
And jump with the shoes of Hermes
Out through the window;
I wing to another driver,
And thereat,
With Hercules in my hands,
I grab them by the shoulders:
‘I have wild love for you!
Cease with your pain!
Exist, exist!
Look at the highway!
All the cars have wings on them,
All the wheels are on fire,
Enough with the suffering!
BE! BE!’
And thus burned up with all love
Like a high oak
That touches the stars,
With a forehead like Christ’s,
I soar to all the drivers;
I grab hold crazily
And all blazingly vocalize
‘Every car on the highway
Has wings!
All the spinning wheels
Are on fire!
Look! Primal love
Has broken the rain
And shattered the sky
And touched the sun with its finger’ -
Before the song ends
Right at the perihelion -
When the finger touches -
And I am back in the car driving
On a wet, drab October day in Maine
And my back is cold –

Though as a stadium holds,
After the psychic discharge
Of a touchdown,
A lingering disturbance in the air,
So are my branches straightened
And leaves are shaking slightly
Like tuning rods
That have just touched
The Song of Songs.

Unslakability

Fire in leaf!
Autumn breaks through green
With need of all these colors;
Fire in the roots,
Old as the root of a star -
Need
Bleeds branches green,
Still needs,
Burns, blazes of these leaves,
Gone through their being
All being,
One need,
Burns trees broken
Into leaves blazing,
As the colors of a mind
Not satisfied with green
Burning
Into non-being,
In the flamed splendor of autumn,
The need of being
Old as a star.

Conversation

Well, you’ve really made a terrible mess of things.

Ah, Life, don’t throw the spear at me alone;
See I am…

What, this doctrine of exculpatory necessity, again?
Who is responsible, if not you?

Well, see it is not that I seek to ease
The weight of this stone you have fashioned for me,
Nor that I want forgiveness,
For I know truly
It was me that has bent the silver wheel -
That has touched erroneously
And bungled the subtle spinning
With the thick rust of iron;
Weighted and bent the oscillation,
Such that,
Were this wheel a galaxy,
Stars would collide and flame and break and die;

Then tonight you forgo claiming
That it was I who turned so ungracefully
The spinning of ages?

But it was from you, Life – you, yourself!
As a wind of a star,
That my being was begun;
It is your wind that has set the silver wheel spinning;
It spins within the wheels of stars and galaxies;
It seems like every thought I could have,
Each direction of will
Is like a spark flashed into being
From the spinning of wheels
And these wheels
Were here before I was:
Of their spinning I am
And of their spinning I am continuously.

Still you seek for other cause
Than your own character!
Still you blame me
Who has brought forth the stars,
And the air
And the mountain
And the river?

No, no, but something has happened here -
See there were nets everywhere
And fences that caught
And mangled the air,
There was butchery of the great animals,
And of the voided hides of these
They have fashioned empty houses.

Keep setting the blame elsewhere
And you only heap more of it on yourself!
See, I come from where stars
First take their breath
And I have breathed into you
For the speaking of the words
That are given to stars at their birth;
But see, of the thousand pettinesses
Of the great decline
Have you been bitten;
To walk above swamps,
To soar with splendorous wings
You have been undone,
The flies have eaten too much of your blood -
Blood that is of the root of a star.
See how the silver wheel spinning
With blue lightning,
With the oscillation of blue sparks,
With the sweet music of its spinning
Has been malformed,
By the mire – by the ocean of mud.

But then, you admit it yourself!
The flies, the other forces -
How could it be me?

It was you who were undone!
Each soul
Is only its character!
There are those so fashioned,
Their mere skin is undentable armor;
From whom, none,
Not one vial of blood can be chewed
By the small teeth of flies.
See this blood is like manna,
The substance of a star,
It spins the silver wheel through clear ocean
In giant rotations,
Bringing forth drops of silverized water:
The innumerable seedlings of a star;
See it was you who were not strong enough
To remain of your blood;
It was you who allowed
The great animals to be killed;
It is you alone, responsible,
For the clank of iron,
The faulty rotation.

What then can one do, Life?
Is there no returning to the splendor?
Is their no means of returning to you
The heart of the bull,
The mane of the lion,
The wings of the eagle?

Yes, it is simple – I will give you the key:
You merely must do
As the snake does:
You must shed,
You must forget,
You must be reborn!
There is not one wheel
That does not have within it
The nucleus of new silver -
Of the profound spinning;
For I am still in all things working -
You only have to forget
And to remember – then as the phoenix
Will the dank iron of my death
Break loose in chunks and slivers -
Fly forth, revealing
The silver splendor,
The wind of a star,
The untouched turning,
The sweet music of the spinning
And the many drops of ocean
Like seedlings
To bring for the generations,
People the world with words
Of the stars’ own being -
Of the sweet music of the silver turning.

Sun Doctrine

The comets are laughing,
The moon is smiling,
The sun has opened palms:
Everything is giving!
Everything is giving!

The autumn leaves at my feet
Have passed through pain to joy;
There’s only spangled medley,
The wine of autumn -
Thirst and slaking,
The drunken dance of being;

The comets are laughing,
The moon is smiling,
The sun has opened palms,
Everything is giving!
Everything is giving!

Hoard not a cent to your name
Of soul’s own coinage;
Mint all of your being;
Be wholly spent in the living
As Spring’s seed, ocean surging
Could never be miserly;

The comets are laughing,
The moon is smiling,
The sun has opened palms,
Everything is giving!
Everything is giving!

See him who shines brightest,
Whose palms are always opened,
Who knows not how
To not be light giving,
Who is always expending
Nor ever asking
For praise or submission;

The comets are laughing,
The moon is smiling,
The sun has opened palms,
Everything is giving!
Everything is giving!

Look now!
The flowers are fuller than udders,
The grasses are shaking with ecstasies,
The fuses of trees are aflame,
The stars are exploding in song,
The wind touches all things with living:

Everything is giving!
Everything is giving!

Being a Man

Do the work
You know is your work to do,
Nor complain,
Nor seek of praise -
And always remember
It is better to die
Than surrender.

The Solitude

Primordially
Alone,
A thing is
So alone
Beneath galaxies of stars,
Beneath sheer trumpets of winter blasting,
With the stone’s silence -
The river’s inexplicability.
The mountains horrifying magnitude -
Clouds curl into fists,
Walk slowly
Like zombie fish
Through metallic, blue silence;

Primordially
Alone
In the house of the world
Beams breaking,
Snow falling,
Inexorably,
Silently
To sheath things in white quiet;

Primordially
Alone,
Burned into the brass
Of a soul,
Alone,
In the canyon where the bulls’ feet
Shake the earth
And stars are falling;

This being alone
Is like a bolt of lightning
With weighted duration,
A steel screw
Turning between
Both sides
Of the one side;

Alone,
Primordially
Alone,
Equal with the leaf.
With the stone,
With the snow,
And therefore
Not only
Alone.

Creation Notes

Blood of grass,
In sun’s boil,
Whiskey ferment
Strike flint on the brain
And you sing and you sing;

In the sun’s thunder,
Rain of being,
Light strikes,
Bursts in the blade,
The mouth splaying
And you sing and you sing;

The turbulent comets,
The ocean’s dreaming,
The viscous seething,
The brain’s being’
The ripe streaming
And you sing and you sing;

In the bone eggshell,
The colored bird comes soaring,
Breaks free
Of the mammoth’s rib cage
Like the grass blade, being,
And you sing and you sing

As the rainbow unsheathed
Where the water is the sun’s roaring,
Where the thin gauge
Snaps red beyond measuring,
Where the one vein is seething
And you sing and you sing;

For the bird of colors
Is free from the mammoth’s ribs;
For the dry tiger
Has spoken the dove of water,
And now unsheathed
The rainbow crosses
The abyss of the roaring
So you sing and you sing.

The Dragon

Turn!
Look in the eyes,
The dragon that bites,
Nor have a touch of fear
Scrape this wonder,
The soul,
Sublime of being;
Stare wildy,
With torque,
With bite of courage
Right at
The colossal fangs,
The breath,
The effluvial stink
Outpouring
In thick lust
From the center of dying;
Turn now!
He is in the room with you,
He is in the air with you;
He looms behind your shoulders,
He has knuckles indented
On the bones of your spine;
He has his black nail
Digging right at
The heart;
Turn now!
Grab hold his scaled dog ears
And stare
Nor look away
Till the bite of your gaze
Grown heavy as two suns bursting,
Till the waxed heat
Of your burning,
Bites through to his brain,
Sears down to his nexus;
Turn now and stare!

This beast of stinking hunger
Will shrivel like an autumn leaf,
Burn up in acid red,
Disperse in a shift of wind -
An echoing howl.

Where he was used
To knuckle your back’s bones,
Wings will start to shoot
And you will have control over the air.

Booze Suicide

Is it discomfort, pain
Makes you wish
To die without dying?
Is it remembering?
Is it being itself?
Certainly dying without dying
Is a nice trick,
A sweet prank
That sleeps in bottles
Like a magic charm,
A quick wish -
A Genie
Who always,
Without a doubt,
Grants this one wish
Of dying without dying;
But if life is living
And if this life living
Only tastes a death
So long as assured
Of resurrection
Then some pulse
Yet still
Thirsts other
In spite of longing
To die without dying.

The new trick?

Could not
The fuse of being in its burning
Be grabbed full tilt,
Squeezed in a fist,
Explode in fire,
Cinder and blaze,
Through seeing the spark,
Through embracing the spark, alone,
Burn widely,
In cosmic vastly,
Of sun’s intensely,
Forgetful
Of all and all that ever turned
The will toward
The longing
To die without dying -
Yes, kissing
The bright vein in its seething,
In the soul heating,
What has caused
All species extemporary,
The absolute flame,
The ineluctable seed -
Live only in the all rush,
Touch only the bright surge,
god’s pulse,
Which is Yes
Nor ever think
Of dying
Or dying without dying.

Definition

Of her soothing is there no square edge not
Easily rounded -
This her life, her quickness, in nowise with a word
Will be sounded,
For sharp beams of speaking, thought angles
Have been pounded
On mouth anvils, sharpened with teeth
And expounded
With mean geometries – no she’ll never
Be so founded.

The Tree

Are all things joined
In the tree?

From stiff pulse
Of seed
Stab out
Roots to wrangle
In hard earth
A place.

Upwards sting
Unobtrusive airs -
Roots reversed -
Small leaves
Start minute expansions -

Sensible grasping,
Hold hard binding,
Thirsts through grounds,
Gives rise
To trunk
And branches
Willing
Like fast dreams
Accordingly
With the directions of light.

When spring
Garbs,
Thick heat
Purples the world,
Sings
The birds
Come forth to touch
The plentiful navel -
Swollen with light
Brings forth the fruit,
Held out
For validation;

In summer
Mellows
The banking tide.
Perfects the branches -
Carves of fruition
Fruition.

When autumn blasts,
Ache fingers of toil,
Intent fruits
Fall;
The moist, warm skin
Dries;

Then snow’s asp
Bites
Cold;
When the wind
Fashions
A horrible nakedness,
As if a bolt
Of lightning
Had singed leaves
In quick flames
To leave only
Charred branch
With no impulse
To produce fruit
But asking why.

Yet see how
Of branches need to leaf,
Green splendor,
Elevation;
Of pure becoming
Wells up fruit
From earth’s center -
The invisible wish
Burns blood
To speaking,
Bodies to deeds
Sprung as the fishes will,
Sure joyful in jumping -
As the taught string
Of the bow
All of nature
Is always drawing -

Comes fast as life,
All seed resupplying
The tension
The ecstasy of flying
The purpose of the tree
In which
All things
Are joined.

Primordial Muse Song

With deep dreams let me linger
Whence all things come,
Nourishing of stars -
Life of soils for roots,
Sustaining in the blade
Of grass no less than light’s beam.

Powers that be, let me not wander
From this source of water -
Of sustaining -
Give me not over to empty shells,
To shores with no ocean.

Here I touch the center of ocean,
Here I feel
The beginning of all tides.

Song of Graces

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Touch leaves in the wind,
Soothe branches with bending.

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Give to grasses of morning
Gems of dew, light flashing.

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Hold in the flower,
Life’s infinite instant.

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Touch souls with song
As light feels the water.

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Fill earth with splendor,
Teach man of compassion.

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Have given him love,
And her with love have endowed.

Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing,
Who live in the breezes,
Who live in the leaves,
Who live where the soft sound of easing is,
Who give to all being its peace:

Though storms have been and will be,
As calm water with light touched
You sing forever -
Let not the singing be without grace,
You who sing.

Song of Grace

Learn how to laugh, my soul,
In the sun beam alone
Nor seek another grace
Than the simplicity of light.

Learn how to laugh, my soul,
With the sparrow alone
Nor seek another grace
Than the simplicity of flight

Learn how to laugh, my soul,
In the stars all alone
Nor seek another grace
Than the simplicity of night.

Learn how laugh, my soul,
In one leaf alone
Nor seek another grace
Than the simplicity of sight.

Learn how laugh, my soul,
As God laughs alone
Nor seek another grace
Than the simplicity of light.

Lost

In ocean lost
Broke waves speak
Gulls flight
Is lost is lost
The single feather
Is pain’s ocean
Lost is lost
In waves breaking
In surging of water
In touch of cold water
In the everlasting tide
Lost and lost
Waves in spirals
Bring forth
And bring forth
In the sound is no word
The gulls flying
Lost and lost and lost.

Presuppositional

Of roots pain is all being,
Touch of earth,
Strain through dirt for life;
The sun’s need
Tears matter into things -
Of light is all seeing,
Roots straining
Through earth for life.
When the flower aches away
From nothingness to burst,
An instant’s plasma
Strikes a star’s being
From roots straining
In dirt for this -
Of an eon’s straining
An sharp instant of life.

Fear

Fear is a hand on the heart
That squeezes,
As in winter dry trees
Of spring waxed,
Give forth
Full red of the apple -
Strength of expanded seeds -
Are thin branches,
Limp trunks with no offering.

Fear is a hand on the heart
That squeezes
And in the blood
Strips of desire
The ruddy apples,
Full fruit,
The pure offering
Of all being’s fire.

Fear is a hand on the heart
That squeezes
Nor can life live,
No blood rushing,
Full as a river
When spring sun comes surging,
Melts wasted water
Into the fast offering.

Fear is a hand on the heart
That squeezes;
Life is the heart
That knows no fear,
As the spring sun surging,
As the wild bursting
Of ruddy apples,
Sweet flowers,
Thick grasses
In perfect offering.

Her of Graces

All song is song of her,
Sister of the moonlight,
Seen in the waters,
Who holds every grace
As wind holds the clouds;
Whose eyes are clear pools,
Still waters
In which in evening
One sees into stars;
Whose hand touching
Is the fire of life,
Is the sun’s own substance,
The impulse of roots -
In her who is a sky,
A wind,
In whose spaces
Are all graces
Ordered in her dominion.

Leaves and Wind

As leaves carried in winds
So sight of her to thoughts sustaining;
Nor is the dance of leaves in wind
Different from movement of thoughts
Where her image is.
As wind of leaves
Her image to soul
Nor is there greater weight
Than sight of a fallen leaf
Limp and decay,
Falling forever
Into earth’s thick abyss,
Where no wind is,
Where no dance in the air is
That is her image
To the being of the soul.

Sonnets

‘Arnaut counts up all her argosies
But needs surplus of wit to name these graces’

- Ezra Pound

1

If I could but possess your smallest toe,
For just one instant, know this little you,
I’d be more blest than he who in whose throes
Possesses every woman that earth grew.
I sing these songs in fashion very old,
This love of mine the modern songs can’t chime,
This ancient love can’t fit the current mold -
Its strength gives proof to growth from distant times.
Oh, who could know the way your image burns;
The merest shade of you within my soul
Awakens all my being, makes it yearn
As life itself in earth that blooms and grows.
What causes all the grasses to ascend,
The fruit of every tree, you in me bend.

2

This wound is past all healing, medicine,
Though from Asclepius is futile; still
Within me sticks this arrow shot by him
Who wings his being, works his loving will.
No beast, no lion, not one prodigy
Of power nature from her womb brings forth
Can guard their heart against this painful sting:
His bow’d have Zeus himself relinquish court.
Ah wounded, wounded, past all healing drops -
A wound that gives a life and not a death,
Though pierced in that most center, nothing stops
But grows intensely in a wild yes.
Your batting eyes could bring a corpse to dance,
And I die wholly with your slightest glance.

3

This opened vein exposed within the heart,
These pangs that sound in all the living nerves,
This brokenness that breaks in every part,
This howling soul whose howl goes unheard.
I don’t think any of the balms of earth,
Not light in morning lingering trees,
Not dew that gleams on grasses, not the birth
Of heavenly light in heavenly mystery -
Not any of the graces that adorn
The passing hours shedding magic time,
Not any of the stars, the brightest forms
Can heal this suffering of soul and mind.
The arrow when I saw you was shot true,
It wounded deeply for he deeply drew.

4

Your eyelash is a heaven in itself,
The merest breath your blessed mouth exudes
Has more of sweetness than ambrosial wealth
Bedewing mount Olympus; attitudes –
The smallest movement of the soul within you,
Each thought that ripples in your very being
Are more of worth than all of human truth,
Are more of value than all human seeing.
Your glance could drive the world itself to madness
Your very look could crack the world apart,
All those who see, they break and break in sadness:
The arrows of your eyes wound every heart.
Your curling toe is more than galaxies
Insensate stone grow hearts if they but see.

5

To save your lips from tasting just one drop
Of pain, I’d drink an ocean, swallow all
The waters wrapping continents – not stop
Until I turned all earth a desert’s pall;
Then take the sorrows twisted out in dust,
The many banes that beat on human time -
I’d take them all, if only but to just
Ensure that not a mote of pain is thine.
Like Atlas holding all the world on shoulders,
I’d bear the burden of all suffering,
I’d take whatever cares afflict and smolder
In you, from you, therefore for cherishing.
I’d take your cross and hammer it to mine -
Your lightness lightens doubleness of pine.

6

The moon above, the sun and all the stars
Are dimly burning embers, only ash,
When they are viewed, compared from their afar
With you on earth whose light makes their light crash.
The cosmos in its vast entirety,
The universe with all its many things
Are not one cent of value when I see
The merest portion of yourself, you bring
Into my heart from your resplendent being
The finest joys that ever fluxed in matter.
The heavens ancient prophets once were seeing
Are in your very soul, the earth is scattered.
I live a god forever in your glance,
A Buddha toils eons for this trance.

7

Your joy surpasses all the joys of heaven,
When I see happiness gleam in your eye
My heart is lighter than an angel leavened
In spirits purely clear as bright blue skies.
The merest shade of sorrow on your form
Turns light to darkness, breaks my very being;
I’d rather lose all things I own in storm
Than see one troubled thought afflict your seeing.
Your eyes hold more of paradise than books
That dream of Edens held right after death -
Ye, all religions, every heaven shook
From out a human brain to you are less.
I’d turn my own eyes blind, forget all sight
To save you from one single, troubled night.

8

I never knew a happy day on earth,
My lexicon was wrong when I applied
That word to things until my eyes gave birth
To you in me, the one that word defines.
The earth itself was barren as the roots
Of trees that suffer in a desert clime,
All being languished waterless, no fruit
Was here until the fates decreed your time.
What is the wealth of man, what human power?
When viewed next to your sight, when seen compared,
But empty bones, a corpse that crows devour -
The world itself not worth a single hair.
Ah, you hold all the brightness that dreams mock,
Imagining brings but devalued stock.

9

The brightest star that ever torched the night
Is but an empty stone next to your presence;
Though it could brighten, bloom a massive light
It is a weed when viewed next to your essence.
If all the gods that work the waves and air,
If all the powers driving in the sun
Arrayed against me, I’d not give a care:
I’d stake my spear against their heaven’s guns;
For just to be around you, in your spell,
That emanates such aura round your being,
I’d pay the cost, eternity in hell -
The sulfur torture worth one moment seeing.
A heaven’s mercy lives within your face,
Not all the years of Time can touch your grace.

10

If dreams could mirror but one ounce of you,
I’d never wake again from living sleep,
For such the truth, such sleeping would imbue
The stuff of life that waking doesn’t keep.
Oh, if those dreams could but bring me your glance,
The sound your voice made when your soul made speak
Those lips that blessed each words that passed in trance -
Made brighter than the sun when nooned at peak,
I’d turn ascetic to the woken world,
Deny my eyes the cosmic gifts of earth -
Spend fortunes on narcotics to unfurl
A never ending night – such is your worth;
And this unmoving rest would far excel
The glories of the earth – without you hell.

11

What song could measure in sweet harmony
The stuff of which you are, your very being?
Though humans mock the light electrically,
What lamp can match the sun’s far brightest seeing?
What word can hold one single touch of you?
What note could chime with your transcendent heart?
I’d waste the ink of every pen earth knew
And still not capture e’en the smallest part.
Such is the weakness of all artful trying,
Such is the beauty gleaming in your eyes,
A voice that speaks, in speaking, only lying -
In word or music you can’t be comprised.
Only your self, in your self being presence
Can match your self, no essence speaks your essence.

12

Your light has more light than those lights of heaven,
Both spheres of fire by our science called,
As well as jewels of dream by angels tended,
When earth was Eden, fore the giant fall.
Such is the way this soul conceives of you,
Far brighter than the universe’ throng -
Your light exults the cosmos, for you prove
All doctrines of futility are wrong.
If god is dead and life lacks reason then
Your birth is resurrection – your bright form,
Awakes a godly corpse, your visions sends
Those rays that burn up nothings in a storm.
In you is truth, the stars have toiled ages
For your effulgence, only dreamed by sages.

13

If all the dreams that ever dreamed the earth
Were gathered all together and selection
Drew from each one what was its highest worth -
Yes, even if this brightest of collections
Were cast and formed by mighty angels singing,
Yet still this dream of dreams would pall and be
A feeble substitute, this greatest bringing
Would never bring the slightest touch of thee.
Your form transcends the hopes of all the race,
All gods that ever walked from human brains
Don’t hold within them any single trace
Of woman’s beauty, in your form unstained.
A book of holy reason’s in your self
Of more than godly dreams, your beauty’s wealth.

14

An ankle not adorned with some dull cloth
Is more than diamonds miners have exposed,
Through toiling, sweat and blood and working froth-
This smallest nakedness more worth than those.
And what if light could pry up to the knee -
No Affric enterprise, no Swiss bank’s stores
Could equal to that trove of ecstasy,
Though all the drills of industry have bored.
If they could tear the whole earth to the roots,
Find every carbon atom formed to brightness,
Grab every diamond in the soil’s soot,
Yet on the scales your weight exceeds their lightness.
There is no currency that man has dreamed:
All values false if they are higher deemed.

15

No dream that from an angel tends my night -
That brings me sweet relief from all the days
Of bearing earthly burden, earthly blight
Can match the merest of your merest ways.
A smile on your face, more worth than stars,
A vacant look that strays from out your eyes,
A movement of your leg does more by far
Than any dream of god or dreamed of prize.
The way a brightness covers all your being,
The way from out your will a brightness breathes,
The way all graces find in you agreeing
It’s like Beauty herself has been unsheathed,
Oh what a weapon she has forged in you,
A two edged sword: a Hell but Heaven too.

16

If god above tends lovingly the world
And all this life proceeds from out his will,
If ancient dreams, dreamed right the cosmic swirl,
Yet still the earth without you means god’s killed.
For what is this bright dream, this total meaning?
This harmony of things in one great good,
If you, your presence, aren’t around me gleaming -
All heaven’s light’s extinguished in a flood.
No ark could capture me from out your absence,
No work of man can steal such emptiness,
No host of golden light can mock your essence,
No god exists, without your godly kiss.
Such is the metaphysics of this soul:
From you a broken universe grows whole.

17

And all the dreams that dreaming ever knew
Are empty effigies, the merest shades,
Thin images without a spark imbued,
They mock your being but they but degrade.
And dream other than dream made real in you,
What if a dream, could wander out of mind
And form itself in matter, be made true
Yet not yourself, it’s just an empty rind.
Such is the beauty blessing all your substance,
No dream, this dreaming mind of mine can dream,
Can touch in any the way the godly sense
That spent itself in forming all your gleams.
Not all the diamonds trundled deep in earth:
They’re like burnt copper pennies to your worth.

18

What shrine could shine the essence of your soul?
What church could hold the power of your heart?
What work of man could praise your perfect whole?
What house of worship worship but one part?
These words but seek to build a temple here,
To speak one element that in you stays,
The stones are futile for you don’t appear:
The hammer strikes in vain to mock your ways.
Around my soul your image bends its light,
An absent presence, memories emerge.
I’m like a prophet with a second sight,
A vision gathered for your beauty purged:
A waking pain, a blessedness of sorrow
To have god here today but not tomorrow.

19

Not Buddha sitting high beneath a tree,
Nirvana recollected in a smile,
Not these, not these are joys as when I see
Your love bestowing face, the beauty’s miles.
The spaces of your beauty span the stars,
The universe itself could only hold,
Within its edges from the far to the far,
This love that glows more brightly than god’s gold.
There’s no explaining how this heart is doomed,
There is no reason born to crack this kernel:
A mystery within the mystic blooms
Of every form existent and supernal.
There’s’ not one thing that is that isn’t blest,
But you above them all, God’s highest Yes.

Selves, Wars, Webs

And the stars came and the rains came and the waters came,
in earth men made -
time’s wheel, webs of sinew,
meshed boned, blood -
the hammer
of a heart hung,
tick-tock in tune with waves;

and when the self came,
torment from a tunnel
dark issuance -
harangue!
Blast from the far:
opened solitude,
Thel’s flower in jungle of suns and fire

I dreamed a dream,
what can it mean?
From mineral caverns of roots
stars jump like fireworks;
in the five rivered dark of a soul,
wild animation
carves of human tongues a god’s worship.

What speaks in the drum beat
animosity? Urge
of countries crash
like un-tuned stars -
woke mountains waging wars;
in the spear grip of Achaean hordes,
the F-16, sonic fusion,
livid hell of missiles:
catastrophe of village lost in equal circles -

so from seeds of single words,
worked of a people,
held in the same moon’s glimmer:
demarcation,
a name webbed over -
one city held pride bound, selfish
aggregation and aperture
for the venting of animal hatred.

We believe in our own myth.
We are the blindest worst to walk the earth
and the whole world will die by it.

Nietzsche, Shakespeare, Dinosaurs

A meteor,
burned, lashed through Earth’s Iris,
sizzle,
Atomic Slam,
and all the dinosaurs died;
how much hot blood
went cold?
Where the Sahara is
oceans rich as wine
lavished in primeval sun.

‘Prodigal and indifferent’
aye, Nietzsche,
it’s a fucking monster out there –
in here,
behind these eyes.
I can’t explain a woman’s face,
burns stars to lightning
bends space -
turns every mental veil
to fire

There is no need -
no desire -
that wasn’t a seed in a cave.

Fuck the Brave New World.
Give me a quiet island,
spirits to command,
a dream in the sun’s shine;
give me an island
far away from the dinosaur labyrinth
of Milan -
every city:
in the center
a Minotaur heaves hot breath -
give me an island
and woman is like the sea
bright, elusive,
dancing in the light.

I could watch her hair move
for a thousand years.

The Mind’s Eye

There is a mischief in things –
it loves to snub out stars.
Baudelaire called it a serpent,
Blake denoted Ulro’s state,
Keats singing the Nightingale,
surnamed it sense.
There are facts
only poets see;
there is a science
for which no instrument exists
except the mind’s own eye.

Reason

And so we follow our passions -
what doesn’t?
In the eyes a crocodile
the same soul productive
of human dreams.
Don’t go there!
We learn;
in the long looming of time
lessons echo
ancient disasters.

In a book brief flames of thought
find wick to never die;

from the dark and infinite cavern
conspiring on primate fire,
the whole world has grown covered:
torches in the dark -
through the forest
bright lights of earth.

We mock in our effulgence, fuel-fed,
stars that govern
incredible urges of galaxies -
though the needs themselves
have furnished their sustainment:
reason merely exists
to give teeth to god’s hunger.