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 -
Blast from the far:
opened solitude,
alien lotus in the 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 from clouds:
catastrophe of a village lost in equal circles -

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

We believe in our own progress.
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,
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.


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.


Distant sun through all dissimilar trees,
territories of shade and light:
the forest is overflowing
with ten-million un-witnessed forms -
half cracked trees bent over,
bolt or wind or Time,
perpendicular trunk corpses. Decay.

The pine rockets aloft
with more glory than a NASA launch;
all these severed leaves,
curling brown terrene
feed clay’s hunger.
What’s a human dream
in eons of primordial acts?
roots and stones and branches:
ceaseless demiurge!
legends grow,
of Primitive thought:,
genii and trolls and dragons.

We capture time
in scientific jars
but yet the need of god
cracked like a seed
in the thick, gigantic eternity
of woods.
Though the whole world may grow covered
in alloyed cities – ascendant rectangles -
beneath the paved veneer
germination agonizes -
enormities still break through to flower
in Demogorgon voices that whisper and scream
through undying roots of human brains.


Disgorged from the womb’s orb
onto the orb of earth,
which is a womb
in the universe’ sphere.
On the Minerval thread of this thought drawn
to Creation’s vista -
ocean of stars,
turbulent waves of light,
the galaxies’ froth -
I know
there is not one thing that is which is isn’t
the center’s expression:
diamond luster of the moon’s circle
christens the waked sea;
the original naval,
wondrous star,
behind all human eyes
light’s nebulae pullulates,
beams are everywhere.
On a bright bridge
I travel to the Beginning -
watch the first womb undulate,
see Eternity give birth to Time;
through the door to the End
witness the consummation,
when cohesion unites
all the broken sons and daughters
wandering alone across the dark desert of space.

self and Self

I’ve gone dreaming into the moon:
Earth glows like a burning coal,
concocting in this cauldron
the first thought of god,
wonder-struck in unblinking stars.
I taste the beginning of a root,
I see the wet palm leaf,
jewels blink in sunshine.

One bolt of lightning
struck earth’s leaf;
every star burns:
earth magnifies their impulse.
In human hands a stone falls,
Touch the veneer with a word
worked nobly in sentient tissue -
such expression
lived once
in the eyes of tyrannosaurus.

The sun’s north
drives everything into existence;
I can’t conceive of being alive:
everything is moving.
I know no more
than the burnished apple;
I gleam
and am eaten -
something enjoys me,
behind my own eyes,
a vastness over my projection
full of stars and darkness and hunger.

The Eagle and the Crocodile

The Crocodile King,
He loves to bite;
His tongue’s a scar -
sandpaper opulence -
He loves skin,
to crack bones, burst vessels -
He loves to achingly shred sinews.

The Eagle lives atop a pine tree:
it has never not been.
He listens to the sun,
Son of God.
He loves the mountain and the sea -
opened, ultimate winds.
He picks diamonds from the night,
plants them in his nests:
He gives birth to generations.

Lizards slither from the sludge -
swamp abyss,
cover the surface of the world.
Prodigies of light descend:
The earth is a clash,
the Eagle goes to war with the Crocodile.
The whole future of the universe
depends upon their conflict.


Is there anything that isn’t a paradise on this goddamn earth?
every tree is a giant dream,
the leaves are gold;
I am tired of dying –
there is too much LIFE!
Everything is going up –
Don’t you know,
He who could heal with his hands
still lives;
the Imagination is God’s voice.
In pure waters
a siege of ten-million angels
The tree of life grows in the human brain:
When the mouth tastes,
the opened light
turns a man to a burning bush.

A Field in the Morning

Green grass manifold and opened:
Diversity of form!
a thousand sounds from hidden mouths
emerge in air alive with sun,
the flower expands petals, spindles spiral
on the extended finger
of what was a clod,
what is a man.
Grasshoppers that have sung
when Moses in a gust of faith
commanded waters
as a king the souls of subjects;

in a field where light triumphs,
the warmth of earth’s star
holds in skin adapted to receive
a trance in all created matter,
music of trans-human eloquence
speaks of things, of truths,
no human soul could hold;
in the midst of this
a dragonfly bends wings -
in elegant meter beats the air,
patrols and watches, orbits.

I come to towers and citadels of flowers and grasses:
the dragonfly has lived a million years -
has the grasshopper’s song changed?
He comes near then darts away -
two alien civilizations
come to the edge of an impossible communication -

Proximity and gulf!

I dream a human dream,
The grasshoppers charm the air
and the dragonfly
returns to his generations.