Tuesday, December 31, 2013

white stone


housebound

he's got a pain that travels from knee to stomach
a gnaw a knot
a needling ache
it's less when he's
prone
to criticism

8 degrees

new moon
powder snow
skin stinging cold

dexter gordon playing Sonny Stitt  in Holland 1964
it was like that


Saturday, December 28, 2013

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

daydream

Bob shoveling snow

Jasmine in Ubud

Anca's hole in the ceiling

under
milk skies

enter
emptiness

rescuing
them
from danger
and
confinement

I daydream about
those kinds of things

sick as a dog cause

I am sick as a dog
my brain is foggy
my decisions should not be trusted

therefore

I
am
free

of interpretation

imagining

light as a post to
and  reply

texting
without the love letters


an echo
an echo
and then

stop

to begin again

as above

so below
I can't get on to
youtube
or access


peace

where I'm going next

it's on
the devil comes at four o'clock
we're ready  for him
the question is
where are we going next?


dry sip

it isn't cost
it is just ignorance
inside the bottle

don't quote me

globe

snow
falling
on

Saturday, December 14, 2013

sleeping
beside me

how many breaths per minute?
soft full low long - 17, 18, varied

your fingertips are torn paper dry
skin cells die quickly this week

clammy to the lips
that kiss
you
a toxic piss spill

still
you're
at peace

alive



more boats

you read

Orwell on Kipling
(" I don't know much about him really")

I gild

green paper boats

the house is clean and quiet

more boats

this morning I bowed in my head
I heard the prajna paramitra

like the Milwaukee River
running black in my brain

free

boats
aren't thoughts

prayers
aren't thoughts

cancer
isn't thought

clean
quiet
clear

more boats

nowadays

I  cannot count the times I have scratched this from essays
by Koreans and Chinese
Kuwaitis and  Saudis
an occasional Brazilian

nowadays is the um of adverbs
and so condemned to fill the awkward pause of second language time

it's not fault but ubiquity
that irks

in this tongue we like to hedge as we imply
leave a little wiggle room
to forget the present
ignore time for signs
of
something
not
quite


here



first heavy snow

a white light foot of it


K's dream

second day after chemo
weak
sleeping most of the day

you say -

the best dream
was the one
where I made a lot of money
for my boss
George Washington

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Saints day

Saint Damascus, a man

a book in Latin

a lion a book another man

the window where
Jerome
stares out
impatient with
boys and snow
Fed on joy, wind, green apples.

Brought together
as honey and dust
as cusp above
so below

the point being
earth

and what it raised

rises





repeat

an open book

a closed book

a work in progress
not what we ask for
what we are given

your sadness will not go away
but you will go away

what legacy?


what grace?
my sister made a small hole in the universe
planted a seed
and grew 
regret
comparison
yearning

are the three magi
of the heart

acceptance
clarity
gratitude