subtle juxtapositions
24th
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*untitled(06.24.09)*
“the volitile spirits prefer unhappiness’
-g. santayana
of course
its all
light; even
the sabotage
…for some,
joy
is manna
hidden while
awake, &
forgotten for
later, when
it’s found
& eaten
while they
are sleepwalking,
23rd
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*better now,
thanks*
i folded my grief
into an origami
crane, & because it
would not fly away,
i put it in an ashtray,
& set it on fire
22nd
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*the sweet ache*
the well
which will sustain us
lies buried
among the mundane & fantastic
there will be some magic,
a little prayer
but mostly a lot of digging involved
it’s an old story;
vision & sweat
in prescribed amounts
our backs will be sore,
our eyes will be clear,
& we will
want
to carry on
& not understand
why
till much later
21st
Sunday, June 21st, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | 1 Comment
*RIP (06/21/2009)*
…at the memorial service
for a local poet saint
in the omni-denominational
unitarian church
memories in the air
like incense smoke
everybody holding hands
& singing amazing grace
all stripped of armor,
like st. joan
when i learn one of those
things that i always knew;
there are some songs that
you just ain’t singing right
unless you’re crying
20th
Saturday, June 20th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*the why &
the way things are*
(w/ thanx to bucky fuller)
there’s no point in fighting
the way things are
fighting
the way things are
is tiring, costly, & ineffective
& the only outcome of fighting
the way things are
is that you will annoy
the why
the way things are
&
the why
is better equipped to deal
w/ annoyances like you,
than you are for fighting
the why
this is
the way things are
so let them be
& find yourself
a better way
19th
Friday, June 19th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*apathy insurance*
dawn was coming up,
quiet as a hard-on
…stumbling back to the flat
full of lady fingers & rope burn,
i glanced up at the crushed velvet sky,
& gave mr. moon the nod
…he played it cool,
observing my swerving
from the corner of a half-open eye,
like the front desk manager
of a seedy hotel,
the kind w/ hourly rates,
& a broken pay-phone
in a lobby that smells
like human soup,
the tragic old carpet
sings tattered arias
…sure, he’s got your number,
he’s peeped your cards & read your book too
…he’s got something on everybody
but they’d never get it out of him;
he don’t know nobody &
he don’t know nothing &
he don’t pass judgment
…not because of any
lofty moral position, you
understand,
but because
he just
stone
don’t
care
18th
Thursday, June 18th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*inspiration*
this poem is a weapon,
but it is not to be aimed at
the enemy
17th
Wednesday, June 17th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*wet grass sticks
to my bare ankles*
(a suburban idyll)
the scene after dinner;
all that red wine on the tablecloth,
& herself locked in the bathroom
…looking back, i could see that
as the sun crawled higher into the sky,
the whiskey in our glasses grew weaker
…it hid all afternoon in the shadows of our skulls,
like a cartoon lightening bolt,
staying out of the sun till night fell
…gathering its strength
…now its late & cool, &
the sprinklers are on & i remember
the croquet set
never got put away
16th
Tuesday, June 16th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*st. bartholomew*
‘there’s a few more hours of light
left, so…’ he said, propping me up against
the base of a tall pine tree & lighting
a cigarette,
‘…lets try to enjoy the view’
he said he’d take the gag out of
my mouth if i promised not to
scream, but i could not, in good
conscious, make him that promise
‘you see…’ he began,
‘…the dilemma is, we have all the
accountability that the illusion of
free-will implies & none of the perks’
later the thought occurred to me
that god did not merely
rest on the 7th day;
he gave up
15th
Monday, June 15th, 2009 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*06.15.09(untitled)*
in the place where we live
but do not journey to,
the tangled roots of
tough desert plants,
always about half dead,
wrap ’round the rocks
in the dusty soil
…thoughts get shaped here
into strange loops & knots,
they sway slowly in the hot breeze,
giving enough to go on living
…easy
to have nothing
& want nothing
…difficult
to let go of that which
you can not see
is holding you
