…the pain will let you know
how alive you are
…it will let you know how
alive you want to be

dreams aside, where we
will not stumble over them;
-it’s better this way

*lucky me*
watching you in the surf at el matador,
black bikini, skin glistening w/ salt water,
lei of sea weed round your neck,
smile wide as the sky,
all of the magic of the sea in your eyes,
it occurred to me that if this happened to be
the last thing i ever saw, i didn’t care
if i ever saw anything again,
& i looked straight up into the sun over the cliffs,
but it had ducked behind a cloud,
& would not burn out my eyes for me, & i had
no means w/ which to bribe it, so i turned
back & watched you some more

like a stray cat finding an open door, i have
wandered into the periphery of the lives
of a few women lately
…they all seem to have acquired
early on, ideas & attitudes
that i have also managed to stumble upon,
although a bit too late to do me much good
…of course they are all varying degrees of crazy,
w/ more energy, ambition, & lust for life
than i may ever have again
…they burn like lighthouses
on the shores of my own insanity
…& i get treated by them
w/ a kind of benevolent indifference,
like leaving a bowl of kibble
out on the porch for the stray,
tho not being overly concerned
if or when
it gets eaten

…here, at this time,
is where we’ll dig the hole,
here among the poppies
…no bitterness,
just an accession of
that which must be
…no dreaming here,
pick up the rough spade,
& break the earth
…throw the half-snake in,
still wriggling,
cover it quickly,
say no more about it
…later,
watch the pretty blonde
from across the room,
sip your lucky ale

*cursed w/ a granted wish*
bob looked like jesus in a cowboy hat
he lived his life cursed w/ a granted wish
madame wiped the blood off her lips,
like every loving picture of sorrow
…he lived his life cursed w/ a granted wish
the ammo ran out long ago
like every loving picture of sorrow,
we scavenge from the dead
…the ammo ran out long ago
stroking the high, high end of a wound steel string
we scavenge from the dead, breaking guitar taboos
…stroking the high, high end of a wound steel string
get on your knees & worship the burger
breaking guitar taboos
you know you want it,
get on your knees
& worship
the burger
…cleaned the dust bunnies off the floor you know
you want it left
the flower petals & dead bees where they were
cleaned the dust bunnies off the floor
…madame wiped the blood off her lips
left the flower petals & dead bees
where they were
…bob looked like jesus in a cowboy hat

*tanuki-bozu*
no longer able to fight off wolf or bear,
tanuki, the badger, had lived so long
he had begun to lose his teeth;
teeth that had once been
strong enough
to crack bone …feeling his destiny
narrowing down
to becoming a meal,
& perhaps a paint brush,
or a bit of trim on
the hem of a robe,
he turned to consuming
the rotten fruit of the forest,
staying drunk,
& growing fat
…the local folk told stories
of his shape-shifting magic,
tho he would have readily admitted
that it was really more a matter of
reinvention
…the local folk swore
that they had seen him
as a one-eyed hag, or a teapot,
or most often as a fat buddhist monk
…’yes, yes’, he says;
‘i know exactly what i am,
& what i am not’
–teketen-taketen-taketen
dokodondokodondokodon–
he plays his belly like a drum & sings
‘pom-pokopom pom-pokosho’

gentle goddess to idle dreamers,
stern mistress to those toiling
…accommodating, yet unapologetic,
she moves thru the music w/ a wise smile,
& no concern for the chaos in her wake
…true unto herself,
she will not lie to you
to make you feel better
…she is sunshine & life force,
she is darkness & uncertainty
…she will lure you to the precipice,
seduce you w/ the view, &
push you into the abyss

*accept this*

by & large the herd is average
& while this is no reason to hate them,
it is certainly no reason to love them
…accept this little death

…the heart squeeze moment,
when a good friend becomes a
hypocrite
…accept this little death

…finding you’ve nothing at all,
valuable or worthless, to throw into
the drunken bonfire
…accept this little death

… the oddly welcome weariness
arising from the incessant balancing
of ache & joy
…accept this little death