friday can be a crucible

11-19-04

washing the moon

so I am here; staring into chasms
self pity is the game and eager is a cold night
“don’t worry I’ll be home soon” –words uttered by another
warming in sight of the Euphrates; his thoughts on scared Iraqi eyes
thoughts like freight trains; dull, heavy , and shrieking
so I am wondering; purpose meets me like a face in the crowd;
a wife perhaps…if the mind is not warm a hot bed allures…
the wives are earned by others…purpose again—focus on purpose

panes of yellowish; glass is subdued to the moon otherwise
dirty is she…I am yet another splotch---seas of tranquility aside
give me a rag…give me warm water
ale makes it seem likely; just to reach up—a good cleaning is all
halt! You are not God. But he likes you. Here is a wash rag from God.
Wash with words…clouds do not count
I am rising now…the chasms have moved on; “you must believe, boy!”
Walk on…

so I am here; burning the pixels…
they are coals; phosphorescence is of no concern
colored dots into awareness….this is my new game
and eager is a heart; WASH AWAY, MY BOY!
speed is the new satan; and moons do not pass with speed
I am trumpeting like the train conductor…
But he is not thoughtful…remember we have God’s wash rag,
Like the cold one in Iraq; I have purpose…
A wide angle lens distorts—but sees all.

See it all…for one day the moon will have no splotches.

a poem re-posted

I want to get back to the poetry and fun stuff. too much politics and architecture. so once again here is the mindflow of a 24 year old getting out of bed and going to work:


point of no return

swirlings of brown sheets and there is an ache
big as texas—and maybe as heavy
on the back of my head, toes as well
the message: do not get up…this is a point of no return
the stupid phosphorous numbers are laughing at me,
running away at the speed of light…hah! Light…

rolling over is not good…she will be there
a whine is all she will give me…all she will dispense
to this little stage, this test of wills…
the message: do not get up…this is a point of no return
a rise and fall of her chest teaches me of life all over again…
and the ache gets a little smaller…something else grows…

drops of water on the neck, eyes are open now
yellow curtain is like a teen movie…not as cheesy
or as amusing to imagine…teen land…candy land
the message : don’t get going…you are past the point of no return
having learned again that I am lustful and that means there is purpose…
water is now suffocating…move faster…

bland wall coverings ; the back door is not a portal
thresholds like fly swatters…the job is done but ugly
smelling of salt and creamer, coffee is now my father
the message : get going…you are past the point of no return
smiles, nods, a few overstated words…drive home my membership
pixels are ridiculing me, “where have you been…”

large wide glass and there is a sky…
bigger than texas—and much brighter
my mind has nothing in it…in this moment’s space
the eventual message : don’t worry…you are a point of no return
you are all or nothing…you are beauty stretched
like butter over too much toast…