Loser, The Lonely

Sand in my boots
I tramp beneath
The Eye of RA

All my Cleopatra's,
Behind, in palaces of
Gold and ebony, limp wrists
Still, in baskets of asps

The generals, they hunt me
For my love and failed rebellion.
My sword has
Wed the desert, so,

Sand in these boots,
With bent, battered breastplate,
Will-less I walk 'till some
Body or beast brings me down.

Bats in Chorus

Night sight
In flight to bite
The swoop and swoon
Of cold air soaring
The rushing wind
Speaks a promise
Of sweet metallic
Meal to come
Dive and
Arrive
To feed past fur
Deep through skin
Refresh the soul
That knows
No sin.

No Shoes

footgear is not
necessary, for

dew bathes
and stones avoid

the runner
out of courtesy

to his
bliss.

Napoleon-syndrome Defined

Though a small

Man

Perform

GREAT DEEDS

He will still

be

a

small

man.

Field Trip

The eclectic, electric

Botanist boy

Screamed inner peals

As hand twitched in

Recessed grooves,

Flung the blade

And sliced smile, cleaning

The caged baboon's

Straw and shit

With blood.

Ghost

Once you saw me
Now you won't

Not because I present my side to you
nor because of the light from the window behind me


No, 'tis that you deny me even
unto my shadow


So you work your spells to disperse

my

parts

Anthropology

...later

the simian examines

his stick,

bug-dipped.


do tools require

a final analysis?

Keeping Life Simple

your past is like an egg & onion sandwich;
it repeats on you.
psychologists use terms like
patterns
learned behaviour
pavlovian response
unconscious habit.
screw that.
just think "egg 'n' onion."
so you married a sandwich once.
big deal;
look for steak & potatoes next time
or a salad;
whatever suits your appetite.
life is a buffet,
eat your fill
just watch out for stuff that
repeats on you.
don't think too much;
your tongue is probably more
on-target than your
brain.
so, if you're beset by doubt
don't try to suss it out
just give it a lickin'
'n if that starts your
heart a-tickin'
grab it quick, put it
on your plate.
odds are good
all will turn out
great.


9.9.2000

They Build Bigger Bombs and Teach Bears to Ride Bicycles

A paradoxical people.

Let's hold Pepper Talks and
trade ethnic recipes, just
for a change.

But we're not ethnic anymore

are we?
Forged in purest war,
a new, mixed, element
of Man.

See how we shine the sea
and improve the variety of the
air.

Let's say "Hi!" to all the
unimproved islands, build
hotels and leave to eternity
a real puzzler,

and the natives could even pay
rent,
and we won't care
and we'll win by
default
and be the best
joke
of all.

Existence

Celtic bones
Or perhaps a pig's
Rattle
To a conclusion
In the quick spill.

Am I judging at
The wrong time?

Does everything need
Time to ripen?

I look at you and
The chair; both are
Composed of many parts.
Light! More light
To focus the attention!
You are clear
Through experience
But the chair is an
Incomplete
Stranger
Who must age in my
Sight before it can be
Accepted.


2.3.2002

Prancing Through the Parkette

Afterglow.

Pants tight 'gainst skin's sweat.

The Midnight Sun hangs,
a mandarin-coloured star.

••••••••••••••••••

Her bright, intuitive hair

burns

to light

my escape.

Beasts of the Night

tick-tock clocking of heels
calculated to lure lust from
the darkfall of night.

pagan self-sacrifice, patient
prey to all who scent her spoor.

all life tends to the state of food.
the true gourmands of the fog
know this intimately, in bone and blood.

still the tick-tock of the life clock.
soon the feared, hoped for tryst.
Red Jack's love cuts like a knife.

and the willing offering instinctively knows
that the first cut is the deepest,
the first draught is the strongest,
and little the diff'rence 'tween hunter
and prey.

Apples and Snails On A Boat

wind and rain
and the crazy mate
ate the rope
got no hope

only waves to eat
only waves to see
already ate the mate

far gone, too far gone
too far from shore

mourning rope and
all the stores ruined
nothing left I stare at
walls which are planks
which are dikes holding
back the sea

I'll leave the apples
a sacrifice of nothing
covered all god-ready
with slime
at least the snails are
at home

so far from dirt I'll
probably dry up, turn
to dust and
blow away

Complications in Rio

Bought a ticket,
Paid my fare;
A bloody great time
when I get there!

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Bought a bottle,
got a room,
Bought a girl,
got it up...

Yeah, a bloody great
time but the girl
ain't no whore;
She's a fuckin' cop's
daughter!
And now her crazy Latin
father's
out to bust my
balls!

Gotta run,
run, run; gotta hide!
My visa's been cancelled,
my life's on the line;
I thought I'd have fun
But now I'm gonna die!

Bolshevik Restraint

IN ACCORDANCE WITH
ACCEPTED PRINCIPLES
EXPRESSED HERETOFORE
PUBLIC RELATIONS DEMAND
PRUDENT EXAMPLES WITH
REFERENCE TO PRECEDENT
AND ESTABLISHED AND
MADE-MANIFEST POLICY
AND THEORETICAL
PHILOSOPHIC STANDARDS
ALL CONDUCT
OBSERVED AND PRESUMED
SHALL ABIDE WHEREVER
PRAGMATICALLY POSSIBLE
WITHIN THE REALM
OF THE RULE OF
PREFERRING THE GOOD VIS-À-VIS
THE BODY POLITIC
AMEN

Time Lines

Love never dies but
Like an old injury in
Bad weather, continues
To ache.

To love anew is like
Awaking from a
Horrible and dreamless
Sleep, devoid of form
Or structure.

But like most sleep
There are dreams
Which recall the lost,
Recall the maimed.

Not a question of blame,
Innocence or guilt.
Just memories that remain
To be dealt with.

The loves pile up,
Stones in a wall
That grows higher as you age
And as you age you reach
That stage where all the past
Is one long love.

And if it's not,
If the memories are fierce,
Your last moments shall be
Spent gazing at your life
Through a ghastly veil of tears.

On the Stoney Road of Prophesy

Sometimes a plant
can portend great events.

In the eye, the mechanism
corrects only partially.

These imperfections of form
can never be known.

So the prophecy of plants
sues only limited acceptance.

Anniversary

Together a year.
A year full of laughter
And of tears.
Soul knowledge is made
Not born.
Vows can be intended
Or spoken aloud.
Lives twine like vines and
Like vines they sprout
And grow.

Vase

Glaze extending
Curve of earth,
Fireformed

Fusion,
Confusion of forms,
Elemental

Transcendental
Yet
Impure.

Border Whores

In Mehiko
As mushrooms in
Post-rain autumn
They spread
And
Lifting skirts
Laugh
Northwards.

And We Walked

And we walked--

Cold, she curled 'neath my
Greedy shoulder.
Stealing heat, holding
Close her shivering shell
I hoarded moments, precious
Jewels in my memory's vault
Against the time I knew
Would come, when once more
I'd wander solitary the
So-solid paths of our
Temporary shelter.
And we walked as ancient
Ghosts our days together, over
And over and over again,
Setting firm a map that
We knew we'd only burn having
Already learned that love,
Perfect and impermanent,
No hubris would insure.