The Call
dPress
2002
Sebastopol
Cover art by Claude Smith
for Kimberly
FACELESS PRESENT
unborn
unbidden
the sunlight
fills the unlit
street, and
suddenly, I
turn and smile
leaving the night wind
full of whispers
AT CLUB FAB
An auditorium without an audience. Two women dancing. One dances in a white gown, and she moves with confident abandon—a performance addressed to emptiness.
The other woman is on a swing, center stage. She wears black frilly briefs and a transparent tunic over a beige undershirt. Her black hip boots have spike heels. She fuses the can can dancer to the go go girl.
The woman in white is a bride. She is death. She is a piece of cake with vanilla frosting being eaten by a man with dirty fingers. She has lost her shoes, and she looks for them, high and low.
The can can dancer fused to the go go girl twists the ropes of her swing, winding and unwinding her body in languid arcs. She is asleep, and she lies in the sand of her dreams and feels the warm sun and the cool sea breeze.
Both women have a secret. In these two secrets are all the other secrets.
FALLING
off a horse
off a roof
out of a tree
out of a car
preparing to fall
removing my shoes
listening to your voice
knowing the pain
knowing what I owe
what I will do
left to right
left to write
my grief
CARRYING MY BONES
rays of light coming out of me
as I walk down the street
I'm walking an inch above the pavement
skimming the surface
responding to my body
while I mutate into a welcome mystery
ahead of me, temptations pile up
ROOM
I'm in a room with a door
you can go through
but I can't
You're in a room with a door
I can go through
but you can't
I'm in a room with a door
you can go through
but I can't
You're in a room with a door
I can go through
but you can't
I'm in a room with a door
you can go through
but I can't
You're in a room with a door
I can go through
but you can't
FREEDOM AHEAD
I pray to the imps at the crossroads
where I clean a window to a broken promise
and my dusty feet are washed in the sea of beginning
the imps are writing dirges
on the bag of bones we call spring
I keep speaking, and they keep writing
above me a plum tree rattle its branches—
staccato beats against this empty cage
the imps demand I give them a line of credit
I give them marks on a drum and a flag
but such answers never satisfy
the trick is to proceed without certainty
FOR EVERYONE
no floor
no walls
no ceiling
what did you expect?
a wanting heart
a burning mouth
tangled nerves?
there is a bell
and a mirror
and a lamp
as the bell rings
it begins to crack
the mirror reflects
a broken shadow
the lamp reveals
everyone has gone back
PROMETHEUS SINGS
uncertain
chained, yet
rocked
laughing in the rafters
starburst in his prime
splendid
rage mixed with joy
unsubdued
singing to be free
of his secrets
DIRGE
for Joe Saviers
everybody knew
your friends knew
your family
your psychiatrist
but you kept drinking
and drinking and drinking
and now your friends say prayers
by the oven where you are cremated
and we did a puja in the gompa on a full moon night
Tashi heard your voice, it was raining through sunlight
two rainbows appeared, so she put flowers on the shrine
and Jack got a message, "What's up with the dead flowers?"
MY WORDS
one at a time
each has gone
across
one at a time
each has gone
over
gone
in silence
without memory
with closed eyes
and a little hope
ALREADY EXTINCT
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
whatever
wahatever
WHATever
CIRCLE
My memory of us in a lotus—
peacock feathers heavy with poison
our lives jumbled together
You drop your fork and say it's time to go
then remember the show's not over
until the tattooed lady dances
CRETAN LYRE
addleheaded in Safeway
a tropical shower in the vegetables
transmits light to my inner idiot
coming before coming before
coming way before coming
beyond joy and woe
where I can do what I do
without having to lie
HARD
but I want to understand why
why here, on this planet?
in this body
in embodied mind
I feel like a smashed atom
thinking of the Universe
the seven sisters do a veil dance
with the moon, and
the little stars look big
so
far away
SKIMMING
Deport, unfinished
Don't know who the president is
and don't give a damn
Just want to get laid
Raw, ridiculous
Jumping up
and leaping sideways
I cross my fingers
IN
a forest—an old
cannon in a tree
that could fall if
there was a breeze
later
a boy kisses a girl
and the cannon falls
or not, if no one's there
later
abnormal that
there is a forest at all
after those kisses
later
a sequence
of abstract pictures
placed
between
interruptions
CONTACT
a jumble makes a coherent whole
a confusion clears in order
I follow a trail along a fence line
picking up discarded pizza boxes
which I stash in a pile near the base
of a post and cover with a tarp
someone I can't see is with me, has
gone ahead into a field, we
are talking about litter
and I think of a litter of pigs
instead of pizza boxes
I remember killing the runts in a pen
on a farm in Iowa when I was a boy
crushing their skulls with a hammer
and, later, standing in my bloody overalls
and asking forgiveness of the Universe
HARD TO TELL
desire from distress
flipped over, turned around
winter sprawls in space
voice repeats
because ear retreats
flipped over, turned around
spring twinkling in the antipodes
flipped over, turned around
spring twinkling in the antipodes
voice repeats
because ear retreats
blissful in uneasiness
MIMICS IN THE MIST
Mimics brush by
in white face and tattered tux
I turn, they turn, my turn, their turn
doubles hide in every word
I walk on the leaves
fallen on the ground—
gravity's delight!
Truth follows beauty around the lake