ON BORGO PASS
D PRESS
SEBASTOPOL 1998
Cover drawing by Claude Smith
PEBBLES
we are born
to dream
we wake
was there something
fluttering?
I was going to ask, but
it must have been a dream
.
too much
or not enough
a sound
we cannot hear
.
swift
clear
sure
final
.
time and loss
two worlds
in and out
.
held together
the great
the small
by light
.
mountain and wave
lip and leg
a relationship
of man and woman
and moonlight
.
in this light
to sit with you
in rest
so it is
happiness pours out
like a yellow rose
.
a glance
becomes
a gaze
.
one day, yes
another, no
.
your refusal and departure
swift, sure and final
an injury so severe
nothing can be done
except message my heart
.
I hold your picture
to my lips
your eyes, lips, eyes
.
in memory of
bug hovering evenings
and the touch of
a cinematographer
.
apocalypse now
a pair of lips now
.
I feel like I'm a walking
Freudian soap opera
.
words of my perfect T-shirt
Don't Worry
Be Hopi
.
a skylark in a field
of larkspur
.
I listen
I feel
I hurry
ON THIS SIDE OF THE PASS
for Patricia
On Borgo Pass
suddenly the light devides
and the land on one side
rises to heaven
and on the other falls
no one knows where
—Nosferatu
grandeur of dawn in transparent gold
dreamthoughts caught in a net
dew on grass
teakettle whistles shrill
færies to the high ground
time for tea and scones
the world is swinging to and from
and I am standing still
the yellow sky fills with clouds
in this cataclysmic bliss tornado
time has stopped
and the tiny spasm by which we hang
becomes an abyss where phantoms nourish
on a child's prayer
I follow the lines of my desire
beauty reflected on surfaces and mirrored
by the crazy monkey of mind
no matter what vampire light appears
I drink my tea and eat my scone
BEATING AGAINST THE ROCK
gold from the heart
boundless light upward
outward downward
flowers of obsession
a promise in the blood
joy in the stones
in tune with our touch
sphinx-like spirit
an eye an apple
an oyster a thousand miles
from the sea still feels
the tug of the moon
in this bowl of noodles
moon outside moon within
gaze on the dripping light
hear the voice of a star
why does the universe exist?
no single answer to this
a bouncing bubble
a ball of strings
by all means wear pearls
while you vacuum
and a diamond crown tiara
when you change the catbox
ECO BIZ
now, the world
melting down
we take stuff
out of the earth
heavy metals
and put it into
the biosphere
a closed system
spread the stuff about
molecular garbage
100 lbs of product
yields
3000 lbs of trash
time is running out
tick tock tick tock
TAKES ON A BLUE SET
I want a metaphysic so loose
the most incredible accident could occur
and it wouldn't cause a ripple
In the meantime, I search for the omphallus
and the continuation of culture
Is Great Pan dead?
You're forty feet tall—
man, put me in your pocket
and take me with you
HEAD START
awoke this morning
with my head on backwards
looked in the mirror
at a mess of hair
thought, shit oh dear
my face needs brushing
after brushing my teeth
with a hairbrush
I knew I was loosing
my grip on the day
SKY LINE
I was near you in a dream
crazy as it seems, giving
comfort to your distress
hard to understand
close to you like the air
no more looks, no more words
don't ask with those lips
words like clouds
cloud following cloud, hiding
what you hide
PAINPOINT
easy to say
pain is just pain
like a jagged blade
easy to say
pain passes
like night
easy to say
pain is a point of view
if you're comfortable
INTRUSIONS
another note on my pillow
the horses are dying
unnatural things can happen
in a natural way
and quickly
MOVING FINGER
the heart
satisfied
with and by
what is
now I sit in Wolf's
Tea Room, Santa Rosa
pushing 58
as once I sat
in the Black Sheep
with my mother
in Berkeley
a boy of 10
writing on napkins
COME ONTO DRY LAND
this time when
your heart's blank
and your head's
an empty chamber
you feel there's a brick
between your feelings
and your fingers
say no more
your days are flowers of water
you wake to find the river rose
STAKE OUT
I set my shutter speed
and adjust my stance
so my shadow falls
outside the frame
I check again—
the birds are still there
and I find delight
in their chatter
.
recorded with directional mic
written in the margin of a bill
toilet tapped, bed bugged
an easy one
the guise, the lies
the prize
familiar fries
fishing for grease
muffled cries
collar or color
play the moister
on the whistle dump
ample gum awake
burnish in tragic
plus one
.
a fragment
f/ a conversation
"I don't understand
the whole concept—
I don't understand
like..."
and she was out of hearing
.
I ask the question again
and it sees me coming
and ducks around the corner
.
no way I'm getting
in her face
just keep floating
naively watching
the ads on TV
my world exploding
the 20th century is
a fairy tale
and afterwards
every conceivable vice
will seem like play
you'll need a lawyer
to ask her out
COLD FOUNTAINS
days when I look in my mirror
and see fear
and the mirror curves
towards a nest of dread
what's next?
fear to be or go or stay
no now there
no now here
nowhere
.
where does the light
in our dreams come from?
.
I stalk Artaud
I dis Rimbaud
I burn Villon
I look on the world
with a cold, blue eye
.
a risk
a miracle
a hope
magic of
TRAVELER'S BLUES
just down the road a jog
follow the river `til it bends
across that field to the far side
up the hill to the ridge—
thataway, as the crow flies
I pull up my mount
and peer from the peak at more
mountains on the otherside
the map I was made
must have been made
to get me lost
make camp
rustle up some grub
"Ain't nobody goin' to git
nuttin' done, ifines got morin
one choice," the hayseed said
"And I got a world of ways"
and the dude rode on
through a vale
across a dale
over a pass
my ass
it's not where I'm going
it's the going
POETICS
What is the point, Jack?
is poetry a conversation
among the dead, and the poet
gets it second hand, a vampire
moon sucking off the sun?
What is the poet, Jack?
a battered radio transmitting
static between the stations
on a lonely stretch of road
or a punchdruck fighter
whose taken one too many
hooks to the head?
Poetry is experience—
I awake to morning light
thoughts sweet as honey
buzzing in my brain
swatting them I get stung
by real bees in a dream garden
TARA
for Emily
crossing the street in wonder
about the angle of the earth's shadow
on your soul's wanderings
the crescent moon within hand's reach
you are the path serene
I bathe in your light
you paint details on a batik
of Vajradhara in yabyum
while ants march across the table
your snake lifts his head
and your cats cruise among the candles
I am your devotee, speak through me
you've made yogi tea
and we've gone beyond the fuss
of the day into a room warm
in the flow of words and gestures
our glances and grazes become
a store of bargains beyond form
you are a star near and far
a fearless guide in my meditation
you step down from your lotus
in the dimension of bliss
granting my boon, soothing my fear
I am your devotee, speak through me
totally awesome space, you are
the teaching and the teacher
present and aware in the street
finding smashed glass from a car
your compassionate heart feels
for someone suffering loss
walking through the plaza we find
a shopping cart, and you hop in
but don't let me push you too far
so as not to put the clerk to extra work
at dinner you read my fortune cookie
saying I have consideration for others
this really applies to you, who give
a 50% tip and say, "Why not?"
Swift One, I bring this flower
I'm blown apart sitting, standing
eating, walking, your vibe emanates
in all realms and in your presence
I find solace with all objects
all subjects empty, you elegant
no stain, no blame, no blemish
full-breasted with kindness
warm heart, cool brain
carry me over
