country grass in my hair iii

When I’m loose at night
And my body’s in pain
Have I found fame?
Ugly and weird without a name
Will you be kind?
A broken beetle
Drowned in a bottle
A wizard handed him wine
And down the cobblestone
When there was no sun
Is where he lost his mind
Alone
He witnessed quiet rivers in the middle of city and
Fires of Poverty Boys
Special groves far from winter
Splashing in an ivory tub
Queen of simple justice
Swinging flowers from above

Ghost or Shadowplay

Why this great divide?
Why all these pinecone rivers
Dropping into the endless ocean?
To carry us home…?
Why so much land in between?
Why so much road?
I watch my skin flex between freckles
Over immovable, twitching muscle
To the essence of mind falling
Home. Running
My fingers through the hair of the Invisible Cashier
On Brooks St.
I watched his locking muscles
After the shower with dripping hair.
In an instant, soft as a bell,
I’m no longer here.

Colonel Kurtz

One song
Separate song
Year of the eclipse
I don’t really care
Until it happens –
Look, meet me halfway
One song on rock to winded
Sailors
Dreaming of farmer girls
And lonely seabirds –
A man
With grenade launcher in Vietnam,
Stands numb,
Can show you to Captain
In land with no captain
Talks plainly
Just stares
And the land where my
Grandfather’s ashes
Is worth millions
Future settlers of
America —
Admire the bridges
And small rooms, quiet homes
Tear down every building you can
See and start in the mud
It is hard to sing in the face
Of any face
A song of happiness
But it shows the best of our
Being
Don’t give the wicked too much
Power – surely do not give
Your time away to Evil
Do not write of what should not be
Fulfilled
Never stare the nighttime
Howl.

August Shoots of Grass

August bamboo shoots collect the
Elixir of life in cylindrical cones
Reaching into heaven a proud emerald green.
A decortified tool of reinforced grass.
A lone raven lifts a wing and
Alights to the top branch of a juniper tree.
The sound from the black
Canvas attached to his frame
Shook me.
As if animal nature
Had power to generate a gust
And the will to turn his fury into a storm.
The raven swayed with his neck
Held close to his body.
The Wind obeyed him.
August shoots of grass
Across grandmother’s bearded chest.
I passed a building of Twombly’s architecture
Admiring twisted pillars and broken mirrors about the front door.
I was surprised at the absence of evil.
Orbs hung before the walls and
Wicked wires played in space. But all
Was only suggestion.
A wounded hound guarded the corner of his room
Wrapping his injured body pitifully
Around his wounds
Snarling towards the door
There was nothing to relieve his pain.
An owl in the rafters of the shed watched his every move.
The raven moved from the juniper and rested upon the fence
And watched his every move.
Tattooed women lay in the grass and
Watch his every move.
His grimace does not ease.
The face of his pain has a recognizable name.
A method of punishment exits within the subconscious.
The hound has forgotten his own name,
Knows only the howl of his pain.
Nymphs of uncut graves cannot help him.
Down the darkened road walks a being
Androgynous human he
Looks like a mountain of a man grizzled
By spit and Time
Beetles and food in his beard.
Pocket full of shells
Do I see you coming home?
Pocket full of shells.

California Eugene [fragment]

The skull wears a crown, He is king
A horse pushes curious nose
Into the eyes of a creature
That adores him.
In reflections of a still pool
Or, slightly running stream, You
can see, in reflections, the water
Ripples and waves, a
Human hand reaches toward an interested doe
and the moment is Frozen in time.
Footsteps of a small kitten dipped
into the pure white snow and
Carefully rescued, with a soft cry,
from the cold.
And then the Cat himself, sitting on top
of a mailbox with Man.
Red

Anonymous

Finding the “natural” way of human life

Primitive existence and open love for
the feelings we share as a species

Finding a lost city of humanity with values of the
Indians and native peoples of every culture

Cultivating a way of life which sustains and protects
The ecology of our home

No capitalism, no competitive market, no business
Without the complete, uninhibited, freedom
and health of individuals

Human soul searches for places to live
Fully as a collection of memories and convictions
have built them

When we experience drugs we are convinced that the vision
and knowledge we witness lies universally
within everyone, waiting
to be told that it is okay
to begin to awaken

We can feel as connected to fellow man
As to any other substance on our planet;
see as just another form of ourselves

The complex ecology on our planet can benefit
from humanity that is a compassionate shepherd.

Lost cities, undiscovered planets

Are we looking for something to tell
We have gone too far?

That our life today does not have to be
how we have built it?

That the walls between us are apart of an
imagination which we share?

That we don’t have a need for money –
We can grow our food, we can feed each other

No one has a right to our time
No one has a right to our life

That we are born without debts and take none with us
to the next life?

That your insecurities are just a game inside
your mind

That everything people say s just a dream
Good a dream – Evil, just a dream

Neither means anything to the whole of creation.

That people who litter donated to charity?

That people who clean the street berate their children?

That the people who eat healthy and consider
themselves, have no consideration?

That the wandering man killed his own brother?

That the man tending his garden is Buddha?

Love exists without you, without me
Life is a cat’s blink

Life Synchronous

Marmoset captain, visage powerfully scarred,
Visits the Moon Loon, his master’s brooding sea bard.
Crystal laughter across the faded shores
Stands mocking the Moth King in the face of his hordes

Vicious sunrise, open parcels of dawn,
She stopped a runaway train
Silken weavers of war
Bending fragments of lime
Memories in time

Fading from mind
Faeries laying in green clovers
Leprechauns  braiding roots in her hair
Dreams are frightfully cast
On the King’s bed of glass

Always

Ivory moss is thick like water

A man pulls a curtain and steps
To the velvet portico

Purple clouds are masked in armor

Cedar woods are lightly freezing

A hooded swan reveals his covered head
Draws calculus inside a pond
With the soft beat

of his heart