watersong

there it goes in great gushes
sloshing
all over the forested surface
channels and creases
and blankets, sheets,
sparkles of fire, wet glint, the spray
all strange forms
all born from the same ocean
folding and foaming
arousing a small glittering vision
a static pulsing,
bent light leans in
on the creature, the first clambering form
the moment of panic
gutteral noise, bloom, blossom, blown
the curtain dropping
and lifting
revealing the
complex meandering of
some animal, silhouetted and momentary
like blinking
or swallowing water

concertainty

I ME
I make a bird
'IF you cans e e with
out looking
AS long as a filament
as long as a ray,
tENSe; past and present
teNSe ; pointed : poised
!
a perfect little raft
to hold fifteen thousand
species of ant
. They are so small
> The world is so small
= everything
listen
there along the sundrenched shore
in a sundress, soaking, WHat kind
of a woman am I. WHere is all of
this going,. there we go again...infinity

who ever said, whatever, or never
combine mathematics and poetry. i

really really like looking out &
across the sea, when there are
sillhouettes of diving flocks of
seabirds, and sand to press your
feet into, and the sense of being small

We should feel that way looking out into
the internet, too, that it goes on and on
and on forever, below and above the surface,
like a sea of swirling brine, capable of sustaining or
destroying life, and of dissolving everything; and indifferent
.

wet with light

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

curling ARound the current

the bent flame of the animal locks its grip on man with
unwavering eyes, no one understands the current that is
passing between, no one; eat them, make a tree bend hard
and snap, feed them, wash your face, make a little gesture
so she will come, the room i am in is not me, it's not at all
like me to be in here! I should be in trees, swimming around
naked, Laughing and making the animal noises. I was
spinning as a child, and always snapping twigs and
springing up. I remember getting quiet and listening
to the continuous purr. the animal is waiting somewhere
outside, I sleep, human dreams and memories, a
thousand fish crossing great open tracts of sea; the old
hull of a ship, corroded, and worn through by the brine;
a woman, all tangled in seaweed; the notebook and
the open inkwell, a library in the forest; she sat calmly
in the surf, taking her time with each piece, like music
she had to write, and i spoke but without a common
language, so i remembered my breath, and the small
things, the snail and the crab, his serrated edges.
today, all I need is something fluid, some movement,
depth, horizon, and the birds, that is all.

the beginning of anything

they encircle me
in a silent concert
ten, eleven, twelve
droop and swirl
swoop and drool
i am an under-
water canary
trying to sing
in the liquid thickness
SEE! the drifter slips in
alongside the fourteen
children and in a soft
and enchanting voice
recounts the day before
when everything was smelling
like garbage and your eye
was twitching
give in, he says.
There are flippers
and fantastic fortunes in the
night and in the blooming
of your tiny song, oh please
SING!! use
the very most
simple of gifts,
the very most
tender offering,
a word with
smooth curls and
important lines, the
balance and the elegant
spontaneous gesture
ALIGHT!!! Love is like
a bird resting on a branch, breathe
easily in and out, your shoulders
dropping, remember those fierce
bright wet eyes how they saw you,
remember, and go
on like a flower,
giving everything
and be curious like
a child, alive like one thousand
children, like a swarm of light
the notes all blending
and bleeding together
as in a dream.

the golden flow of time

to descend, in a
gentle way through
the bright chambers of
sweet calm beautiful
light, all the way down
to the inner glowing
sun, the soul in which
the heart rests
i am doing each thing
because i must,
and because i am trying
endlessly to learn something
and avoiding something,
and learning to be close
to what i am avoiding
while keeping it by me in
a strange ancient rhythm
a movement of the feet
and arms, all so hesitant
and wordless at first
and then breaking open like
a birds egg, all over the
two of us, all over the world

fearless delirium

what is dancing: slippery strange & sillhoutted

this is a question to which the appropriate answer is green and wild like a shoot
I came into the room because there were three places I wanted to be at once
again the little bell chimed and caused an unexpected shyness in my belly
she waited in the parlor holding a packet of old papers and muttering
the famous congregate in a place made of ten old aluminum frames
getting really really close to something but not quite touching it
the fingers on her handmade dolls were unnatural looking
I spent entirely too much money on repairs and tickets
all of this is exactly the same and slick with hot oil
i went backwards for twenty-five minutes swiftly
along came a tiger wearing a wristwatch and tie
afterward all the confused mingling ones left
against the rhythm of the band she reveled
I will stand here in my underwear awhile
lost in a softly billowing pillow of white
two of us making love in a cloud of lust
the music makes me feel an emotion
everyone is watching me i know it
there goes the showboat outside
beautiful as anything at two am
we will remind ourselves to be
sliding across the deck naked
clambering across the heap
giving in to the primitive
actually knowing love
confused with glee
stand behind me
wearing nothing
smiling openly
knowledge is
continuous
silhouetted
rather dull
i am tired
we like it
the word
wonder
power
flame
trees
skin
ink
lily
cat
ax
it
a
i

thirteen Bushtits

a white line stretches out forever
and upon out feet
a little rubber padding
perfect for dancing
we are the people who come
quickly across the wet hills
dripping with ideas
and bound in the strangest
sounding ways
a little fire draws a small circle
of fluttering ghosts
all keeping ahead of the
last most devastating thoght
the towering fever
the blinding oblivion
spits and scatters all
matter violently and evenly
like seeds across the wet hills
a filament of something
resembling truth whirrs
and begins in the gaping
chasm of space we spread
ourselves out as naked
as fish beneath such skies and
quietly watch them, all
thirteen of them, passing through
the scrub oak, gray and white
diminutive and deliberate