7/2009

Watercolor on canvas 30”X40”

 

Darling I’m moving more

Into the real

The wind moved me today

And did not blow right through me

I realized a leaf

My arms grew strong

I could sense the smell of you

Through all these bifurcations of me

The colors like pink and ocean aqua

 

I think maybe there are various forms

Various levels of being

This morning I woke up

And the world looked the same

Only it was more of the world

Then I could touch before

With just the dust

Of my memory

 

And so I use these hands

To gather dirt

And water

And I’m growing flowers

For you

Right out of my emptied head

 

And I look for you now

Because I want to perceive

You

seeing me

for the first time

 

 

7/7/2009 Graphite on Clayboard 24X18”

 

Like F[blank][blank]

King

A Tree

Hacking away

Thinking we might find

Something like

Beauty.

And twists

Backwards through

This

Something

 

Wow!

Or

What would it be like?

 

To trade in wood

For wings?

Feathers

Drifting like

Leaves

One each day Magnolia Dear

 

Sshhhhhhhhh u

 

But what if?

[breath]

[comma][pause]

[end sentence]

 

this is totally fucked up?

 

I don’t know?

The lights are on,

In the street

Shift,

                                                Shift,

Shift,                           

                                                Shift,

Shift.

[breath]

period

thank God!

And the moment

I see you

Tree…

I am wood

Melting into you

 

They say tears

Are a substitute

For sex

But maybe

They are an

Opening

For this bird?

Leaf

Earth

Tree

 

A dwelling

Descending

Ascending

In

Out

In

Out

Totally in

Totally gone

 

Washboard

Wash away our sins

Down this drain

 

Her eyes

 

Captain Kurt

Was a French chef

Talking to his girlfriend

(who he has never met)

on the cell phone

while cooking

describing each

step in

delicious

sensual detail

 

meanwhile

I’m in a sandbox

Rubbing two sticks

Together

Trying to restart

This

Mornings

Fire.

I’m lucky

One of them

Is still

Smoldering

Eye <3 ewu

If you ask me where I have been

I must say, “It so happens.”

I must speak of the ground that the stones darken,

Of the river that enduring is destroyed:

I know only things that the birds lose,

The sea left behind, or my sister weeping.

Why so many regions, why does a day

Join a day? Why does a black night

Gather in the mouth? Why dead people?

 

If you ask me where I come from, I have to converse with broken things,

With utensils bitter to excess,

With great beasts frequently rotted,

And with my anguished heart.

 

Those that have crossed paths are not memories

Nor is the yellowish dove that sleeps in oblivion,

They are faces with tears,

Fingers at the throat,

And what falls down from the leaves:

The darkness of a day gone by,

Of a day nourished by our sad blood.

 

Here are violets, swallows,

Everything the pleases us and that appears

In the sweet calling cards

Around which stroll time and sweetness.

 

But let us not penetrate beyond those teeth,

Let us not bite the shells that silence gathers,

Because I do not know what to answer:

There are so many dead,

So many seawalls that the red split,

And so many heads that beat against the ships,

And so many hands that have cradled kisses,

And so many things that I want to forget.

Love is the energy you resonate when I feel the fullness of your organism
rising,
and bliss.
 
yes that white light that descends through the broken head,
through this man body,
seven layers through our being,
seven layers through this earth mother rooted,
vulnerable,
and with this deepest touch we discover all the colors that flow through us,
this poignant stream of devastating radiance.
 
And I'm wondering about the mirrors?
like when I was watering my garden today I could hear the planet’s drinking,
a peculiar owl in the pine tree behind my neighbors house calling something for the Other
somewhere?

I remember those Dutch still life paintings so real,
the dew on the peach and the way the water streams across
the smooth blue leaves of morning
of the sexual scent watercolors within the white light of sunlight,
of the small searing mirrors of summer.

the dim forms surrounding
the reflected flash of near star
and I think it is what makes me aware of that blaze.
because if it wasn’t for this intensity,
would I even be aware of dark moist,
rain?

And thank you for the most delicate…
I don't know the next word
it hasn't ever been spelled before this sensuous.
Would you like the illuminated Rumi written about you
and for you only?

I do know about breathing,
about the warm updrafts sailing awareness,
who hears not the wind who holds him dreaming,
for where is the separation,
between feather and wing and wind,
and the sun drenched warmth of your body?
And where is my mind now that you have invaded me with your mind,
of the remembered moments of quiet rounded stone?

I am…
unknown

For where the mirror shatters,
a window opens.

Watercolor on paper 14X22"

 

I was thinking for the birds tonight
my father used to say that,
like when the news came
that our boat sunk
"that's for the birds" he said.

and I'm looking through the window
where you disappeared and I think:
that is for the birds.
Look at the birds of the air:
they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly

father
feeds them.

I'm sorry your spear
went through the dove.

mother
we buried her in the back yard.
you wept.

that is for the birds

that we connect and disconnect
that I fly so far
bouncing into the pretty colored bubbles
refracted from the white light perfection...
that is for the birds

and I think these colors
I wear
not white
unless they commingle
within the colors
of the feathers
I found where
you flew over.

well,
if I squint my eyes
and look at the feathers
I can almost imagine.
yes I can imagine
that I am;

(closer to death then philosophy,

closer to pain then intelligence,

closer to blood then ink,

closer to air)

 for the birds.

I dreamed last night that I had carefully prepared a lavish meal for my friends. Everything was so perfectly prepared, flowers on the table, plates of delicious food waiting for my guests to sit down and enjoy. While we were talking my daughter's goat got into the house and climbed on the dinner table to eat the flowers and before I could get the goat down from the table, it lifted its tail and spoiled the meal.

 

My guests were appalled and disgusted and they all gathered their coats and left, never to return again and so I am alone and again I have disappointed and I had so looked forward to this moment of sharing. I poured everything I had into this and now it's over.

 

It doesn't matter that my intentions were loving because it was ruined. Somewhere I left a door open, when it should have been closed. So where is that open door that I need to close?