A Psalm

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
followed movements with
my eyes as a sail fills
with wind and felt the jolt
like a prow taking
its cut through a wave

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
whose slow surreptitious movements,
the turn of an ankle
short measured steps in high heels
a twist of mouth
a glance at a book shelf
or through it

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
whose silent voices echo chapters
of humility and respect
as peasant dresses
and pigtails flow by with ghosts
of Marilyn Monroe movie memories
and placid book cover art

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
rolling book carts to proper shelves
cataloging history and
time and gossip and art

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
crossing legs out of terry cloth dresses with
rouged cheeks and
red elevated lips
taking a book inward
with focus and cognition
while red hair
and white thighs exude
auras of creation

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
as if Sapphos’ lost poems
appeared while I wait for
a tall dark haired woman
to find me here between
stolid wooden shelves
where dreams meet the sea
and hearts have tried
to expose the sky

I’ve been excited by women
in libraries
and have turned pages
of desire toward islands of thought
where there are
rose petaled shores
of sure goodness
and love

Coition

was after
dried roses
that ether-death
sickness of after
smell gone
that last warm cold goodness of after
a longtime
meant promise of after
cigarette/heavy
breathing of
after
toilet flush
after
padding feet back to
a rustle of covers
of after, after
slamming doors behind
strained voices of
after beginning before
an end of after always
before the bright
deaf rendering thunder
silent dark flashing
shudder of after
& together before

 

cheeseburger

she ordered a cheeseburger
on a French roll with only a
half order of french fries for
she says, a full one was much
too much, now she cleans her glasses
& sips a small coke/ all this
before she had removed two sweaters &
first one comes over her head as
her back arches and breasts arch
almost skywards & the second

likewise overhead & now
down to yellow t-shirt
where both these actions
caught  three
males @ this lunch counter, caused
one poem/ & maybe
has something to do with a breeze
laden palm tree somewhere in
the Society Islands, I stay for
my bacon cheeseburger, faithfully waiting for my wife.

Voyager has left the solar system

red and blue strobe flashing
cruisers making way
for emergency or small sins
against the state
sedate homes fill windows w/light
& inner movement
as if the city & small towns & large ones
were urban box cars riding the slow surge
of the continents past a somewhere
in the midst of words being laid down
foundations–forming parameters
of love–by a ubiquitous universal knowing
that we are transceivers
for us a long ago thought
for us to perceive ourselves amid background noise
in dark light years of emptiness full of something & unending love
while it is we are startled by new ancient wonders since,
volcanoes in Alaska, Washington, Pagan, Philippines
& then we saw several thousand on Io’s fly-by
& while sliding past
Saturn’s Rings we found
beauty of form reaching unsurpassed
& back again–miracles
like morning light on half-visible
breast w/long hair flowing over pillow
& springsmell jasmine, or an unseen
moment before a flower fades
& Voyager has now left the solar system

missing the mark

there are two  men
sitting at a black formica topped
table, in a college cafeteria,

they calmly discuss Armageddon,
how Russia will start it,
where Egypt will move,
what Israels plans and counter plans
will be, they speak of the various
contingencies of this country, they
are adamant about biblical prophecy
that foretells all of this.

their movements are of an inert
manner, with one of the hands
& a self-assured sweep
of the table, crumbs &
Hawaiian islands leave the face of the planet,
a fist pounds down and Baghdad is gone,
the table where they sat
is still very much
intact after they have left

given present technology
& political uncertainty, it is possible;
however is not prophecy in any form the
basic psychic emetic for the doom foretold?

a deep gut wrenching, face straining puke
for the advent of what may be averted
instead of synchphatic applause
for everyone’s untimely funeral?

Independence Day & other Greek words

The sufficient crowd
Where the lean attitudes
Culminate
The town or the country
The outlying geography
Of containment & submission
The giving in marriage
The man and woman of relation
The public parade of Eros
The missing meal of Agape
The barroom of Philia
It does seem Hollywood only likes adultery

The willful negation of Logos
These tangible criteria,
As if the world were spun anthropicly
On fingertips of our reason, the motion set
The will cocked, of halfwardly so,

The unfathomable bang a
Spot in space and time, not
Realizing there was no space &
Time before

The judgment by ourselves,
Be primarily in ourselves
& may we have the grace to be
Loving & kind & in a weltering rush
& drink before dawn
A dream—the where of now
The here of it,
The breath of is, may this love
Bring us fruit, each & each of who
We’re meant to be & have been all along.

I will continue to seek visions and count on my friends to know everything

I dreamed I was in 1962, in a department store dressing room
w/ Lana Turner,  or someone who said she was, & who told me she had to adjust
her nylon stocking and didn’t mind
if I looked–and I awoke and remembered that year
I had been in a desk behind the cloak room in my
eighth grade English teachers classroom
(who hated me, and whose name I’ve long ago forgotten)
I’d been put there for being a smart ass
& was napping & Joanie & Janet, whom I had known
since they were girls,   came back there, but that year they were no longer girls,
& really did  adjust their stockings & they really  did let me watch,
skirts hiked up & looking athletic &  as they pulled on the
black back seamed nylons on their legs while hitching up garter belts
& I knew at that moment, there was something I had, that wouldn’t go away