Without God

Without God
We are inviable,
Despite prosperity
Or poverty,
As in a cockpit
Each auguring in existence
Has it’s play
On the subjective field
Here for the short term
Gone for the long
Invisible to each other’s
Motives, deepened toward
Craved modality
Day to day
As categories
Each to the other unable really
To name oneself because of
That concern for self
As if we were used to be
Hobos crouching under
An overpass in any
Inner city’s out skirted
Center
Boiling cauldrons of indifference
Missing a presence
& seeing only of past presents
& unabashed voiding of bowels
Under bridges of concept & conceit
As 10 ply tires whine on pavement overhead

We awoke once

We awoke once
on a red dawn solstice
Lavender light
& walked naked
to edge of your
roof garden
as sun’s rays became
another’s midnight
& in a whirl
I saw us descendants
of a beginning incessant motion,
inhabitants on a small sphere
whose turning
lends music
from universe & spring
a little off key &
on the docket
recipients of circles
set in motion, then
figments to one another, now
figures to our heirs &
I didn’t know how
to tell you
before you left for India that
pantheism
is a clever lie.

In this life

In this life
Of mine,
If there is any good
In what I’ve made
Your hand not mine—
Only has shown it fine
Should my sons see this
The fact alone, makes me truly Pater families
This time left unto me
Secretly, leave me
in need of no help
From anyone but You or inkind
That help I could
Give or take from any who
Would accept that same gift from me
Though it comes truly from You

Buffy & Chewla

Buffy & Chewla were neighbors,
Buffy was a perfectly manicured
ankle humping, white toy poodle,
Chewla was a short haired pitbull
Buffy loved his owner but
had no idea what to do w/his sex drive;
Chewla loved her owners but
had no idea what she was bred to do.
every morning in his backyard,
after pissing & shitting,
Buffy would begin yap, yapping
at Chewla through the chain link fence,
every morning Chewla would whine
& stand w/her tail between her legs
neck arched a little & quiver,
shake, & roll her eyes back
to the house, then back again to
the beribboned white puff that barked
& pissed & pawed the ground across
the fence with the strong odor
of perfume wafting off its curly dog hair

One morning Buffy, snarling & barking
& barring its tiny teeth, stuck his nose
thru the chain link fence & Chewla
grabbed it in her powerful jaws
& pulled his tiny splitting skull thru
the chain link fence with the rest of his body
& tore it into many white & red pieces
while no one was watching.
the husband of Buffy’s owner was
secretly glad–but knew he’d have
to buy his wife another
little dog.

Chewla’s owners laughed about it,
& the man told the story many times
over his lunch pail & thermos,
but two months after his wife
became pregnant, he took Chewla
into the country & while stroking
her, he gently put a .22 to the back of
her head, pulled the trigger,
& told his wife Chewl’d been run over by a truck.

 

Del Santee’s Irish Uncle

Del Santee’s Irish Uncle
on his mother’s side
was a hit man for the IRA
during the Easter rebellion & beyond
& had to leave for the states
around 1930, give or take
a couple of years,
his specialty having been informers,
& he’d whacked enough of
his traitorous countrymen that by
the time of his departure of
Irish soil it was quite
dangerous for his own
self to walk Dublin’s city
streets in the daytime,
he had followed each assigned
Judas for weeks
until they would eventually
go to confession & then he’d
shoot them on the front steps of the church,
or, very close to the front steps,
having given them a grand
chance at clearing their soul of misdeed
Del and his cousin, fifty years after all of this
took the old man to an Oakland A’s
baseball game, as the former revolutionary
had grown fond of the American game,
& in the bottom of the ninth inning
of a close contest, the elder of the three,
excused himself from his younger charges
& quietly worked his way
into some rows of seats above them & tried
to kill a man, roughly his own age, with an umbrella.
Del said the old man claimed afterward that
“Sure, it was a traitor,”
missed because he’d never gone to confession.
Del said, the old man went to confess
his own sins every day of his life
since he’d left Ireland.

we could walk there

following the path
a small glade opens
into a meadow where
spring fed pond
filled to the edge
of a rock bluff
that forms the brink of
a waterfall and is the headwaters
of a river miles away,
a power of this beginning
that is now rock faced around
the below conifered slope
that holds and slowly drains this
past winters snow melt,
the late summers–wildflowers
out now to bloom bright
starry colors to this
mountain’s summer destiny
found in opened crevice w/moss
& yellow lichened rock, thin air
giving back & away to this summer’s
flash of color,
we could walk there
in this late august,
high on the nights edge
of summer frost

we could walk there
but for the people and schedules
& commitments..
we could walk there
and the late blooming
summer wildflowers will not wait.

Brief description of Creation

love made five animals
rising out of the sea,
first, a colonial creature,
fastened to the rocks, ate what washed
by and showed itself on the lowering of the tide,
second, wore a green cloak, ate of
the sun and covered the earth,
third ate of the second and walked on the
earth indifferently, fourth ate of the third
in an exclusive manner,
the fifth ate of everything.