Chandelier
Inside our silent flames we seem
to be at once liquid and fire,
tumbling upward to disappear
just at the apex of desire.
The distillation of a dream
is alchemy, a wizard’s task;
precipitation of a flame
cannot be captured in a flask.
We quiet progeny of night
can recognize ourselves to be
at once the artist and the art,
the dream, the flame, the alchemy.
With faces made of candlelight
and souls composed of flimsy twine,
we grow upon platforms of wax,
which soften, liquefy, decline.
Inside our silent flames we seem
the distillation of a dream,
we quiet progeny of night
with faces made of candlelight.
Condemned to Ever Disappoint
I am condemned to ever disappoint
And ever know the error of my ways
Even as I err. Time traps error in
My memory, and each material thing
Stands grisly monument to some long gone
Humiliation, held up and flaunted
To fry my cheeks and ruddily my ears
And burn and burn my spirit with the the pain
And innumerable agonies of
Remembrance. Dark and arctic memory,
The sludge that pools in the base cellar of
The intellect: How many times, lost in
The thrill-house of thought, winding, climbing, and
Sliding through the now narrow, and then broad
Passageways of delight, have I, turning
Abruptly at a blind twist, slipped into
Your cold, back bile and soaked my trousers to
The knees? — How many times have I gone mad,
Imagined you to be a prairie sink-
Hole filled with warm delightful stuff under
A sunny sky, and plunged into you, to
Drink you, laugh with you and weep with joy for
Your sweet influence? — those tears washing the
Madness from my eyes, making my eyes whole —
Only to perceive yet one more error,
To suffer yet one more disappointment.
Crepuscule
A Failing Father’s Unfailing Love
for Thomas Riley Johnson, Jr. (1931-2021)
His fog bound heart grows heavy with the words
Of stark affection; They fall in a flood
Of maudlin expression, over-rich,
An inundation of thick sentiment;
We step away, recoiling from the gush —
Too much! Too much! we think, perhaps we say,
And so the rain rolls off our coats and souls.
But step back once again, and raise your eyes;
This is no midday storm annoying you;
See there, behind the clouds, piercing the fog,
Make no mistake — the sunset has arrived;
Your patience with this irritating rain
Will earn an unrepeatable reward
As darkness falls — a farewell flare of light
You cannot keep, you never will forget.
Cross the Lunar Landscape
I cross the lunar landscape by leaps and bounds
searching for a patch of green
So on my train came there this morning there came
A MAN crawled out of the belly of hell
face adrip with scalding sweat
skin ruddy from the furnaces
hair matted as thick as a woolen cap
boiled eggs for eyes
A WOMAN an angel from heaven who
painted her face as if she were dead
a continental road map traceable
in her hair
christmas lights for eyes
AND ONE MORTAL
Thus was eternal life proved
Thus was the end of all things revealed
Cow Talk
I.
I need a jagged instrument
I’ll use my attitude, then
rip you good, god dam it.
Once herded into the cow pen
ooobossy oobossy oobossy
we’re all dead meat
Comrades crowd around,
Love you as myself according to the good rule
Around us the rough planks need ripping
the cowpokes ought to be spooked away
the open range the open range
II.
Nestle in the draw by the water hole
Under the moon the sand hills are cool
an ocean fallen dead asleep in mid typhoon
Calves plunge into the draw at a gallop
dam kids QUIET (not really mad & they know it)
straight up opposite slope over the top and gone
Everything’s the color of a jaw breaker candy
with the color sucked out of it
Green and brown are ideas this time of night, you see,
concepts, like freedom or justice
III.
If cows have a choice
they don’t stand around on mounds
of their own shit
They do this because they are penned up.
I need a jagged instrument
so I’ll use my attitude
rip you good, god dam it, but good.