Eating my days
I'd like to sit down to a feast Of all the day I have lived, See them in solid form, Examine each one by the light, Note their purities and Certain imperfections.
To eat my days Would be an experience Of time that I can digest More sensibly than by Living.
Tasting, consuming, inhaling, Serve as senses more useful For knowing than Being.
Letting my body work to remember Each morsel of who I was On any given day - last week, years ago - Until I've had my fill.
To write a poem
To write a poem I become solemn, Serious and still, Quieting my mind.
Rushing at the door In my head, pleading to enter Are feelings I have never felt And bad metaphors.
I take note of these Showing them through the house And out the back door As quickly as possible, holding my breath For the guest of honor to arrive.
And when she does, As we embrace, I'll say I've missed you and I'm listening. Truth will take my hand, Lead me to the bedroom, saying sweet things, Calming my heart with her touch.
Before we begin I'll have a final glance At my reflection in the mirror. Put my hair in order, Note the clothes I chose.
My lover responds. Without a word of protest, She'll stop removing my clothes, Retreating as quickly as she came.
My face will grow warm And Shame, unannounced, Will break up the party. There will be silence In the house I occupy alone, And a blank page, void of use.
crystal structure analysis
and so a gleaming shape emerges from a set of rules
a terrifying match of fates this is how the story goes
what isn't molten into what is
owed to divine transfiguration out of mythic schema
and so I face myself, go to work break the rock, eat the fruit
this is my promised life
what is forty years to Moses what is modernity to molecules
I saw a dead dog on the side of the road and my breath turned to ice cubes sliding down my throat. further down the road a haphazard sign from its post on a telephone pole aimlessly called out to me, why? I smiled my agreement, having no answer.