....From The Tree Of........................Isolation & Thought
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_______________________________________________________ the weight of words like catholic with broken knee I cannot crack my soul to open fully. there's something will not bend, my tongue moves pushing stones beyond my lips the hardness of the words are weights dropped off plopped at my feet to step on or to trip me up like God dropped stones on Moses when it happened back in Egypt time, the Israelites they frisked no more, no more cute baby otters in their shining lake of grace just like myself here now so suddenly naked, mute, unable to break this holy seal of silence Inured It's simply this: despite the words that trail as soft as willows on my skin, they are the cloud shapes changing, trailing bloody entrails like the trunks hung down from funnel clouds before they take the house. Necessary Measures There are things though not ended, must be lidded shut. Moss will grow velvety over and even bees will buzz their yel low mustard honey by and by. Comely things in good time yet will show this was important to be struggled through, like wind gone out of lung, and only halfway up the hill you feel a prescient lif- and know you've stepped back into breath while life's climbed back inside your solid pocket- baying like a dog who's day it is. Paradox Finally the door is opened far enough for something to fly through, get away- and the oddest thing is that the flight occurred by slamming it first; the only thing left to say, is thank you. The Last Snap Addictions in my life have been the same: the shaking desper ation for the thing denied- then, just as though a cool and silken cloth had dropped and caul-like, draped down over me, I'm delivered of it. Patterns can be broken; there is manna falls from heaven and the best, most secret gift in all the world is just two letters spelling no. Every morning, first a "yes", to let the day in, then say no. A Separate Room: The Illuminator's Life Separate cells diligence working se-par-ate, crooning to the inmates saying this is pure; keep the colors definite, don't bleed beyond the lines- we'll have an undiluted true ness here the cleaving off is what it's come to water, maybe tears have run the other ones. Keep this enclave safe. Do Not Go Gentle Writing any thought that pops into my head I'm trafficked flat; hot and tossed about, almost fed my fingers, sans the tips, already gone into the company paper shredder mouth. Eighty eight is much too caliente for mid April; makes me feral. Eat a cool string cheeze or two and maybe a jelly doughnut for my nerves- stretch out without a stitch and read and drift and sleep until this horseshit gallops up rambunctious, all asnort come morning when the rodeo starts again- give me the mean one; I want something I can kick. Sail Away The land fades away. The boat, this ship of life drifts with currents I've created but can't control. The heron on the shoreline look like angels; white, long-legged seraphs who walk through fog on feet that disappear. I can relate. My feet have not touched anything like ground for quite some time. I cannot turn the current, but I can float above it. All that I need do is just release, come free, unfetter and go high above whatever it is down there, doing what it does to lock me starving in one place. Child's Play Let us begin by making statements: bits of personal minutia to help others along the path right to our door. Drop leavened crumbs and buttercups, small things, bright or edible to make an inviting band of where to go. Peek inside the window at who is typing there, and with a diligence to be admired. But I, for one, have lied my whole life long and done it well. What's that you say- no, no, that's not the way to curry favor, child. We're all the most outrageous liars, I crow- and what is more, we make it up as we go along; ask me something. Anything. Alright, then: Do you love me? Well everyone asks that! and no, of course not, I sang laughing, lying, skipping all the way. Bone Walker Take a knife and shave off all my flesh. I want to walk bone only through the world, knowing my connections one segment to the next. Nothing hidden, ridden in softness that can lie. I want to stand white upright, easy to see coming with definite step that rattles all the way. Not to be mistaken for anything else. On To Page 27 .............. Return To Contents This site sponsered by 
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