Except What You Provide

You want to call him Merlin, maybe,

or imagine him as some phantasm

from another fairy tale – you’re caught,

perhaps, by a disarming light in his hat’s

creature’s eyes – rather too alive

for a chapeau. Then you let go: give up

the notion that there’s anything to know.

Except what you provide. Maybe that

is always what gives meaning to the ride.








.

A Very Good Friend

Riding an animate carriage

which offers a marriage

between the mechanics

of transport and sweet happy sentience,

he makes his way through to an end.

A head with a seat and four feet

make a very good friend.









.

Like You, My Dear, and Me

Some friends you wear.

Some friends wear you.

Some friends wear you out.

And others do all three.
Like you, my dear, and me.

.

The Heir to Everything

Riding through the warm and greeny air

the Heir to Everything regards

the imminence of Spring

as too conventional to bear –

surely he can conjure up

a rarer mission for the year than March:

something with more punch and starch –

a sharpness of division, split as if by a harpoon

into a mad excess of sultry midnight, frigid noon:

full of the ignoble forming

of conditions human beings

will insist on calling global warming.

.

Around the Yucatan

Two abrupt eruptions

ineluctably broke ground,

encamped and gallivanted

all around the Yucatan today.

They’re evidently there to stay.












.

Night Wouldn’t Say

Florid swatches and large shards of pretty people

fixed your dreams as if to stained glass windows in a steeple

all night long last night, last night when night had longed

through you for consummation. But of what? Night wouldn’t say.

It simply wouldn’t let these florid swatches

and large shards of pretty people go away.










.

How's It Hanging?

“I have done one braver thing

  Then all the Worthies did,

Yet a braver thence doth spring

  Which is, to keepe it hid.”

John Donne, from “The Undertaking”

How’s It Hanging?

I'm not a nature boy,

I'm a city boy.

But I'm not a city boy,

I'm a metaphysical poet.

Except, I'm not a poet,

I'm an animal. Well,

less an animal

than a big bang.

That’s how I hang.

.

We Like Our Friends

We like our friends

for all their sassy assonances

with what we imagine is akin to us.

We like them for their mysteries

that we can’t plumb.

We like to talk with them

vociferously but we don’t mind

when they strike us dumb.








.

Beelzebub’s Unwell

Beelzebub feels lost.

His system’s down, its wires crossed:

obscuring how to get to sin

which can’t be found without, within.

There’s no more shame in strife.

All he can find is life.

Which makes him feel unwell.

There may not be a hell.









.

The Only Thing They Had to Do

Had life depended on their understanding anything today

we’d all be dead. Lovely that the only thing they had to do

was go to bed.











.

Incontrovertibly

Just now,

as you blinked twice,

you discovered there’s no time.

What there is, instead –

incontrovertibly –

is rhyme.











.

Mutable Flesh!

Mutable flesh!

Immutably fresh –

relentlessly shape-shifting on

to a dawn and a dawn and a dawn –

ever courting the brink of new light –

and forever refuting the night.










.

The Ladies Who Know

Talk to the ladies

who know.

Anna-Maria

and Flo.










.

Sometimes the Best Thing to Do

Sometimes the best thing to do

is to hire a creature to fly you.

Ride through the lavender night

and let heaven supply you.












.

Fine and Fit

Strange to sit there fine and fit,

and start to watch the end of it –

to see the might of energy

concede the fight to entropy.










.

As Soon As We Had Started To Exist

Just as soon as we had started to exist,

Existence took a twist

and stopped us cold.

It seems we’ll be like this until we’re old.

.

Breathe With It

First you'll seethe with it.
Then you'll breathe with it.

.

The Answer

“The answer is always yes.”

“Did you say sex?”

“Yes.”









.

Whatever He’d Believed

He hadn’t seen it until just this very minute –

but now he’s seen it and there’s nothing to be done.

It’s like whatever he’d believed had just been shot out of a gun.






.

Looking

When we think of heaven,

why do we look up?

When we think of hell,

why do we look down?

There isn’t any down or up.

We’re only ever looking out.

Which is also looking in.

Either, any, every way we win.

.

When We’re Ready

I’ll take you under my wing, my dear,

I’ll take you under my wing –

we’ll swing on a swing

with the babbling king

and return when we’re ready to sing, my dear,

return when we’re ready to sing.










.

What Reads as Confidence in Us

We’re comfortable breathing forms,

warming to our reflexes like friends:

nothing isn’t conscious, unconsidered –

nothing generously lends itself

to everything. Autonomic functions sing –

pumping heart and coursing blood

are full of choice – what we had thought

was mute turns out to have a voice.

Existence’ flood is sentient with intention:

held in its suspension, we proceed.

What reads as confidence in us

is that we’ve ceased to need.









.

Knowing Nothing

Looking back

at all that’s gone.

All that you’d

depended on.

Knowing nothing

about this.

What next

will you miss?








.

Her Private Parts

 Today the Soul

became a giant yellow lady and

the Body morphed into a several-headed spinning top.

The lady held the top up by the feat of spinning it

around her private parts so that

it wouldn’t drop.

.

Facing It Together

 

Facing it together.

No matter what,

or if, or whether.

.

Today’s the Day

Today’s the day

to roundelay around

the pounds and ounces

of your joyfulness.

Toy with it and pull it –

make a mess.










.

Some Volupté

Today, it’s true,

you felt so good

there were no words

you knew that could

remotely have

described you.

Some volupté

imbibed you.







.