One Hollow Midnight, Soon

https://youtu.be/J_oLNgxuuaM

.

Existence only can begin

whatever moment I decide

to render it the magnanimity

of lending it my notice.

.

My decisions are what bring

me a proximity to ne plus ultra

truths which will libidinously

cuddle with the ruling culture

.

of my nature. If I blink and think

of it, it’s there. Having seen its

what- and whereness gives me

all the loosy goosy juice I need

.

to glide and dive down like a dove

or vulture on another loopy ride

to such appealing solipsistic

symbols of some sanctity as are

.

supposed in whispers to reside,

or to lurch, in a lotus or a church.

Peace, I hear, is what I ought to

seek and advertise. Not the bold,

.

cold, outsized full abandon that

I prize, and am determined

I will have the balls, one hollow

midnight very soon, to realize.

.

Still, dreams can

be stillbirths,

you won’t always

come out alive.

.

Secret View

https://youtu.be/raw4FHueeWY

.

Lately, straining to be decorous,

my colored pens and pencils

have begun again to crave a thin

containing outline of the kind their

blunted dried-up forebears used

.

to wrap around much simpler

shapes and creatures years ago.

Drawings cleaving to a limpid flow

were thought more tasteful then,

as who could say they weren’t?

.

Then in the middle of their restless

disbelieving strategizing heart

was bred collectively an ideological

deterrent to confining line, which

caused each sketch of scapula

.

and spine and clavicle and radius

and humerus and pelvis to contract

artistic osteoporosis which induced

their melt-down to a destiny which

made the formless stuff unsellable.

.

Be done with the amorphous!

Why pretend to hold what once

was told untellable? Crisp indelible

exactitude is now the cure they’re

very sure they must pursue.

.

That’s what, directing my slave

hands to hold them hovering above

the vacant sheet below, my colored

pens and pencils then went down

to do. Detail the secret view.

.

Sycamore Trees Poem

A spectacle, those
Sycamore trees!
Septembering sexily
into a breeze,
.
beckoning me on
East Second Street,
hectoring me
to follow their beat!
.

A Completely Irresponsible Poem

https://youtu.be/oz8hK39Flk8

.

Anna O let go from the bursting seams

of the vault of her dreams the first

tendrils and streams of the onset of what

German doctors had by 1880 long

weightily labeled hysteria. Studying

.

instances of the eruptive gestalt of

the ill-passioned heart and irrational

mind of one Fräulein Bertha Pappenheim,

Breuer and Freud believed they were making

their very first leap to and into the Void,

.

the vast nasty realm of Unknowing: they’d

opened the lid to the id. But what was

all that but a big fart of empty abstraction?

Freud called it Unconscious, which wasn’t

much help. By now Bertha Pappenheim was

.

Anna O in case history abstracts. First feeling

depleted, annoyed and defeated – eventually

she felt fine. Freud and Breuer and she

must have felt they had done something

interesting and very likely they had. Anna O

.

slept in books while Bertha went on as

a woman of no special consequence. But

I think the show Anna O would put on for her

Breuer and Freud – her twitches, her fairy

tale ramblings, her screeching unreasonably

.

in the street, her yowling at night or at noon,

her fractured recital of poems she wrote

on the spot which remarked in a boom

and a bark how she’d never agree to take

part or to play any creature remotely like

.

Bertha was – meant Anna O was a “me”.

Bertha Pappenheim seemed to lack any

gestalt Anna O would bestow on a flea.

But all that lies dead and unread in a book

at which fewer and fewer of us ever look.

.