Celebrating the Blackout

*********************
The Empty Vessel Forgets


Whenever I don't remember I
always assume I was only
so absorbed in some present
moment that nothing was recorded.

Imagine the enthusiasm
I must emit if found
in this fit of overflowing
existential reverie!

Others ought not take offense when
I forget everything that happened
because I was probably participating
just in some other state at the time.

Still I see your concern
at my absence and under-
stand how you must ask
Is that amnesia?

Well life is simple when innocent
of information one ought to know
but momentarily misplaced
in the vault of varied consciousness.



March 2008

Self-Deprication

The Young Writer

Writes of death, desperately
seeking to be deep; he reaches
for the endless resonance he finds
within binds softly bent, spines doubled back
depicting that which he craves to re create.

Sensing words to be immortal,
this newborn imagines mortality;
wondering what that must be
like, he consoles those elderly
fellows who, waiting to die, know

so much about life
that no longer applies.

The Shape Shifter

-----------------

Ease in anonymity,
Status of a drifter.
You must understand;
I am a shape shifter.

Living off of leftovers,
Scrounging how to Be.
Living light enough to travel,
It ain’t easy bein’ free.

Found the old-fashioned way,
Faith straightens tight my spine.
Saunter fearless now and here,
BodyMind in rhythm and in rhyme.

Roach Trap

* * * *

I caught a cockroach with a cup.
There was nothing to crush him with easily at hand,
so I trapped him in a glass.
He tested the perimeter,
sporadic, lunging jumps,
while I found a wooden lacrosse stick - a bottle-cap attached to the bottom.

Can one cultivate compassion for an exploded cockroach?

God Light

* * * *

The filtering light made the room seem smokey.
The fan spun slow over head - the ceiling shifted on rotating shadow beams.
The blinds failed to block the day.
It was the eerie light that slips down through a forest canopy, or
dives through gaps in the cloudcover.
You called it God Light.
There were prisms in the air, but I was alone.

Reality broke back there.
We’re definitely going back where we came from.

I have thirst.
Tube of Life.

My hands are thick and hairy.
My feet are crafted clubs.
My knickers never get dirty,
Ornamented in this Terrapin patch.


Bucolic. (byoo-call-lick)
Remember when we were walking,
And the sound of our steps fell in time.
Sampling the strolling sound scape,
We started touching and tapping.
Energy both yours and mine.
That’s Natural rhythm.
Easy as it comes, easy as it goes.
Casually tap into the effervescent energy in the rhythm in the
deepest neonforest.


Constantly contacting condescending constituents,
crooks, cramming coerced, convoluted concepts,
conveniently condoned, and conditional upon one’s candid-acy.
Coming completely out of nowhere.



Murky Love,
Live from Mercury.
The mercurial dove dove off a monkeys back; hide.

Makin’ dreams come true
Is all we ever do.