Posts for June 20, 2017 (page 3)

the lovers prefer Jamaica, they say
how the bus whisks them from plane
to pool bar cloistered behind gates & guards
not that they’ve been to Puerto Plata
or Isla Mujeres & maybe if they
knew Ixchel, the grandmother goddess
tutelary to midwives & medicine
night rainbow with the upturned jars
they’d choose the island of the ladies
over Jamrock, yet even then their love
of the land of woods & springs has only
the vaguest to do with gold & pirates
& then only if poured over ice
& blended with sour lime & sweet berries

my doxology is toxicology:

my early morning hymn in response to the exquisite vocal calls of orioles sounds like an old norse god nursing a toothache and my noontime grace sung to the goddess of cornucopia is like a cop when you step hard on the sore corn on his left foot…in the afternoon the poisonous hemlock and ragweed fall to the slaughter diety of my mower as promiscuous rabbits and red winged black birds perched in tall timothy flee my wrathful screaming of gloria in excelsis deo then the evening radio tells me tone deafness is a dyslexia caused by defects in the auditory cortex but my high school choral master, father (purple lips) gregory, always said i had too much hair in my ears and to open my mouth like i was singing but “don’t let any sound come out” and i remember as a kid we listened to percy faith and mitch miller on the rca and even sang along to the bouncing ball on tv…my father was a beautiful tenor in church and my gay brother sang and tap danced broadway tunes in bay area shows (at blue licks state park he once got the whole white family reunion to come out of their shelter to watch him perform singing in the rain on a picnic table) and all three of my sisters played piano and had to perform for company on saturday nights…my great hope came when my older brother went to college in ’63 and over the summer brought home a bob dylan record…now here was a musical god who couldn’t sing and i took up his cause like a wild banshee running through the forest with a hard rain’s a-gonna fall and to this day when I’m alone in the garden on a moonless night i can achieve a kind of harmonic self- forgetfulness when I belt out well I see you got your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat           

my dance is a whirling dervish
and can not be domesticated or
kept tight in tired bottles…

i refuse, this day, to exhale
stale expiration dates; dont collar
my breath or bother my shadow

with shackles or the depth of
darkness… the sun sits on
my tongue and when i need you

to see the light then i’ll say
something… and if you catch
a writer by the toe, then

“i think you better let it go…”

there’s no tellin where it’s been.
longevity is such a wasted wish
but if you understand brevity

then wish for a love that runs
on ancient rhythms and gets
extremely high smile mileage.

Slowly.  Try to head us off, give
chase and we’ll evade–weave,
dodge, outrun. Save your energy,
we’re shape-shifters.  

Give us plenty of room.  Consider
yourself an invasion.  Place yourself
where you don’t want us to be. 
We’ll go where you aren’t.  

Quietly.  Without eye contact.
Shout, push, and we panic, thrust
ourselves through woven wire, furrow
our own flesh, or charge through electric
shock, spoiling ourselves for freedom.  

If all fails, bring a bucket of feed
in offering to the sleekest, boldest, Alpha
Ewe. Let her taste and see, hoist
it overhead;  she’ll lead a small stampede.  

Choose the destination carefully—
toward light, shade, new pasture.  Only
move sheep who already trust you, and only
move us where we want to go.

longest day
infused in light
yellow gold
streams over gardens
in windows up streets
everywhere buttery air

Why do you stand there unbuckled,
          do zippers not allow enough room for unfurled glory?
Did you really just snort
          from my abduction of urinal number two?
Will I look down?
Why the grunting,
          does passing any fluid through your dick feel that good,
          or does the exposition bloat your ego?
Only two Philips screws hold the stall up?
Why corn yellow tile and not lemonade…or beer?
More grunting,
          seriously?
When they splattered stucco on the ceiling,
          was it more a light stroke
          or a firm flicking?
Is this thing automatic,
          or will I have to touch the handle
          who touched it last?
More grunting,
          did you and your unit drain a whole keg?
Paper or air,
          which saves more trees, really, from falling in the woods?
Does a stupendous penis really matter
          if no one ever looks
          down?
 

One is luxury
Plucking just one off the rack
Free to select one
No more juggling or growing
more heads or buying more racks

I don’t know what it is 
There’s nothing wrong I can name. 
I just don’t have that unalone feeling 
you’re supposed to have with someone there
What is joining me to my life ? 
When I feel this way I turn on the TV 
I turn to the guide channel 
It’s like experiencing a lot of things,
Small attachments and losses. 
Loses I could maybe prevent,
But definitely won’t do anything about.
I sit and look where she’s looking 
Until I feel alright again 

How can you appreciate being free
If you’ve never been a slave?
How can you know its taste
If you’ve never been chained?
How can you love your life
If its never been lost?
How can you pay that price
When you don’t know the cost?