a better race

I am of a better race-- that cool, water-race
I flow and flow... I never burn
Find a path over anything, and carry much away
as lightly as the dancing oceanspray

See how superior is my formless, glinting face?
Reflecting all, absorbing none-- not one
Break the earth when I fancy, or give breath
to all those slimy monsters poaching time from death

I am of a righter kin-- that distant rushing no-place
I freeze, boil, besiege, linger
Break myself upon you, cursed to be always moving
Find myself within you, trapped, and not-quite-loving

For I am set beyond that humanish disgrace
My essence better than the air, the fire
And holding violence, mercy, truth in smallest measure
I cannot help but live to no man's pleasure.

our mother

our mother
who art on earth
extravagant be thy name
thy laughter be heard
thy peace be attempted
outside us, as it is within us
give us this dark night our untamed feasting
and celebrate us our mistakes
as we celebrate others to bring forth their Selves
and lead us into every adventure
but deliver us from self-righteousness
for thine is the struggle, the surrender, and the mystery
for as long as it should be
indeed.

poemies

poemish
la-dee-la o poemies!
heatsie, warmshie, brewberry
...mumty frolicky
frilicky!
eagerie heartsie
strawberry tartsie--
ah, stockingish sunnieful
poemies!

by proximity

Is there any soul left in there worth digging for?
Eh, spirit? Wake up and tell me!
Is there any passion or perfection worth striving for?
I admit it-- I underestimated the desert…
or overestimated my sherpa's ability to guide me through it.
All the authors and the painters and the songs and the ideas
have shriveled away now.
My mind is quite naked without it all… naked, yet still too hot.
All my gods and their muses, all my feelings and their truth
got pummeled by the mocking sand and unfathomable heat,
yet this desert is unaware of its power. It’s not even trying to kill me—
it just does by accident, by proximity.
To write, in a whisper, takes too much strength
Now I am reaching for the mirages ahead--
Now I reach, and exhale.

tenderness

i can't go another moment
curled under the soil
come, Sun, let us burn each other

the salted morning hurls your blackest dawn
into craters from my roots to the feather
of life stretching upward, a millimeter at a time

something sacred happens there, as the
garden lazes on in bloodthirsty
tenderness
as it always, always has

now all is beginning, and the green is
wet with tremulous foresight
but do not worry, Sun

you will have me in the end.

the answer

can't fight genetics
and i have the genetic code
of three obsidian rocks
twisted together on a
mountain side
during a kite-flying
kind of day

can't fight the math
and i am the subtraction
of distilled water
without the oxygen
can't catch my breath
can't fight my thirst
to gulp the whole ocean

can't fight the language
and i am the interpretation
of all the words that
mean 'why?'
like truest obscurity
i can't find
the answer to myself

i was out

I was out to the horizon last night
For a cool spread of thought at the soul
I rarely get such a nippy thought
with a verge so dull

I was out to the window ledge
Getting ready to step off a gutter
Into the shiny coin of an opinion
Pretending to matter

I was out to the distance this morning
Looking at myself from a bit aways
All stickered with adequate learnings
and worn out with days

like me

oh that breeze
snirking in and swuttering out
little sweet thing
not quite a thing like me

for sure there was a bit of magic
thwicked into a sunflower
and left on my porch
which, recently, has changed smell

oh that shiver
much crusticated and mustified
twitching my nightgown
as if i didn't know my aloneness

i come to think it thirsts, much like i do
against this wretchfull city
toward fragentious lands
and lost sweet lambous things

inked out

the train comes in
a great flutter of birds from an old hollow tree
and I know how it will depart-- a herd of cattle,
leaving the ground pawed and the little mice frightened

i sit on a plastic chair, my bare toes wiggling in impatience
as i watch the black cloaked lady occupy the concrete yard
of the waiting place, every inch of her inked out
every inch of her, my opposite

the train comes in
a bold chorus of yammering dogs in the desert
and I know how it will depart-- a polyester veil
leaving the men hungry and myself, faceless

box

When there was, through no fault of the world, a little sliver of peace
That crept out
And escaped
The people in the forest stopped their drumming and their blanching
And listened

And when there was, on quite a fine day, a tiny crest of stillness
That caught on
And grew fat
The girls in the school shushed their giggles and their lessons
And heard

And after the bitter night came, a pinch of snuffed calm snuck in
sat down
and sprouted roots
We all grew a bit somber to think of such calm, so close
We took heed

And after all those insignificant instances
Of sacred smothered silence
I curled into an old brown box
And frantically wished for your noise.