Sorrow Moans Everything
Hands Inside
of Night
Go down in jeopardy
Years Only Use so Much up of you
I Glide in Hell
Take Liberties with Killers and electrocute
methane
indulge senses
never give in
yell at onions
under lawnmowers
inside gravities pull
hold the listener know
each molecule is mine
in some strange way
—
obliged to shave
occupied
by shallow
demure woman
on graves stones
noble children Lords–
I yearn for you
like lilacs yearn for spring
ill tense
broken
a never yielding wisdom
saying yield no further
watch rainbows in the clouds
talk to the woods when you walk in them
herds of buffalo ran here
I can touch the wind
the rite of Spring
thick elemental reality familiar to few
you who are you?
Where do you fit in?
another aimless moment
nothing descends
nothing arises
All is boredom
all is not what it seems to be
hidden in garages dusty and rusty
in up state new york
recall of a former time
another day a remembrance
of things past a glimpse
of what was
reformed
in regions of the soul
and gather oneself
prepare oneself for death
but friends-
do not enter here
on actuality
a woman clean the floor
on her hands and knees
you are alone
given only a brief taste
of what life can become
besides us there is no one
to tell our story to
a silent veil covers us
we do not know
what birth means.
the zen like
all quickened
like shining silver
reflect the mystery of starlight
soon it all will pass
no one will remember
after the storms of existence
hike with our mother
in Binghamton New York
on a dirt road
near the a Chenago river
or a small animal
solitary moments–
fall off of us
like night falls off of day
in clouds and waves of muted light
places
we do not visit
within us
descending
ladders against old barns
in the dust of April
each one lives his own heaven
her own hell
they are not places
or locations but states of mind
thrown on a canvas
fucked from the womb
we hate the very thing we need
we hate what we love
and it sometimes
is hard to unravel
why we push away
what we most seek
become the simple
the significant
the only relevance
the point of it all
without us
there is no world
of selves
out voted
commanded by fate and logic
to connect the mixed messages
worse deeds have never been done
the terse tyrant an heir apparent
a page ripped out of Lives Book
a sinner that is the only hope
an existence
who is there to pity we
who are the last
philosophies abound
that we can not live
we assemble
we try to put together
the soul that has gone on
automatic
you can see
what one could
A Tour de Force Stevie, bravo. Love Lisa