If it should flow through us like water
(it does),
wetting every cell as it goes,
why not ride this living means to be boundless,
and say goodbye to our hard little pool?
Tag Archives: poetry
How in heaven the old
How in heaven the old appears first
for the sake of recognition –
your gaunt frame and thinning hair,
the soft blue veins on the back of your hand.
We’ll need to be sure.
We’ll have to hear the little cough in your throat first,
before we’ll know we’re there.
Light show, exaltation of bugs and dust
Darting and grabbing
gulping and dying
The big scramble for money
Souls a hardening mess in a crappy little pan
Backyard birds
The slate-colored junco,
the pine siskin,
the dipper, the catbird,
the chukar and starling,
and you and me and our many
winglit warbly ways.
I love being up early
I love making the coffee and thinking of my grandmother.
I love how a kitchen light can be
the only light in the house,
and a clock the only sound.
I used to wake to it.
Now I make it for others.
What the Dutch know (signs in the park)
Don’t let children pee in the water.
Only clean butts in the pool.
Note to self re. purgatory
Don’t leave too much to burn off at the end.
Still ahead: Kirk sleeps with space women
A weightless tango devolves
to a postcoital dreamless state.
Brain stars circle and dust showers collide.
Saint Moonbeam (The alternate-reality, better version
Jerry Brown meets Linda Rondstadt when he’s still in the Jesuit seminary, see. Jerry wants to drop out, but Linda is overwhelmed. She writes “Different Drum” and breaks his heart. Jerry recovers and eventually becomes Pope. Linda realizes (too late) he was the great love of her life. She sings “Long, Long Time” and pines (really pines).
Utrecht Journal 