I.
Out in the wilderness, you & I
on silent stubbled open fields
edges of woods in all directions
deciduous, stands of white birch
catch eyes, caws of crow, grackle,
slow-gliding hawk, flutter of grouse
or pheasant sudden in chill wind
bangs like fists on red ears
cuffs of ski hats pulled down
padded parkas zipped to lowered chins
white breath like smoke from a pipe
we may imagine words that take
familiar shapes like train cars
from lips that now are vast holes
in hills drilled & excavated
stone & earth, amount of work required
requires arithmetic, capacious faculty
to apprehend magnitude, whistle, shriek
lights electric motion power forward
flattens pennies, nickels, balanced on rails
in childhood arms outward watching shoes
cautious on silver metal onward
around the bend, around the mountain
forever parallel lines go forward
never meet & never end & each board
along the track a start, again, a new
first step after the last thousand steps
until we get to the wooden town's
silent houses' casement windows,
white-painted, flaked, curved fine gray
of Irish lace in corners, sills dusted
twice per annum, curtains tied apart
no faces at the glass reflecting eyes,
staring at housefronts, gaspumps long
out of order, we in flannel get cigarettes
or licorice among cans with dusty tops
shadows, cats slowed in the yellow yawn
of time stretched in light like lemon
outside the telephone booth
its hanging book of endless names
no-one speaks, cold bluster of wind; we close
the folding glass door to warm
in the narrow stillness, here we smoke
a Tarryton Newport Pall Mall
or Winston, fine white of new paper
burning & white smoke then cherry
red, kick at the back of the throat
best felt with a full moon hung in bare
branches Northeast USA Southeast NY
winter woods, with tapped keg, a six
chilled in frigid stream water, gloved
hands nervous among mittened girls
who didn't go out for cheerleader, Iron
Maiden tees, badly blued made-up eyes
surprising breasts discovered with cold
hands finding areolae beneath stars
among quiet deer whose heads lifted
in open grass under the viaduct, cornfields
vast across acres in early spring now
remember the first robins or do you
more soft sucking mud by shallow creeks
yellowjackets, japanese beatles green
like flies like clover under the hickory tree
we searched for four leaves over the hill
the open fields and one afternoon cows
from the neighboring farm out walking
dogs yapping behind fences later on
toast with honey in the sunlit kitchen
talk over a newspaper parents gone
visiting then down the dank basement
grokking heavy oily machines
Yessongs dribbling tinny, a radio
cassette player alto voices sang
of far planets, strange amphibious craft
in pale blue oceans, floating islands
in the corner the good dog elderly
daintily took bites from gentle hands
Reagan in the folded paper you spoke
of Mayflower blood at the joining of two
country roads a small church years past
a schoolhouse, at the corner of the eye
the iron trestle stretching inexorably
across green & brown rolling acres
and farther westward the water tower
gleaming in sunset, toward its gray
metal let us head out as we did not then
this time and rather than reach into
wells of memory to cull images
create a new world & walk through it
you and I; come, before the night falls
II.
Frisbee best if level, a line spinning
floating white, yellow or green,
plastic, thrown, consider the eye
& accuracy, across distance
consider deftness of hands lifted
alert & motion stopped, object retards
object, subject speaks to subject
also an object, consider sun &
magnitude, then attempt multitude
consider distance so, so distant
there is no understanding
we must make do with symbols
summaries, ideas, & impressions
only think of this as in infancy
against colossal truth we can not
countenance but timid, astonished
cry for joy, for place, for this, this
habitat, you are eternal, consider
God, close your eyes, the room dark
no moon, no starlight, no sound,
but space in front of you
(Shakti the field & me the knower
of the field, what will we make there
silently think & wait, all darkness
is pregnant, O Mary, O before the before
the begin my Lord i love You close
eyes furled like petals red purple
glad closed awaiting You, the heart
thumps, knocks in her bone cage O
Lord i love You the lips move am I
the mover ? the tongue moves up to
palate, lower lip & bottom teeth
touch to pronounce Love silently
the word Love the Word my Lord)
but that was me I cannot write
touch or speak for you, good friend
who typed Spinoza beautiful across
3 thousand miles Nature God God
Nature, yes, but there is more, more! I
see him, his face, his soup, his pipe
alone & happiest man on earth, Christ's
best gospel in patient benevolence
finest, best teacher, no, 2nd best, Christ's
left tenant, no, next, subsequent,
think hierarchy, clarify authority: GOD
then downward, not turtles all the way
no elephants, no infinite regress, no
endless reduction reducing to still more
reduction, no, not such nonsense, not
that godless absurdity, but cosmos: as in
order lawful with perfect balance re
: harmony & melody, simultaneous
& linear top to bottom & all around O
see: zero & all, naught & aught, equations,
relations, angles & angels no & yes, yes
III.
He said you said Reynolds had said
my poem about a tree you drew in pencil
could not speak of that tree, and there
were worlds in dewdrops, I showed him
under the grass blade inside a drop
of dew a lighthouse & a stretch of shoal
a slight declension narrow to the white
surf, soft pushes upward then back again
a sleeve of salt continue forward, come
along, Omeros has come now, he said lace
like lace the white roll of the waves
not Omeros but Walcott nobody no-one
go fuck with his poetry again & either
he is a man or a nation O Maria
Concepcion I've no right to this tongue
quiet now ahora my wife my imthe
Soyla soy la I am the Will I am iamb
two feet second son second William
born July second, older brother Kurt
born 1 July the year before alpha beta
shorter, plain & dull, thus, poetry:
to live by proxy, by estimation,
to see, experience, with eyes closed
moving in silently out of sight
not my words those, but Waters',
water: a pond or puddle a splash on
linoleum, sink counter level, Waters
as well my mother's mother's maiden
name, and so return to the lighthouse
in that globe of morning water, micro
world under a curved blade of grass
in the spiral notebook, high school
study hall first period cafeteria, older
women with hairnets, old maids, old
retired wives weathered hands in plastic
gloves, eyes of no color, no beauty, no
beauty's echo or at least no memory
only the startling fulminant dark eyed
beauty of girls at other tables, flash
of contact, tiny flashes, evanecent black
pupils under lashes in umber in egg
white, find me here, I am here, too
I breathe the air that made those words
you spoke there beyond my hearing
words you found inside and said were
in my ear and mouth before, or after
IV.
Four, for, for all of us, ancient & new
of the matrix, mother, madre, O Mary
thee, before the before, to suckle God
to be place, to be the field, for the only
thing I know is, i know nothing, am one
in a void, a part, an attribute, a mode
to be and return, living life nothing less
than that desire, to become & belong
at rest, eternal, to unclasp at the wrist
& the neck, the signals of property I
belong to You only & You alone, Lord
if You leave me & fly nonetheless I am
Yours, hear me speak in the dark that
they can not touch me, fillip of a finger
they run afraid to the four corners
assemble & clawed hang in impotence
in the dark where with closed eyes I
dream & wander anointed & saved
and ask how can I take from You
a portion of agony, a splinter, a fire
in a nerve, for You, & complain in ease
with freedom of movement, limber
of limb & thought extended outward
I asked for a vision of You and once
it came, I, stricken with fear, a dead man
withering, crooked over my straight body
and green of decay, wind, desolate
gone as quick as it came but stamped
eternal, be cautious God said, be afraid
you cannot feel but only wonder & pray
nor see nor know but by parable, myth
& magic to open the blind eye & turn
inward for all darkness is pregnant
even in death the dark's capitol, fecund
womb & nursery of dreams, Reynolds
will you walk with me in these caves
and hear the patter of deep waters
come, I said, like blind fish let us fathom
with black scales, the first fathers, far
behind & also far, far forward, how
however to explain this, Benedictus
my beloved & benevolent master my
teacher, I believe this: Our Father drew me
to you, Baruch, my beloved, & is at this
moment drawing & in ancient epochs
did also, I have one tongue, one only
my master, my place, my peace is here
is always, eternal, a promise, a valley
V.
5 for five, iiiii, V, Keats said this living
hand, O to have taken his gentle hand
& at Hampstead Heath to have gambold
where I have not gone, whence he went
before me always, before, they go before
& die, the five fathers, William & Samuel
Percy, John, & George, but no, go back
get William, who had in his garden
Pentecost, & blessing & angels, a good
wife, & England's green & pleasant land
O give me my arrows, he calld for his
bowl and his fiddlers & spear, to shake
the mountains & valleys of desire, halves
of ten, these bunches of five, & thumbs
opposable, great fortune, fortunate hands
now build, now make, like your Father
you cannot create, yet you can make, so
make, and you made well, your tools
to make & fix, to build, and persevere
with flint & fire, with stone, iron & heat
& sweat, force of sinew, muscle, bone
men, men, who with club, blade & fist
pummeld, with power, forward, outward
hoe & shovel, ox & horse, in husbandry
these men & husbands, on acres wet &
wild and fecund, sun & moon - mantled
broad shoulderd, Adam bearded black &
brown and gold, & barrell chested, brave
& stalwart, hie thee, hie thee, June or Ivy
Irene & Ellen, now milkwhite, snowwhite
tender other, Reynolds, come, go round
the maypole, here are fickle freckled
faces, breasts flint-tipped, or embonpoint
red knees, red faces, cherry ripe, cry cherry
ripe, sing heigh, hey ho the berry O
behind or under the greenwood tree
for five is fifty is jubilee, & Mr Brewster
is crossing the sea & William & Mary
In deep wood now, & deep dark russet
clusterd, leavd & rich earth, fertile
the forest, the moss, the moving water
gray green stones & purling stream, white
like pearl, can you see the girl by the water
come! can you, a finger, her finger's
reflection, & straight and pointing, a point
made (from the mouths of babes) the whole
point, truth, purpose, intent & meaning
VI.
Six of one, half dozen the other, half
a league, half an inch, onward, me &
Reynolds in windy furrows, hard snow
driven in muddy ridges, by the lone tree
where stone walls joined, farmer's land
we turn up our collars & tuck away
the flask drained of its crimson wonder
& wander in other havens & kingdoms
tincast knights without Rocinantes, sans
Sanchos or saddles, but pins & needles
of enterprise in mirky sunlight, poet
& painter in wreaths of gray that swirld
& vanished by deadfalls, among scant
leaved birch whose white wood pealed
that leaned & slanted like haughty girls
when all the world was a whisper, when air
was a sigh with sibillant secrets & seethed
far from our diffident ears, when trees
held Dryads & Pan was Lord of the Woode
& satyrs found rounded, wet, red mouths
& slippery hands among hedgerows, tongues
aflutter like butterflies, moths, then life
was a rife & daylong midnight, made right
for poets whose au pair hands made dainty
& milky bland love in rimes no-one noticed
& silky sweet oaths, who pitched langorous
woo along level blue lines in notebooks
scarred in their heads at each failure, each
halfassed suit, flunked, botched, not made
can you see them, Reynolds, can you see
me ? who was not made for sportive tricks
nor to court the etcetera, curved spine &
bad skin, the other one, leftover, yes, from
the left, sinister, sawed-off & runty, big
nosed shifty-eyed, one in the middle there
can you, and is it really alright & okay
as they say, alright but my eye is what I
say, come, look in this is my mirror, how
can I tell you that, what I see is not what
you see, there on the picture of me, & that
what I see is abhorrent & foreign, exotic
alien, gray complected, morose & ancient
choppers in halves & pieces in front
jagged, ruined portcullis no castle for
kisses, wait ! who is the monster to whom
is tendered a trinket for passage, yes,
a basilisk, yes, I see it squat & in color
pied, a bit toady, come, Reynolds, give me
a grand & dragonny beastie, w/ gator's
mouth, reptilian, chameleon, no, no
nor shapeshifting changeling, nothing
transcendent, and, yet, preternaturally
compelling, complex, make its name
start with X or end with an X, or an ex
as in Tyrannosaurus Rex, or brekekekex
& shall we wing him then ? make him make
chevrons, or ems, in the sky as he flies
or forget him, & cast your flame blue
eyes on the roundedness around us as
we weave among lasses of lower classes
paid to make passes at men w/ glasses &
boddices plumpt, good cracks & creases
for sex, like sexton (Anne), sestet: six
lines, la volta, the turning, the turning
point, the point being GOD, Julian of
Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, yes
yes, i love You Lord, i love You, i love my
Lord Jesus Christ, my King, my Lord, i
love You, i love You, & all manner of things
shall be well, yes yes yes yes yes yes
VII.
I have never taken to sucking stones, no
but if I were to suck stones I would keep
one in the pocket & one in the mouth
& so heading out this time from the sea's
edge. Stop. here and wait for Reynolds
whose hand to forehead like a visor cuts
the cloud-filtered light as into the sky
lady Liberty's flame is held extinguishd
and she to the midden truncated, lost &
looking out to sea where the sweep of oars
was a vague impression & galleys cleavd
salt, white, to a thunderous beat of some
brute with a helmet among lashed men as if
keeping time, and divers pictures stored &
categorized in each of the hemispheres where
our present number, stood back against its
subsequent which, tipped on its side, is
infinity, are you holding up, you are, but
why bother ? because I insist, you come along
I said, because, there is intent, and we do
sludge forward & the meaning is coming &
is present, for those who choose to see it,
who have buried the body of the old man
and walk in a new body, by Christ anointed
I do understand, it is difficult, & at times
absurd, infants born, joined at the skull
balks at design, & cries no at the idea of order
slaughter of innocents, naked, babes in arms
barefoot at edges of mass graves, demons
with pistols black, forged in the stink of
Hell's machinery, abaddon, gehenna, where
I'll walk, or crawl, blind, cold & bleed
if there is balance or justice, Christ my
jailor, my filthy fingers nails claw His hem
& wail, recall my comforts, & smell
His blood, starving, freezing & burning,
deaf, tongueless, yattering, caterwauling
Christ, my Piper, come along willy, come
& you too, you, my other, who over my
shoulder & down my arm watches, instructs
& educates, dictates, there are, how many
seven continents, how many Romans ? No
how many seas, seven w/ extra point
a child I squirmed and, Mercury heeled, sped
adown the greensward accruing distance
closing in, and snagged the spiralling pigskin
screamed in my blinded phobic panic
pulling the jersey over my head & numberd
stood & mugged at the ancient camera
that first innacurate, awkward moment
VIII.
Henry, my father's middle name, & Henry
Miller's Tropic of Cancer, cathartic to my
wambles in prose, never did find Capricorn
my father's sign, mine Cancer, moonchild
all a bunch of bollocks anyway, so he said
though her sister wrote my chart, which was
false all the way through, & Byron's octaves
in the second bathroom, I write the words
& you the meaning, and if you don't like it
forget it, it's easy, you make of the book a
tent and catch mice inside & it's in the john
you can wipe your ass with it, I could have
said arse, after Beckett, who goes nowhere
and gives you nothing: a lunatic with a
hard-on for a boy, wandering in the woodes
planets now that Pluto has been forgotten
relegated to outer space, among comets, &
nothing, albeit if it is cold, it is not nothing
and if it takes time to get through it, then
again, that is a term without a referent, like
this poem that refers to nothing and wastes
your time, and your eye, which could be
among daffodils, or in Plato's cave where
or elsewhere, any cave, or Salisbury, or
Egypt among ornate graves, and colossal
markers, runways for the surprise of the
sky-children, come, Reynolds, back to
another place, and this time, you go first &
I will follow, sun is high, yet, and the ground
holds treasure, piece of eight, and in four hrs
midnight, go on, I haven't forgotten you
take to the water, the open grave of brave
men, whaleroad, the wine-dark sea, O
drowning now in the violent storm, below
white flecked froth, out of the sea-wind,
further down to black & crooked backed
Leviathan, small among mind's monstrous
gigantic creatures, aswim in the miles below
prows that split the ocean's back, her breast
bare against the cold foam, name her, I do
not know, name her, I do not know her name
Did he say it, no, did he say where, no, did he
say it, no. Nevermind, let's not go that way,
but keep forward, onward, Reynolds, the day
is over and darkness, out of the pitch of the sea
now to Pavilions of Eden, & Tudor horsemen's
trumpets, blaring of horns & clarinets, lutes
with white fingers, and lace at the wristbones
knuckle before the forearm, gold down on the
upper portion, hidden, crack of the breasts,
and lower creases, one only has to make use
of the eye that never closes, howbeit it blinks
in sleep, where God makes lanternslides on
the eyelids, you have to pay attention & they
will appear, do not doubt, do not lose faith,
should you lose your thumbs, you still possess
enough fingers to count, to continue, to pray
IX.
Reynolds & I were in the forest, when all
of a suddenly came upon Rip Van Winkle
& had many things to ask him, & Midway
complaind: I have lost a finger, the smallest
of the left hand, an accident with an ax, no
a hatchet, I remember, for if it were an ax
there would be no trees in New York, where
so many yrs ago, among fallen leaves of many
colors, we fished in creeks and steppd over
stones & with sodden shoes climbd steep
embankments, where trees shot horizontal
& there were bridges where the stream
widend, and worms, with hooks through their
cumberbunds, writhd o'er the sunlit water
for hours on a Saturday, & one of the things
we put to him was: of a game of ninepins
or was it a different tale, I don't think so
in any case, he had no answer, but fell asleep
and we heard, among churchbells & cowbells
stories of Mayflower puritans, and wars
for which purpose did anyone know, the
generals high on their horses, Napoleon
& were scalpings fatal, these fell on deaf
ears anyway, as I mentiond, or was it
Midway, who still does not understand &
which is to stand under, deep in woodes
we walkd, at the very least, on the surface
and awake, safe from the fearsome beasts
of the underworld, all of us with Christ
willingly, and with love will go, meanwhile
Reynolds called on the Muses, whose names
it makes no difference, only to rattle them
by rote, no, for I have forgotten, and would
need to seek them out, to search, but I
won't, you cannot force me to, you cannot
not when my fists are clenched, and red
- knuckled, I make a claim to manhood &
stamp my boot on the earth, erect, a man
with straight spine, wife, & good cooking
at least I could pretend, and make a story
: a man awakens after a dream of twenty yrs
to find himself, not himself, among lights
& pale blue others, from other stars & Sol
a pipsqueak, a spark, a quintillion miles
& there to learn of genuine benevolence
among silent engines & small engines of
silicon ? and what of it, immense gulfs of
space, vast, wide, but if unconscious of
distance, do those spaces exist, perhaps this
is how we cross time, no, not time: space
fold, threading headfirst, a black loophole
eye of a needle, lasso, question mark, arc
or curve, come along Midway, where is
that sly fox, clusters of dogs & horses evil
full bums saddled, bastards, fattend eyesores
on velvety green across acres, hornblowers
live ! O fox & die ye wallowing horsemen
jodhpurd, booted, murdering blackguards
cowards in stirrups, in scarlet for shame, for
raising of buttocks o'er hedges galumphing
gallop, equestrienne, broaden the fantail, fast
on cloppd sod, her sodden fathers & uncles
by hearths, & broken guns, and toddies when
did she say when, no, did you give her the
works, yes, and I have asked myself to switch
off, no, you won't believe me, I understand,
sometimes His longing, His anger, or lack
of patience, because it is hard to believe, to
have faith, even in one's self, let alone in Him
in Whom we wonder, & wait, for an answer
X.
Alright Reynolds, he said, but what if we
went another way, to which Midway, as was
his wont, asseverated, & then I complaind
I said, why not just say agreed, why make a
mess of it, a mistake, but they were now two
now four, steps ahead of me, reminds me when
you are counting time, you count by six, not
by ten which, believe it or not, threw certain
higher ups for a loop, or, it could have been
I phrased it, being new to that, having come
from below, where I felt more comfortable
in the clack & wet, mash of water & white
plates, where pureed meat & vegetable smeard
as I said, I had come from the bottom, up, now
I was not up to it, I assured them, but they paid
me anyway, ten USD per hour, it seemed ok to
one who was used to the spray of water, & dried
food, egg, endless gravy, O is there anything
not hidden in yellow, or brown, thickened meh
coverlet for embarrassing food, but time is by
twelve not ten, someone said, at my shoulder
no, I argued, there are sixty minutes per hour
sixty seconds per minute, only the clock goes
by twelve then why, or wherefore, to make it
difficult, we have ten fingers, you may as well
suggested Reynolds inquire as to why we've
button nipples & pink areolae, besides
which, it would be ridiculous without them
a blank slate, so said Locke, which is absurd
one absurdity after another, take Hume &
Berkeley, or not, I would seriously suggest
Reid, and much further on, Haig, who had
grappld with Triunity & come up swinging
and won, damme, as they say in this Forsyte
Saga, or was it Beckett, certainly not Dickens
could be James, his being quite pish-posh &
multisyllabic statements & interlocutions
referring to buildings as edifices, & suchlike
only to overwhelm the tongue, in the mind
which is not to say, a man speaks in his head
only hears, in a certain sense, but that is not
hearing, still is a form of listening, of being
attentive, attention & intention equal life, or
living, beyond mere consciousness, which
in its purity is all our Nirvanas & Quiddities
Valhallas & Heavens, if we were only to, should
we only to, come together, to cleave in union
among one another, amid, & in astonishment
fall forward, in reverence and let us take
mockery now and forever, throw it into the
flames and forget it, as if it never was, for
it never was, it was too easy, & without love
XI.
Eleven is pregnant, reminds us of elven
& elephant, elf, Oliphaunt, Eve & Eden
in Eld, Eldar, olden times x Elder, older
Noldor & Feanor, Fingolfin & Finarfin
one after, & one before twelve, there it is
again, elve, elves & delving dwarves & were
there dwarf women, dwarf girls, dwarven
dwirven? golden & beardless, braided &
axworthy, did they ride sidesaddle, did they
ride at all or walk, or run, but then why
should they, let us make them domestic
little dwirven, deep in hills, deep harrowd
at cooking & cleaning let us suppose, &
axless, wide-hippd & thorn-bosomd, whose
poem was it spoke of thorny, Kunitz it was
God bless him, lived past a hundred, a
century of consciousness! alarms the
consciousness, howbeit there are those who
argue contra consciousness, & I say here
is a phallic finger, for up yer fundament
grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, 'science reduces man to
machine' my eye, that's yer wet dream &
yer so-calld humanist dogma, malignant
hateful & hatful of shit, if you ask me, which
you haven't & that's fine also, Delgado's
disciples abound, are fitting humanity for
final enslavement, if we forget the past
we are doomd to repeat & this time, save
Christ's intervention, it will be worldwide &
rabid, vehement, ungrateful, spiteful for man
wishes to hate his Creator, yes, eleven x yes
this does seem to be the case, does it not, yes
and the thing is not obvious, for there are
wordspoilers the land, that is not land but
otherwhere, over, the world over, they are
& to destroy the Word, remember Haig,
the Word, subject object word, Triunity,
reflects the Godhead, Trinity, God the Father
the Son, and Holy Spirit, this our axiom, this
our only truth, and they are here to bring but
ruination, but you must let them, or they can
not, you must prepare the place, and your
selves, unselvd, if you allow it only, stand up
& with sword, or with pistol, stand and be
counted ! It is not for nothing that films cry
freedom, cry it, or lose it & it ought to be
obvious & would be, were it not for word
-spoilers, and you would make of your mouth
an O and cry out & cry hard, freiheit, freiheit
Sophie cried, you must hear that cry & cry it
for science does not reduce man to machine
and the truth will destroy the man to whom
that falsehood is fair and worthy, and to shame
bring him, and that is justice, and that is fair
else nothing is, which is absurd, though we
traffic in absurdity, revel & swill like swine
in it, swineherds too, to their elbows in it
XII.
Going back to Milton, I'm compelld to undo
a lifelong prejudice, said Midway, as his eyes
raised, or lowerd, not loured, ie: Shakespeare
I mean from the monitor, where all is white
& empty, plain, vanilla they call it, but going
back to Milton, who did it as well as Avon's
William, and if we go line by line, we may be
forced to accept the inversion of our axiom
which was ever: Shakespeare was not equald
like 2 plus 3 is 5, but if we look at Milton, I
mean, really, take only the first book, the 1st
two pages, this is grandeur, this is Scripture
if scribbling ever was, every line assembled
perfect, sonorous, authoritative, that is if
one can hear it, there are those who cannot,
and how they live, or find value in living, I
find it hard to fathom, and I imagine they
also find it difficult to grasp, how did fathom
get there ? me. One thinks of oceans, depths
down, down, to the dark, darker, where black
starts, & widens enormous, a whale, Archwhale
of blackness incarnate, royal, & airbreathing
subaquatic Regent, Potentate & Autarch, or
Emperor of sea, Ocean & rivulet, streamlet, river
brooklet, going back to Wordsworth, imagine
a poet hight Wordsworth without GOD, a clear
impossibility, name Lampman for his poem on
Sleep, save many, so many went, in taverns, in
parish that or this, in shabby attire, Darley !
who scratcht left to right & dipt a feather was it
for a pen, or quill, right or left-handed
were any left-handed ? I never knew one
honest injun, here I'm near fifty & can't
I've known left-handed cooks & sportsmen, by
the bundle, but not the iterators, sayers of
things & songs rememberd, off-centerd layers
of lines, lays & fables. Reynolds also sprach: then
let us at last in this, our twelfth chapter, wend
to pastures new, as we said we would, to woodes
fresh to the woodesman's ax, to glen or glade
wold or Weir, let us pull pegs & travel, men !
over the hills & far away, but Midway halts &
over the serried ranks of immortal damnd casts
inward his eyes and dreams of standing still
afraid of the dark & judgment, albeit judgment
hath passd, convince him of that, good luck &
thanks 4 the twelve days of Christmas, for
those leaping lords & partidges, particularly
for leaping lords, who, at the very least
bring smiles to us all & most likely, leotards
like that, Heaven help us, scion of U.S. topstock
David: blond, bare-chested, drunk, Los Angeles
beautiful alpha male, in striped & clinging
spandex or lycra, (two Greco-Roman lovers out
cavorting twobackd beastwise, by ilexes &
olives), him a leaping lord with cock & balls
and well-bred hindquarters, who squalld &
croakd in mics, cacophanous, beery innuendo
badly, but enough of those leaping lords, let
us have ladies pink at elbows & daintily deckd
for handfast Jacks with rapier & sultry looks
for lacy boddice cracks, who get them smacks
or assignations, by backyard porch, gazebo, or
verandah, where in the distance float flotillas
of white sailboats on water too still to get moving
for all must be home before the clock strikes
XIII.
Stevens had his thirteen ways of looking at a
blackbird, and now I've come to my thirteenth
part of this, not threnody, nor thanatoptic ode
or hymn, you're being silly now, no, I always
have been, have you been paying attention, I
said to Reynolds, nevermind the yoga-panted
booted girl at the coffee counter, they are too
young these days, he said, careering our cart
toward a sprinkld velvet cake & bakery odor
a hard salami, white-rinded, salty goodness.
We might now call Radcliffe from his dreams
his reveries among gothic arches & flowers
but odds are he will not bring the thing along
but stand stultified in 'derelict ennui', eyes
rolled up toward high turret windows where
blonde virgins lean & beckon with cleavage
their wandering heroes, lost in wanderlust
: Childe Harolds, who, galloping on horseback
glitter in epics, like the brassy hue of horns
and limp along to each padded alexandrine
drunk with championship & iambic valor
climbing convent walls, or not, & who gives
a modern hoot since all we want are facile
tales of lawyers or sexy bloodsuckers, gods
& goddesses of tooth & ravenous claw, I
should have said talon which reminds me of
Tennyson's eagle who, with crooked hands
clasped the, hands, he said, but the poem is
eternal, like Keats' Cortez who was not Cortez
or a sonnet of 13 lines that Midway scribbld
once for his tall & German love who seemd
surprised by his devout expression & tears
who held her darker hand & thumbd the ring
who gave not up on love nonetheless & turnd
his heart again to the chopping block, benign
and hopeless, maiden-handed & fawn-eyed
victim of wanhope, fuck it, says Reynolds, &
smiles, let us turn now to newer worlds, one
equal temper of heroic hearts, then bellows
with hideous laughter & Midway behind him
follows, down through springy hills & hollows
where tromp blithe Bombadils, Jacks in the
Green, Hooded Crows & Robin Hoods who
take from the rich to make them poor & the
poor richer, where handsome highwaymen
wave pistols and ravish elite & lusty wives
with seductive abandon, lawless eyes & raw
primitive power, no, ! Reynolds scolded from
a hill, waving his index finger backwards, no
! not here, but elsewhere, think of something
exotic for the love of Pete, we're still stuck
in this twig-thick baroque canvas, attended by
flutes no doubt & clarinets, let's have Marshall
stacks & haywire! He yawpd and flailed his
air guitar and the grass & daisies at his feet
were changed to aluminum cans & cigarette
butts, lipstick tippd, the backseat of a Camero
& girls with caked-on eye shadow, tattooes
& belly jewels, but Midway stoppt on a dime
again & refused to go forward, disinclined
to use his willy for something other than
albeit he wished to, and, with all of his nuts
quietly envied him who took the imaginary
wheel & went noisily from the lugubrious woode.
XIV.
The symmetry of the universe, yes &
what of it, and is it that, or balance, which
is not symmetry, but why argue, because
that's what we're here for, watch your
contractions, thank you, also asymmetry
as in the sonnet, 8 to 6, octave to sestet
that's Petrarchan, or Italian, no kidding
and in the Shakesperian, 4 4 4 & 2, it
works by golly, by gum, why not say God
because my neck hurts & and I'm flailing
at God right now, like Michael in that
beautiful work, Losing My Religion, he
flailed well & I don't believe God minds our
flails, He is strong & can handle it & so can
Christ, you ever had 9 inch nails pounded
into your hands ? Of course not, then obey
Him. When are you going to get around to
mentioning that the sonnet contains how
many lines, I don't wish to steal your 15
minutes, Midway, says Reynolds, it is
implied, I told him, and you ought to have
left the 15 minutes bit for the next poem
but anyway, this is how it goes with us as
we imitate our Maker, we argue & rail &
rant and watch your ampersands, you
don't want too many, they remind me of
those I love, I retort, Blake, frinstance &
Duncan & Berryman & Ginsberg, tho as I
type I'm not watch your contractions I
am not sure Allen used it a lot, but the .
is it's pretty, prettier than the word 'and', it
looks like a violin or a girl ! Yes, a girl, which
led to the shape of the violin & one who could
master the violin was in a better position to
get the girl, or at least, o the Spanish for 'or' is
better & shorter but, pero, let's not get carried
away, it should put one in a better position
to get the girl but sadly unless you look like
Steve Vai or Paganini it won't help, really, it
won't, go ahead and try it, you need the face
like a god, like Adam Ant, say, o Johnny Depp
in order for the violin to have the desired
affect o effect, if you were better @ grammar
Midway you would not have so many head-
aches & better at vocab & better at comp it
'd be a might easier for us, when we last left
off Reynolds you were tearing off in a Camero
with some hot chix, now will you kindly tell
Donovan was just wild about fourteen he sd
us of your journey ? At least the next 2 o 3 hrs
after you sped away, flinging, flailing dust in
my mug, my phiz, my phizzog, which, sadly
hath too big of a smeller to draw the skirts
& too much shine on the forehead, plus too
much forehead alone, even without the glare
so what happend ? Did you get any, and can
you share it with me, of course, he did, you
say & comb your mop, & yes, it will continue
XV.
Whilst waiting for their 15 minutes, those
happy-go-lucky rogues, those zany madcaps
made, at last, their way to Ocquonoctua
: planet of earthlike properties, 20K light
years from the far edge of Andromeda, in
a rocket they went, a fiery conflagration
that's redundant, a loud & face-contorting
zoom ! In a phallic burst of masculine power
spaceward, and fast. There they encounterd
creatures of strange configuration & color
, digital tomes of ancient poetry, epics by
the millions, in daunting signs & symbols
or not, it's up to you, and I will not insist
any further in this, but I've had revelations
I said, said Midway, who closed his eyes &
thought & thought, in sedentary meditation
Ballocks, cried the other, his penis as yet
still wet, who didn't recognize the new view
from the right-arm window, nor the fact
that he wore a sparkly suit & helmet of fine
design, a skeptic by nature, and therefore
terribly unperceptive, but enough of this
! he railed unclasping the seatbelts, which
at that point, zipped into invisibility, or
didn't exist at all, he was no doubt correct
but Midway persevered: here we have odd
flora, behold, his hand sweeping, like a god's
as down the ladder he backwards climbd
in heavy boots that made a springy squish
in what was pink and blue, Reynolds stayd
aboardship & decided to sleep it off, where
has he got us now, the neurotic nincompoop
& poppd a clonidine capsule, but off went
Midway, removing his helmet, taking the 1st
deep breath of the newer world, who then
collapsd & lay unconscious for several hrs
& woke with a monstrous headache, on a
lumpy flophouse mattress, hungover, &
disappointed, & with a hard-on, and the
need to piss, what did I tell you, pardner,
we never get anywhere, not San Juan, not
Baltimore, we are simply lost, let's face it
and you need to get laid, stop thinking so
much, your body has other organs, etcetera
but I'll admit, you almost had me this time
said Reynolds, it was the silly suit that let
the cat outta the bag, and the word behold
which doesn't suit you, you oughta have sd
look, but you decided instead be grandiose
and cocksure, which reminds me, I said
is there a brothel nearby, or a loose girl
Hell, if there were, we're flat broke, or
have you, back to sleep he goes, forgotten
besides, you're too afraid to catch something
and, even barring that, you can't use your
johnthomas in such a manner, we know this
or have you, but sometimes dammit, it hurts
I know, I've got one too, I'm just prettier
WAB 2012 – 2013
Out in the wilderness, you & I
on silent stubbled open fields
edges of woods in all directions
deciduous, stands of white birch
catch eyes, caws of crow, grackle,
slow-gliding hawk, flutter of grouse
or pheasant sudden in chill wind
bangs like fists on red ears
cuffs of ski hats pulled down
padded parkas zipped to lowered chins
white breath like smoke from a pipe
we may imagine words that take
familiar shapes like train cars
from lips that now are vast holes
in hills drilled & excavated
stone & earth, amount of work required
requires arithmetic, capacious faculty
to apprehend magnitude, whistle, shriek
lights electric motion power forward
flattens pennies, nickels, balanced on rails
in childhood arms outward watching shoes
cautious on silver metal onward
around the bend, around the mountain
forever parallel lines go forward
never meet & never end & each board
along the track a start, again, a new
first step after the last thousand steps
until we get to the wooden town's
silent houses' casement windows,
white-painted, flaked, curved fine gray
of Irish lace in corners, sills dusted
twice per annum, curtains tied apart
no faces at the glass reflecting eyes,
staring at housefronts, gaspumps long
out of order, we in flannel get cigarettes
or licorice among cans with dusty tops
shadows, cats slowed in the yellow yawn
of time stretched in light like lemon
outside the telephone booth
its hanging book of endless names
no-one speaks, cold bluster of wind; we close
the folding glass door to warm
in the narrow stillness, here we smoke
a Tarryton Newport Pall Mall
or Winston, fine white of new paper
burning & white smoke then cherry
red, kick at the back of the throat
best felt with a full moon hung in bare
branches Northeast USA Southeast NY
winter woods, with tapped keg, a six
chilled in frigid stream water, gloved
hands nervous among mittened girls
who didn't go out for cheerleader, Iron
Maiden tees, badly blued made-up eyes
surprising breasts discovered with cold
hands finding areolae beneath stars
among quiet deer whose heads lifted
in open grass under the viaduct, cornfields
vast across acres in early spring now
remember the first robins or do you
more soft sucking mud by shallow creeks
yellowjackets, japanese beatles green
like flies like clover under the hickory tree
we searched for four leaves over the hill
the open fields and one afternoon cows
from the neighboring farm out walking
dogs yapping behind fences later on
toast with honey in the sunlit kitchen
talk over a newspaper parents gone
visiting then down the dank basement
grokking heavy oily machines
Yessongs dribbling tinny, a radio
cassette player alto voices sang
of far planets, strange amphibious craft
in pale blue oceans, floating islands
in the corner the good dog elderly
daintily took bites from gentle hands
Reagan in the folded paper you spoke
of Mayflower blood at the joining of two
country roads a small church years past
a schoolhouse, at the corner of the eye
the iron trestle stretching inexorably
across green & brown rolling acres
and farther westward the water tower
gleaming in sunset, toward its gray
metal let us head out as we did not then
this time and rather than reach into
wells of memory to cull images
create a new world & walk through it
you and I; come, before the night falls
II.
Frisbee best if level, a line spinning
floating white, yellow or green,
plastic, thrown, consider the eye
& accuracy, across distance
consider deftness of hands lifted
alert & motion stopped, object retards
object, subject speaks to subject
also an object, consider sun &
magnitude, then attempt multitude
consider distance so, so distant
there is no understanding
we must make do with symbols
summaries, ideas, & impressions
only think of this as in infancy
against colossal truth we can not
countenance but timid, astonished
cry for joy, for place, for this, this
habitat, you are eternal, consider
God, close your eyes, the room dark
no moon, no starlight, no sound,
but space in front of you
(Shakti the field & me the knower
of the field, what will we make there
silently think & wait, all darkness
is pregnant, O Mary, O before the before
the begin my Lord i love You close
eyes furled like petals red purple
glad closed awaiting You, the heart
thumps, knocks in her bone cage O
Lord i love You the lips move am I
the mover ? the tongue moves up to
palate, lower lip & bottom teeth
touch to pronounce Love silently
the word Love the Word my Lord)
but that was me I cannot write
touch or speak for you, good friend
who typed Spinoza beautiful across
3 thousand miles Nature God God
Nature, yes, but there is more, more! I
see him, his face, his soup, his pipe
alone & happiest man on earth, Christ's
best gospel in patient benevolence
finest, best teacher, no, 2nd best, Christ's
left tenant, no, next, subsequent,
think hierarchy, clarify authority: GOD
then downward, not turtles all the way
no elephants, no infinite regress, no
endless reduction reducing to still more
reduction, no, not such nonsense, not
that godless absurdity, but cosmos: as in
order lawful with perfect balance re
: harmony & melody, simultaneous
& linear top to bottom & all around O
see: zero & all, naught & aught, equations,
relations, angles & angels no & yes, yes
III.
He said you said Reynolds had said
my poem about a tree you drew in pencil
could not speak of that tree, and there
were worlds in dewdrops, I showed him
under the grass blade inside a drop
of dew a lighthouse & a stretch of shoal
a slight declension narrow to the white
surf, soft pushes upward then back again
a sleeve of salt continue forward, come
along, Omeros has come now, he said lace
like lace the white roll of the waves
not Omeros but Walcott nobody no-one
go fuck with his poetry again & either
he is a man or a nation O Maria
Concepcion I've no right to this tongue
quiet now ahora my wife my imthe
Soyla soy la I am the Will I am iamb
two feet second son second William
born July second, older brother Kurt
born 1 July the year before alpha beta
shorter, plain & dull, thus, poetry:
to live by proxy, by estimation,
to see, experience, with eyes closed
moving in silently out of sight
not my words those, but Waters',
water: a pond or puddle a splash on
linoleum, sink counter level, Waters
as well my mother's mother's maiden
name, and so return to the lighthouse
in that globe of morning water, micro
world under a curved blade of grass
in the spiral notebook, high school
study hall first period cafeteria, older
women with hairnets, old maids, old
retired wives weathered hands in plastic
gloves, eyes of no color, no beauty, no
beauty's echo or at least no memory
only the startling fulminant dark eyed
beauty of girls at other tables, flash
of contact, tiny flashes, evanecent black
pupils under lashes in umber in egg
white, find me here, I am here, too
I breathe the air that made those words
you spoke there beyond my hearing
words you found inside and said were
in my ear and mouth before, or after
IV.
Four, for, for all of us, ancient & new
of the matrix, mother, madre, O Mary
thee, before the before, to suckle God
to be place, to be the field, for the only
thing I know is, i know nothing, am one
in a void, a part, an attribute, a mode
to be and return, living life nothing less
than that desire, to become & belong
at rest, eternal, to unclasp at the wrist
& the neck, the signals of property I
belong to You only & You alone, Lord
if You leave me & fly nonetheless I am
Yours, hear me speak in the dark that
they can not touch me, fillip of a finger
they run afraid to the four corners
assemble & clawed hang in impotence
in the dark where with closed eyes I
dream & wander anointed & saved
and ask how can I take from You
a portion of agony, a splinter, a fire
in a nerve, for You, & complain in ease
with freedom of movement, limber
of limb & thought extended outward
I asked for a vision of You and once
it came, I, stricken with fear, a dead man
withering, crooked over my straight body
and green of decay, wind, desolate
gone as quick as it came but stamped
eternal, be cautious God said, be afraid
you cannot feel but only wonder & pray
nor see nor know but by parable, myth
& magic to open the blind eye & turn
inward for all darkness is pregnant
even in death the dark's capitol, fecund
womb & nursery of dreams, Reynolds
will you walk with me in these caves
and hear the patter of deep waters
come, I said, like blind fish let us fathom
with black scales, the first fathers, far
behind & also far, far forward, how
however to explain this, Benedictus
my beloved & benevolent master my
teacher, I believe this: Our Father drew me
to you, Baruch, my beloved, & is at this
moment drawing & in ancient epochs
did also, I have one tongue, one only
my master, my place, my peace is here
is always, eternal, a promise, a valley
V.
5 for five, iiiii, V, Keats said this living
hand, O to have taken his gentle hand
& at Hampstead Heath to have gambold
where I have not gone, whence he went
before me always, before, they go before
& die, the five fathers, William & Samuel
Percy, John, & George, but no, go back
get William, who had in his garden
Pentecost, & blessing & angels, a good
wife, & England's green & pleasant land
O give me my arrows, he calld for his
bowl and his fiddlers & spear, to shake
the mountains & valleys of desire, halves
of ten, these bunches of five, & thumbs
opposable, great fortune, fortunate hands
now build, now make, like your Father
you cannot create, yet you can make, so
make, and you made well, your tools
to make & fix, to build, and persevere
with flint & fire, with stone, iron & heat
& sweat, force of sinew, muscle, bone
men, men, who with club, blade & fist
pummeld, with power, forward, outward
hoe & shovel, ox & horse, in husbandry
these men & husbands, on acres wet &
wild and fecund, sun & moon - mantled
broad shoulderd, Adam bearded black &
brown and gold, & barrell chested, brave
& stalwart, hie thee, hie thee, June or Ivy
Irene & Ellen, now milkwhite, snowwhite
tender other, Reynolds, come, go round
the maypole, here are fickle freckled
faces, breasts flint-tipped, or embonpoint
red knees, red faces, cherry ripe, cry cherry
ripe, sing heigh, hey ho the berry O
behind or under the greenwood tree
for five is fifty is jubilee, & Mr Brewster
is crossing the sea & William & Mary
In deep wood now, & deep dark russet
clusterd, leavd & rich earth, fertile
the forest, the moss, the moving water
gray green stones & purling stream, white
like pearl, can you see the girl by the water
come! can you, a finger, her finger's
reflection, & straight and pointing, a point
made (from the mouths of babes) the whole
point, truth, purpose, intent & meaning
VI.
Six of one, half dozen the other, half
a league, half an inch, onward, me &
Reynolds in windy furrows, hard snow
driven in muddy ridges, by the lone tree
where stone walls joined, farmer's land
we turn up our collars & tuck away
the flask drained of its crimson wonder
& wander in other havens & kingdoms
tincast knights without Rocinantes, sans
Sanchos or saddles, but pins & needles
of enterprise in mirky sunlight, poet
& painter in wreaths of gray that swirld
& vanished by deadfalls, among scant
leaved birch whose white wood pealed
that leaned & slanted like haughty girls
when all the world was a whisper, when air
was a sigh with sibillant secrets & seethed
far from our diffident ears, when trees
held Dryads & Pan was Lord of the Woode
& satyrs found rounded, wet, red mouths
& slippery hands among hedgerows, tongues
aflutter like butterflies, moths, then life
was a rife & daylong midnight, made right
for poets whose au pair hands made dainty
& milky bland love in rimes no-one noticed
& silky sweet oaths, who pitched langorous
woo along level blue lines in notebooks
scarred in their heads at each failure, each
halfassed suit, flunked, botched, not made
can you see them, Reynolds, can you see
me ? who was not made for sportive tricks
nor to court the etcetera, curved spine &
bad skin, the other one, leftover, yes, from
the left, sinister, sawed-off & runty, big
nosed shifty-eyed, one in the middle there
can you, and is it really alright & okay
as they say, alright but my eye is what I
say, come, look in this is my mirror, how
can I tell you that, what I see is not what
you see, there on the picture of me, & that
what I see is abhorrent & foreign, exotic
alien, gray complected, morose & ancient
choppers in halves & pieces in front
jagged, ruined portcullis no castle for
kisses, wait ! who is the monster to whom
is tendered a trinket for passage, yes,
a basilisk, yes, I see it squat & in color
pied, a bit toady, come, Reynolds, give me
a grand & dragonny beastie, w/ gator's
mouth, reptilian, chameleon, no, no
nor shapeshifting changeling, nothing
transcendent, and, yet, preternaturally
compelling, complex, make its name
start with X or end with an X, or an ex
as in Tyrannosaurus Rex, or brekekekex
& shall we wing him then ? make him make
chevrons, or ems, in the sky as he flies
or forget him, & cast your flame blue
eyes on the roundedness around us as
we weave among lasses of lower classes
paid to make passes at men w/ glasses &
boddices plumpt, good cracks & creases
for sex, like sexton (Anne), sestet: six
lines, la volta, the turning, the turning
point, the point being GOD, Julian of
Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, yes
yes, i love You Lord, i love You, i love my
Lord Jesus Christ, my King, my Lord, i
love You, i love You, & all manner of things
shall be well, yes yes yes yes yes yes
VII.
I have never taken to sucking stones, no
but if I were to suck stones I would keep
one in the pocket & one in the mouth
& so heading out this time from the sea's
edge. Stop. here and wait for Reynolds
whose hand to forehead like a visor cuts
the cloud-filtered light as into the sky
lady Liberty's flame is held extinguishd
and she to the midden truncated, lost &
looking out to sea where the sweep of oars
was a vague impression & galleys cleavd
salt, white, to a thunderous beat of some
brute with a helmet among lashed men as if
keeping time, and divers pictures stored &
categorized in each of the hemispheres where
our present number, stood back against its
subsequent which, tipped on its side, is
infinity, are you holding up, you are, but
why bother ? because I insist, you come along
I said, because, there is intent, and we do
sludge forward & the meaning is coming &
is present, for those who choose to see it,
who have buried the body of the old man
and walk in a new body, by Christ anointed
I do understand, it is difficult, & at times
absurd, infants born, joined at the skull
balks at design, & cries no at the idea of order
slaughter of innocents, naked, babes in arms
barefoot at edges of mass graves, demons
with pistols black, forged in the stink of
Hell's machinery, abaddon, gehenna, where
I'll walk, or crawl, blind, cold & bleed
if there is balance or justice, Christ my
jailor, my filthy fingers nails claw His hem
& wail, recall my comforts, & smell
His blood, starving, freezing & burning,
deaf, tongueless, yattering, caterwauling
Christ, my Piper, come along willy, come
& you too, you, my other, who over my
shoulder & down my arm watches, instructs
& educates, dictates, there are, how many
seven continents, how many Romans ? No
how many seas, seven w/ extra point
a child I squirmed and, Mercury heeled, sped
adown the greensward accruing distance
closing in, and snagged the spiralling pigskin
screamed in my blinded phobic panic
pulling the jersey over my head & numberd
stood & mugged at the ancient camera
that first innacurate, awkward moment
VIII.
Henry, my father's middle name, & Henry
Miller's Tropic of Cancer, cathartic to my
wambles in prose, never did find Capricorn
my father's sign, mine Cancer, moonchild
all a bunch of bollocks anyway, so he said
though her sister wrote my chart, which was
false all the way through, & Byron's octaves
in the second bathroom, I write the words
& you the meaning, and if you don't like it
forget it, it's easy, you make of the book a
tent and catch mice inside & it's in the john
you can wipe your ass with it, I could have
said arse, after Beckett, who goes nowhere
and gives you nothing: a lunatic with a
hard-on for a boy, wandering in the woodes
planets now that Pluto has been forgotten
relegated to outer space, among comets, &
nothing, albeit if it is cold, it is not nothing
and if it takes time to get through it, then
again, that is a term without a referent, like
this poem that refers to nothing and wastes
your time, and your eye, which could be
among daffodils, or in Plato's cave where
or elsewhere, any cave, or Salisbury, or
Egypt among ornate graves, and colossal
markers, runways for the surprise of the
sky-children, come, Reynolds, back to
another place, and this time, you go first &
I will follow, sun is high, yet, and the ground
holds treasure, piece of eight, and in four hrs
midnight, go on, I haven't forgotten you
take to the water, the open grave of brave
men, whaleroad, the wine-dark sea, O
drowning now in the violent storm, below
white flecked froth, out of the sea-wind,
further down to black & crooked backed
Leviathan, small among mind's monstrous
gigantic creatures, aswim in the miles below
prows that split the ocean's back, her breast
bare against the cold foam, name her, I do
not know, name her, I do not know her name
Did he say it, no, did he say where, no, did he
say it, no. Nevermind, let's not go that way,
but keep forward, onward, Reynolds, the day
is over and darkness, out of the pitch of the sea
now to Pavilions of Eden, & Tudor horsemen's
trumpets, blaring of horns & clarinets, lutes
with white fingers, and lace at the wristbones
knuckle before the forearm, gold down on the
upper portion, hidden, crack of the breasts,
and lower creases, one only has to make use
of the eye that never closes, howbeit it blinks
in sleep, where God makes lanternslides on
the eyelids, you have to pay attention & they
will appear, do not doubt, do not lose faith,
should you lose your thumbs, you still possess
enough fingers to count, to continue, to pray
IX.
Reynolds & I were in the forest, when all
of a suddenly came upon Rip Van Winkle
& had many things to ask him, & Midway
complaind: I have lost a finger, the smallest
of the left hand, an accident with an ax, no
a hatchet, I remember, for if it were an ax
there would be no trees in New York, where
so many yrs ago, among fallen leaves of many
colors, we fished in creeks and steppd over
stones & with sodden shoes climbd steep
embankments, where trees shot horizontal
& there were bridges where the stream
widend, and worms, with hooks through their
cumberbunds, writhd o'er the sunlit water
for hours on a Saturday, & one of the things
we put to him was: of a game of ninepins
or was it a different tale, I don't think so
in any case, he had no answer, but fell asleep
and we heard, among churchbells & cowbells
stories of Mayflower puritans, and wars
for which purpose did anyone know, the
generals high on their horses, Napoleon
& were scalpings fatal, these fell on deaf
ears anyway, as I mentiond, or was it
Midway, who still does not understand &
which is to stand under, deep in woodes
we walkd, at the very least, on the surface
and awake, safe from the fearsome beasts
of the underworld, all of us with Christ
willingly, and with love will go, meanwhile
Reynolds called on the Muses, whose names
it makes no difference, only to rattle them
by rote, no, for I have forgotten, and would
need to seek them out, to search, but I
won't, you cannot force me to, you cannot
not when my fists are clenched, and red
- knuckled, I make a claim to manhood &
stamp my boot on the earth, erect, a man
with straight spine, wife, & good cooking
at least I could pretend, and make a story
: a man awakens after a dream of twenty yrs
to find himself, not himself, among lights
& pale blue others, from other stars & Sol
a pipsqueak, a spark, a quintillion miles
& there to learn of genuine benevolence
among silent engines & small engines of
silicon ? and what of it, immense gulfs of
space, vast, wide, but if unconscious of
distance, do those spaces exist, perhaps this
is how we cross time, no, not time: space
fold, threading headfirst, a black loophole
eye of a needle, lasso, question mark, arc
or curve, come along Midway, where is
that sly fox, clusters of dogs & horses evil
full bums saddled, bastards, fattend eyesores
on velvety green across acres, hornblowers
live ! O fox & die ye wallowing horsemen
jodhpurd, booted, murdering blackguards
cowards in stirrups, in scarlet for shame, for
raising of buttocks o'er hedges galumphing
gallop, equestrienne, broaden the fantail, fast
on cloppd sod, her sodden fathers & uncles
by hearths, & broken guns, and toddies when
did she say when, no, did you give her the
works, yes, and I have asked myself to switch
off, no, you won't believe me, I understand,
sometimes His longing, His anger, or lack
of patience, because it is hard to believe, to
have faith, even in one's self, let alone in Him
in Whom we wonder, & wait, for an answer
X.
Alright Reynolds, he said, but what if we
went another way, to which Midway, as was
his wont, asseverated, & then I complaind
I said, why not just say agreed, why make a
mess of it, a mistake, but they were now two
now four, steps ahead of me, reminds me when
you are counting time, you count by six, not
by ten which, believe it or not, threw certain
higher ups for a loop, or, it could have been
I phrased it, being new to that, having come
from below, where I felt more comfortable
in the clack & wet, mash of water & white
plates, where pureed meat & vegetable smeard
as I said, I had come from the bottom, up, now
I was not up to it, I assured them, but they paid
me anyway, ten USD per hour, it seemed ok to
one who was used to the spray of water, & dried
food, egg, endless gravy, O is there anything
not hidden in yellow, or brown, thickened meh
coverlet for embarrassing food, but time is by
twelve not ten, someone said, at my shoulder
no, I argued, there are sixty minutes per hour
sixty seconds per minute, only the clock goes
by twelve then why, or wherefore, to make it
difficult, we have ten fingers, you may as well
suggested Reynolds inquire as to why we've
button nipples & pink areolae, besides
which, it would be ridiculous without them
a blank slate, so said Locke, which is absurd
one absurdity after another, take Hume &
Berkeley, or not, I would seriously suggest
Reid, and much further on, Haig, who had
grappld with Triunity & come up swinging
and won, damme, as they say in this Forsyte
Saga, or was it Beckett, certainly not Dickens
could be James, his being quite pish-posh &
multisyllabic statements & interlocutions
referring to buildings as edifices, & suchlike
only to overwhelm the tongue, in the mind
which is not to say, a man speaks in his head
only hears, in a certain sense, but that is not
hearing, still is a form of listening, of being
attentive, attention & intention equal life, or
living, beyond mere consciousness, which
in its purity is all our Nirvanas & Quiddities
Valhallas & Heavens, if we were only to, should
we only to, come together, to cleave in union
among one another, amid, & in astonishment
fall forward, in reverence and let us take
mockery now and forever, throw it into the
flames and forget it, as if it never was, for
it never was, it was too easy, & without love
XI.
Eleven is pregnant, reminds us of elven
& elephant, elf, Oliphaunt, Eve & Eden
in Eld, Eldar, olden times x Elder, older
Noldor & Feanor, Fingolfin & Finarfin
one after, & one before twelve, there it is
again, elve, elves & delving dwarves & were
there dwarf women, dwarf girls, dwarven
dwirven? golden & beardless, braided &
axworthy, did they ride sidesaddle, did they
ride at all or walk, or run, but then why
should they, let us make them domestic
little dwirven, deep in hills, deep harrowd
at cooking & cleaning let us suppose, &
axless, wide-hippd & thorn-bosomd, whose
poem was it spoke of thorny, Kunitz it was
God bless him, lived past a hundred, a
century of consciousness! alarms the
consciousness, howbeit there are those who
argue contra consciousness, & I say here
is a phallic finger, for up yer fundament
grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, 'science reduces man to
machine' my eye, that's yer wet dream &
yer so-calld humanist dogma, malignant
hateful & hatful of shit, if you ask me, which
you haven't & that's fine also, Delgado's
disciples abound, are fitting humanity for
final enslavement, if we forget the past
we are doomd to repeat & this time, save
Christ's intervention, it will be worldwide &
rabid, vehement, ungrateful, spiteful for man
wishes to hate his Creator, yes, eleven x yes
this does seem to be the case, does it not, yes
and the thing is not obvious, for there are
wordspoilers the land, that is not land but
otherwhere, over, the world over, they are
& to destroy the Word, remember Haig,
the Word, subject object word, Triunity,
reflects the Godhead, Trinity, God the Father
the Son, and Holy Spirit, this our axiom, this
our only truth, and they are here to bring but
ruination, but you must let them, or they can
not, you must prepare the place, and your
selves, unselvd, if you allow it only, stand up
& with sword, or with pistol, stand and be
counted ! It is not for nothing that films cry
freedom, cry it, or lose it & it ought to be
obvious & would be, were it not for word
-spoilers, and you would make of your mouth
an O and cry out & cry hard, freiheit, freiheit
Sophie cried, you must hear that cry & cry it
for science does not reduce man to machine
and the truth will destroy the man to whom
that falsehood is fair and worthy, and to shame
bring him, and that is justice, and that is fair
else nothing is, which is absurd, though we
traffic in absurdity, revel & swill like swine
in it, swineherds too, to their elbows in it
XII.
Going back to Milton, I'm compelld to undo
a lifelong prejudice, said Midway, as his eyes
raised, or lowerd, not loured, ie: Shakespeare
I mean from the monitor, where all is white
& empty, plain, vanilla they call it, but going
back to Milton, who did it as well as Avon's
William, and if we go line by line, we may be
forced to accept the inversion of our axiom
which was ever: Shakespeare was not equald
like 2 plus 3 is 5, but if we look at Milton, I
mean, really, take only the first book, the 1st
two pages, this is grandeur, this is Scripture
if scribbling ever was, every line assembled
perfect, sonorous, authoritative, that is if
one can hear it, there are those who cannot,
and how they live, or find value in living, I
find it hard to fathom, and I imagine they
also find it difficult to grasp, how did fathom
get there ? me. One thinks of oceans, depths
down, down, to the dark, darker, where black
starts, & widens enormous, a whale, Archwhale
of blackness incarnate, royal, & airbreathing
subaquatic Regent, Potentate & Autarch, or
Emperor of sea, Ocean & rivulet, streamlet, river
brooklet, going back to Wordsworth, imagine
a poet hight Wordsworth without GOD, a clear
impossibility, name Lampman for his poem on
Sleep, save many, so many went, in taverns, in
parish that or this, in shabby attire, Darley !
who scratcht left to right & dipt a feather was it
for a pen, or quill, right or left-handed
were any left-handed ? I never knew one
honest injun, here I'm near fifty & can't
I've known left-handed cooks & sportsmen, by
the bundle, but not the iterators, sayers of
things & songs rememberd, off-centerd layers
of lines, lays & fables. Reynolds also sprach: then
let us at last in this, our twelfth chapter, wend
to pastures new, as we said we would, to woodes
fresh to the woodesman's ax, to glen or glade
wold or Weir, let us pull pegs & travel, men !
over the hills & far away, but Midway halts &
over the serried ranks of immortal damnd casts
inward his eyes and dreams of standing still
afraid of the dark & judgment, albeit judgment
hath passd, convince him of that, good luck &
thanks 4 the twelve days of Christmas, for
those leaping lords & partidges, particularly
for leaping lords, who, at the very least
bring smiles to us all & most likely, leotards
like that, Heaven help us, scion of U.S. topstock
David: blond, bare-chested, drunk, Los Angeles
beautiful alpha male, in striped & clinging
spandex or lycra, (two Greco-Roman lovers out
cavorting twobackd beastwise, by ilexes &
olives), him a leaping lord with cock & balls
and well-bred hindquarters, who squalld &
croakd in mics, cacophanous, beery innuendo
badly, but enough of those leaping lords, let
us have ladies pink at elbows & daintily deckd
for handfast Jacks with rapier & sultry looks
for lacy boddice cracks, who get them smacks
or assignations, by backyard porch, gazebo, or
verandah, where in the distance float flotillas
of white sailboats on water too still to get moving
for all must be home before the clock strikes
XIII.
Stevens had his thirteen ways of looking at a
blackbird, and now I've come to my thirteenth
part of this, not threnody, nor thanatoptic ode
or hymn, you're being silly now, no, I always
have been, have you been paying attention, I
said to Reynolds, nevermind the yoga-panted
booted girl at the coffee counter, they are too
young these days, he said, careering our cart
toward a sprinkld velvet cake & bakery odor
a hard salami, white-rinded, salty goodness.
We might now call Radcliffe from his dreams
his reveries among gothic arches & flowers
but odds are he will not bring the thing along
but stand stultified in 'derelict ennui', eyes
rolled up toward high turret windows where
blonde virgins lean & beckon with cleavage
their wandering heroes, lost in wanderlust
: Childe Harolds, who, galloping on horseback
glitter in epics, like the brassy hue of horns
and limp along to each padded alexandrine
drunk with championship & iambic valor
climbing convent walls, or not, & who gives
a modern hoot since all we want are facile
tales of lawyers or sexy bloodsuckers, gods
& goddesses of tooth & ravenous claw, I
should have said talon which reminds me of
Tennyson's eagle who, with crooked hands
clasped the, hands, he said, but the poem is
eternal, like Keats' Cortez who was not Cortez
or a sonnet of 13 lines that Midway scribbld
once for his tall & German love who seemd
surprised by his devout expression & tears
who held her darker hand & thumbd the ring
who gave not up on love nonetheless & turnd
his heart again to the chopping block, benign
and hopeless, maiden-handed & fawn-eyed
victim of wanhope, fuck it, says Reynolds, &
smiles, let us turn now to newer worlds, one
equal temper of heroic hearts, then bellows
with hideous laughter & Midway behind him
follows, down through springy hills & hollows
where tromp blithe Bombadils, Jacks in the
Green, Hooded Crows & Robin Hoods who
take from the rich to make them poor & the
poor richer, where handsome highwaymen
wave pistols and ravish elite & lusty wives
with seductive abandon, lawless eyes & raw
primitive power, no, ! Reynolds scolded from
a hill, waving his index finger backwards, no
! not here, but elsewhere, think of something
exotic for the love of Pete, we're still stuck
in this twig-thick baroque canvas, attended by
flutes no doubt & clarinets, let's have Marshall
stacks & haywire! He yawpd and flailed his
air guitar and the grass & daisies at his feet
were changed to aluminum cans & cigarette
butts, lipstick tippd, the backseat of a Camero
& girls with caked-on eye shadow, tattooes
& belly jewels, but Midway stoppt on a dime
again & refused to go forward, disinclined
to use his willy for something other than
albeit he wished to, and, with all of his nuts
quietly envied him who took the imaginary
wheel & went noisily from the lugubrious woode.
XIV.
The symmetry of the universe, yes &
what of it, and is it that, or balance, which
is not symmetry, but why argue, because
that's what we're here for, watch your
contractions, thank you, also asymmetry
as in the sonnet, 8 to 6, octave to sestet
that's Petrarchan, or Italian, no kidding
and in the Shakesperian, 4 4 4 & 2, it
works by golly, by gum, why not say God
because my neck hurts & and I'm flailing
at God right now, like Michael in that
beautiful work, Losing My Religion, he
flailed well & I don't believe God minds our
flails, He is strong & can handle it & so can
Christ, you ever had 9 inch nails pounded
into your hands ? Of course not, then obey
Him. When are you going to get around to
mentioning that the sonnet contains how
many lines, I don't wish to steal your 15
minutes, Midway, says Reynolds, it is
implied, I told him, and you ought to have
left the 15 minutes bit for the next poem
but anyway, this is how it goes with us as
we imitate our Maker, we argue & rail &
rant and watch your ampersands, you
don't want too many, they remind me of
those I love, I retort, Blake, frinstance &
Duncan & Berryman & Ginsberg, tho as I
type I'm not watch your contractions I
am not sure Allen used it a lot, but the .
is it's pretty, prettier than the word 'and', it
looks like a violin or a girl ! Yes, a girl, which
led to the shape of the violin & one who could
master the violin was in a better position to
get the girl, or at least, o the Spanish for 'or' is
better & shorter but, pero, let's not get carried
away, it should put one in a better position
to get the girl but sadly unless you look like
Steve Vai or Paganini it won't help, really, it
won't, go ahead and try it, you need the face
like a god, like Adam Ant, say, o Johnny Depp
in order for the violin to have the desired
affect o effect, if you were better @ grammar
Midway you would not have so many head-
aches & better at vocab & better at comp it
'd be a might easier for us, when we last left
off Reynolds you were tearing off in a Camero
with some hot chix, now will you kindly tell
Donovan was just wild about fourteen he sd
us of your journey ? At least the next 2 o 3 hrs
after you sped away, flinging, flailing dust in
my mug, my phiz, my phizzog, which, sadly
hath too big of a smeller to draw the skirts
& too much shine on the forehead, plus too
much forehead alone, even without the glare
so what happend ? Did you get any, and can
you share it with me, of course, he did, you
say & comb your mop, & yes, it will continue
XV.
Whilst waiting for their 15 minutes, those
happy-go-lucky rogues, those zany madcaps
made, at last, their way to Ocquonoctua
: planet of earthlike properties, 20K light
years from the far edge of Andromeda, in
a rocket they went, a fiery conflagration
that's redundant, a loud & face-contorting
zoom ! In a phallic burst of masculine power
spaceward, and fast. There they encounterd
creatures of strange configuration & color
, digital tomes of ancient poetry, epics by
the millions, in daunting signs & symbols
or not, it's up to you, and I will not insist
any further in this, but I've had revelations
I said, said Midway, who closed his eyes &
thought & thought, in sedentary meditation
Ballocks, cried the other, his penis as yet
still wet, who didn't recognize the new view
from the right-arm window, nor the fact
that he wore a sparkly suit & helmet of fine
design, a skeptic by nature, and therefore
terribly unperceptive, but enough of this
! he railed unclasping the seatbelts, which
at that point, zipped into invisibility, or
didn't exist at all, he was no doubt correct
but Midway persevered: here we have odd
flora, behold, his hand sweeping, like a god's
as down the ladder he backwards climbd
in heavy boots that made a springy squish
in what was pink and blue, Reynolds stayd
aboardship & decided to sleep it off, where
has he got us now, the neurotic nincompoop
& poppd a clonidine capsule, but off went
Midway, removing his helmet, taking the 1st
deep breath of the newer world, who then
collapsd & lay unconscious for several hrs
& woke with a monstrous headache, on a
lumpy flophouse mattress, hungover, &
disappointed, & with a hard-on, and the
need to piss, what did I tell you, pardner,
we never get anywhere, not San Juan, not
Baltimore, we are simply lost, let's face it
and you need to get laid, stop thinking so
much, your body has other organs, etcetera
but I'll admit, you almost had me this time
said Reynolds, it was the silly suit that let
the cat outta the bag, and the word behold
which doesn't suit you, you oughta have sd
look, but you decided instead be grandiose
and cocksure, which reminds me, I said
is there a brothel nearby, or a loose girl
Hell, if there were, we're flat broke, or
have you, back to sleep he goes, forgotten
besides, you're too afraid to catch something
and, even barring that, you can't use your
johnthomas in such a manner, we know this
or have you, but sometimes dammit, it hurts
I know, I've got one too, I'm just prettier
WAB 2012 – 2013
