she was his fey

you've got a point
no one said there was a way out
life is too damn short to lose you
but it's a matter of any time isn't it?
what else matters?
sure it won't work
never, or always, the days are disastrous without you
the wars go on but I am free
with the shadows and dreams
free in the concentration camp
you must see me darling in the changing of days
my eyes close showing me your ways

somewhere in me is your life
I don't understand it
I didn't ask
it's just the methods of time

The frustrations of the dream state. I dreamed about AG as much as I spent actual time with her. What does this mean? That I was confused by whatever I imagined there was between us. Surely she didn't make that error. Yet I know for a fact that she dreamed about me in the same apocalyptic manner. Sometimes love is not a path for the weak. This is probably what happened to me. I was far too weak.

confession as therapy

yours is a characterization motif
like your legendary focus
you would explain your hell in contemporary pains
you see brian jones as a witness to your execution
the photographs you keep run like skipped heartbeats
through your understanding
your memory is a winter fog
your eyes f-stop in a blind night
you'd cut this place into pieces
if you thought it would save your soul


I used to think this poem was about someone else. Now I understand that it was always about myself. It does reference a Hanrahan poem that uses "f-stopped" as a verb.

23rd Goodbye

simply
the days decay
I don't understand
you gave up so easily
returning to your aquarium
ancient in your same words
you strange golden girl
I cast spells
read charts
wrote poems
saw visions
too many years of blood
seeping from the invisible cuts
you could have given me a transfusion
but you wouldn't or didn't know how
and the world slows on its axis
the days diminishing & nights lengthening
in my decay
and their decay
and your decay

16th Goodbye

blessed acid
burn through me
teach me prayer
I will not stand on this
stairway gazing
any longer than I have to
make me ephemeral
teach me a skill
sell me some insurance
give me a hacksaw
punish me with my self
hear my contrition

the days have found me hidden in this grief
I see these fingers decaying in the grave
I practice my death in the shadow of Isis
she could have said the words

13th Goodbye

the place with golden leaves slick w/silvered light
from the full moon; a clearing in a grove of ash trees
grey moss underfoot—a story from out of time

the earth is wet in this night
the angelic figure will not focus
the silken wraith will not be defined
all of it myth baby

it is not a fair world I told my son before he left
my sickness is in imagining that could be wrong

they say writing is a religious act
but I think it is more like screwing, or killing

I wait in the dark
for you

10th Goodbye

no longer tragic now
just frozen like an old bug in amber
that afternoon you were close:
you said what do you want?
but it never works that way
too bad I can't kill myself
that would be the appropriate end
especially after all the talk of murder

well, I guess you did murder me
but it was really more like manslaughter
you didn't even know it at the time

8th Goodbye

panic stricken last night
what have I done?
you turned into the wind
colored pastel blues
made me choose
o the blood seeps from the thousand
cuts on these fingers
the typewriter is sticky now
you made me find how inadequate I am
I can never forgive you this
and you have the gall to tell me
not to say I am sorry
what kind of love is that?
it's just another stupid movie
just a picture you've lost
time collapsing into this
white dwarf

7th Goodbye

This life is a bad story
One I wouldn't tell my friends
Even though I would wound them, hurt them,
Just to make them feel what I feel.
But this life, this life is not what
Either of us planned. Too many times
You made me come to you and too little
Did you offer, willingly.
And for an excuse you claimed
You couldn't let it end as it must
If we were lovers.

O I made you beautiful, & you were kind.
But it is me who has the bad taste in his mouth,
Not you.

6th goodbye

this time there will be no explanation
no excuse
this time the dream will not end
with me sweating alone in my bed
an act of murder in the imagination
this time I'll go far away
into the future
or cast off into the past
the years will shed like fog
boiling off in your gaze

sure I made you uncomfortable
that was kharma establishing a balance
you've held the scales your entire life
you should've known when they began to tip

and I think you did
I think you just decided you didn't care
for that I blame you

5h goodbye

it's coming down hard now
the youngbloods sing "get together"
I wish I could forgive you, or me
for this one
it seems such a stupid world
and I find myself
in the eye of the storm
our scenes flickering by
like the wizard of oz
everything on film
even the curses
you never cried for me
you shared your brandy
you told me of your husband's betrayal
you shook me with my own hopes
you made me look ridiculous
you disappeared so many times
you brought me rain

3rd of a hundred goodbyes

inside out
my fingers are hollow they once
knew things
knew how to touch you
but your cancer got in
and my blood is spoiled

o darling
how could you
never mind
I know
I've finally seen into my death
you taught me that

2nd of a hundred goodbyes

so you know how to forget
I'm not impressed
you hid so many times
you could've said
oh no there's no right way
you mutter let's just forget it
and make terrible jokes
and shoot down them's what
ain't here no more
that is safe
always that safe business
so tired of taking care
so hot over you
it still makes me sick to my stomach
when I wake up in the night
and there's your ghost and my ghost
dancing

but you are not as cold as you pretend
it's just that you are afraid

the 1st of a hundred goodbyes

there will be no more words passed between us:
kent state is only history and you were never really Allison Krause
I accept all the pertinent blame
It is not your fault you were not who you seemed

but next month is October
my heart is torn free of its bone cage
even death is possible in this dark rain
the rock music is a knife its edge flourescent with my blood

we are too old for fairy tales
but I cannot just go hide
you take your nice husband
and your assistant manager's job
and your dissipating memories of ireland
and your one night stands
and your candid acceptance that life holds only death
and I will remember you and write these suicides on dark afternoons
with an image of you, in flame, burning


Ancient poems of loss. There are a number of these and I will put them up. Historically they are from the period in 1976-77 when I tried to put some distance between myself and this girl. It didn't work and I spent many more years trying to be more than her friend. She led me on. I danced. It was a sort of relationship. I am embarrassed by it now, recognizing I should have dealt with myself more honestly, and with her more honestly, also. But, there are a number of pieces I like in this stuff. And if it reflects the infantile romanticism that formed the basis of my life in the seventies, then so be it.