today, September 6

the candle in the small bathroom
behind the wooden sliding door
remembers its brief heroic role
in the last power outage the vision
of the bottom rung still sounding
in the lengthy archive of this not
so gracious tumblr this slow
agonizing in the flickering shadow
of the next tragedy the next loss
outside the window the birds
mate and strategize the squirrels
contend for the same forage
in the darkening room the man
types similar lists and notes the
box of matches on the shelf
in the basement the sump pump
marks its task with a clump and
sudden song the hours recreate
this life like any other
where is the flame this morning?
where is the man's desire?
the world is a constant song
das lied von der erde he hears
and sees the small moments
all bearing grace he holds his
heart apparent wondering what
could be next he trusts the
woman in the wings for She
is fair to all Her children even
him

resistance

there is a moon tonight an accounting a shadowing on this heart
it is you leaving you walking away the steady unhurried natural pace
the moon changes
we dwell in the universe accepting the cycle as inevitable
the engine purrs
I listen too closely
the noise in the darkness: choirs of cicadas the fan beating air out
too many losses
it suggests that loss is the defining characteristic of this existence
why do I kid myself that I can resist this tide?
you're not here
the dark is a vast ovation to the blind god
no happy fortune just breath drawn alone
no twin heartbeat


I will say that this poem is not about any specific romantic attachment, though it did come from a date I had in the mid-90s before I met the woman Kimberly. It is also in the period where I was slipping into the gnostic materials on and off. Any examination of the god of the old testament finds a rotten hideous bastard who gives not a crap about us except insofar as we feed his hideous ego. The gnostics characterized this god as Samael, the blind god. The god who had gone made and created this universe, the one we inhabit. He is, as Phil Dick put it, insane, and therefore this universe is insane. Dick believed that because of this we need "medical attention" and that the avatars, Jesus, Buddha, Asklepios, were all microforms of the true god sent in to bring us back to sanity. It's a lovely theory, really. I spent quite awhile reading the texts and thinking in these terms. But it just didn't really work for me.

And then I truly found the Lady in my heart and in the night sky. On Bryn Mawr Street, after Becky Bradway left me, I started sleeping in the sun room at the back of the house. At night I would open all the blinds, except those on John and Gael's side because they had a little porch light back there. On full moon nights I could see plainly across my backyard and over the fence to tenth street. And I would open myself up to the natural world, the fir trees, the holly tree, the wind through the many windows. In the room in a planter I had this ficus tree I had grown from a tiny plant bought at the grocery store. By this time it had grown to be about eight feet tall. I recommend living with a tree.

In that room I found the Lady for real. And I asked Her the chance to love again. I met Kimb the next January. She changed everything for me. The Lady's mercy is real. There may be a blind god, but he is sad figure if he exists. I feel so bad for all the xtians and jews and muslims. I know what god really is, and She is merciful and beautiful and always on our side. Just look at the leaves and the stones, the waters of the oceans and the rivers, the breath of wind. This world has its own internal reasoning; that is the Lady's mercy.

This poem was also one of many attempts at writing the longer line. I think it works passably well. So much of contemporary voice poetry works on the short line/statement. I love a lot of rock and roll lyrics because of how well they balance their content with their rhythmic needs, and that is primarily short line statements. But, I also truly love both Walt Whitman and Allen Ginsberg, particularly for their long lines.

Doorway

spring nights the child appears her crib the doorway
fibonacci constant the golden rectangle in pkd's delirium
but this girl lives the joy that comes from passing through
one leaf is but another version and blessed is Our Lady
the Version among versions the faint trace of new
growth in the air a Marriage in the wings the warmth
awakening us the music of the natural sensuous like
the lines of violin and saxophone uttered by the wild folk
gathering at the edge of this sight: the little girl is there
taking her first steps into the Lady's garden,
leaf and stone, brook and grasshopper, fire and wind,
the earth our bed and the water our blood through
this doorway we pass, again and again, ageless in our hope

5/2004


PKD refers to the science fiction writer Philip K. Dick. The fibonacci constant is a mathematical relationship, 1:1.6, that appears over and over again in nature. Dick believed in things like doorways from one reality to another and envisioned them in the correct proportion. The child in this poem is Piper. I was thinking here of where she had been before she came to be with us. I believe in at least some form of reincarnation, although I don't necessarily believe that one's existence in any way presupposes what one's next existence will be. I do believe in kharma, in a certain fashion, but it has more to do with being faced with the un-truths we use to manipulate ourselves and others in this world.

The egyptians had it right, being weighed against the feather of truth.