the vernier is shot

winds of these prayers paint the flatland of my fathers
my words chill me; no one comforts me
Keye Luke is back on Mars, & the lunar was explored last year
there are no angels in the snow of my front yard
only a photographic image of last year's wings

my hands are finally pale this season
the noise has become interference
it has lost its purity
there is no wisdom in the static
no messages from the yellow man on the red planet

the plains spread away from this door forever
no moon, no stars

When the vernier is shot on an old radio it means the ability to tune the signal has been lost. This poem lists all the conceits from the 70s: Keye Luke, the lunar explored, the snow angel. Photography is represented. The idea of wisdom hidden in the static is an old one. I first used it in the novel It Seems So Long Ago. There was a character in this post nuclear holocaust america who claimed to see the future in the snow on his television. There was no signal to pickup, just the white noise. That character was meant to represent John the Baptist in a novel built on the fifteen mysteries of the rosary. In this piece it represents the abandonment of the author by his muse/partner, Keye Luke. This was written long before Luke's demise, of course. So, this piece is primarily about my relationship with Scarritt, the group, and the idea. People left. People gave up. There is usually a retreat in every campaign.

Rising

the only memory becomes
story like a verb vibrating
in one place long enough
it forms a world:
the lunar explored.

but memory is
language with wine poured on it
blooming outrageously like
the vampire returned
from his sticks
by the living's blood.


The role of dreams in the circle of what it means to be reborn. The sense that reality is chosen as understanding (that is, frame of reference) from the data set that is the starkest fundamental block of being. I used to write about resurrection. That was a post-xtian mystery religion point of view. Then I started looking to remember what was always there but forgotten, a gnostic point of view. Now I understand that understanding is a process of being utterly honest. Not there yet, but working on it.