WHEN THE DAY WAS DARK
My toes were my eyes till
sunrise. It’s then that the
dawn lit beyond where my
footprints knew. But the true
Isness remained hid like
it did when the day was
dark. There’s no Hark! and no
Eureka! I’ve no law
which can explicate how
my fate operates, or
why there is life, or when
time began, where it ends,
who I really am, what
is scam. That sun is a
blimp. It just limps through the
defined sky, lets me eye
the way of my tracks – all
in back, and none move to
head off sunset: Daylight-
and-shadow’s status quo.
MENAGERIE IN E MAJOR
The monk cast that day’s third I-Ching
and then he made his turkey sing
to entertain the drunk heathens.
And the Turk had his monkey dance
in his red sequined funky pants.
The monk’s turkey and Turk’s monkey
showed them both they were worth money,
so Monk and the Turk joined forces
and purchased two purloined horses
that they taught to play bass and drums.
They toured as The Amazing Ones,
led by a jazzy pachyderm
who blew triumphant saxophone.
FURNACE AND FREEZER
My world is hermaphrodite.
A dimension where moral
coexists with the evil.
It grasps equal opposites.
Down is just as good as up.
Yes, there’s gray, but black and white
occupy the selfsame sites.
Oceans are the desert’s cups.
A vacuum comprises all.
A freezer and a furnace
work to serve a like purpose.
A dwarf is considered tall.
And your wanton naked face
is expressive as your ass.
FRANCIS DRAKE
My hands are caked and yours are so fine,
but somehow they fir
trim together like ships of the line.
Marry me, oh carry me, sign your name mine:
I’ll be Francis Drake and you’ll be my Golden Hind.
I’ll fill up your hold with all of the gold
that I can find, all of the gold that I can find.
We’ll dance naked, if you’re so inclined —
just billow our charms,
wrap our sheets round yardarms entwined.
I’ll ride you of I’ll guide you, make your name shine.
I’ll be Francis Drake and you’ll be my Golden Hind.
I’ll fill up your hold with all of the gold that I can find.
I’ll fill up your hold with all of the gold,
with all of the gold,
with all of the gold
that I can find.
I’ll be Francis Drake and you’ll be my Golden Hind.
MY FINGERS
Visit me in my mushroom tower and I will come to you
down this deep dark ditch amid tinder black flowers
down to the buttercups and dew.
My fingers have ridden through the forests of your hair
and slept on belly-gold prairies.
Have explored your hidden valleys, climbed snowcapped breasts,
and on your beach hips have rested.
Tanned your naked stands, strata in the earth in layers of
dark
light
dark
light
dark:
while (miners in anticipation) my fingers tremble….
And then it is we who are the layers in the dark, quaking among bedrock,
hardness melting into darkness, joining in new formations,
stalactite buried and unearthed buried unearthed buried unearthed
through the long geologeons of night
till finally separated by a fault
…and our sky becomes snow on coal.