A GUITARIST SWEETENS THE NIGHT

Our dark oceans are shivering

ancientest tempesttost navies.

My starving fingers bite your strings.

My hammer taps into your bark

to find immortalized molasses,

like a corkscrew into waiting cork.

These gardens glow like ivory

amidst the shades of black Hades

and I curl, curl into your curves.

The sky is a vase of daisies.

THIS POEM BY DUANE

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For your photos of snacks,

for your pictures of cats.

When Virgil

and Dante

met Homer in Hell,

Dante elevated

Himself

to their level.

GASANDICEMAN

One way went to the mountain

and one way to the coast.

One way the way of Pan

and one the way of Thoth.

This wayfarer, uncertain,

decided to take them both.

I inhabit

Opposites.

I am a rotund materialist

and within, profoundly, his ghost.

I am the ground.

I am the mist.

ALL HISTORY IS PROPHECY

Blind men at dusk predict

the next day will bring light,

No past dies completely.

Its bone cements my wall,

and its ash congregates

in these porcelain dolls.

All prophecy

is history —

bounty or blight.

All of our tomorrows

are mysteries today.

Yes, “the future looks bright” —

there’s too much glare to see

the soonest cloud bringing

the silver and the rain.

I’m in Hiroshima, just waiting for the  plane.

PASSION FOR LIFE

(after Wang Guozhen)

I care not if my destination is reached

since I have courage to walk ahead

regardless of the winds and rains.

I care not if my love is reaped.

Since roses are my one passion

my address is brave and sincere.

I care not if hostile winds and rains freeze me

since my horizon ahead is set.

The world’s shadow is behind me.

I care not if the road’s flat or straight.

Since I possess a passion for life

I can never be caught offguard.