whereupon

the dreamer lies
within the lies of dreams

whereupon the strangers cry
for the strangeness gone missing

for some the course will change
as the flowing sweeps flowing on
persistent current in the novelty of days
and some things will rearrange
till absence is no longer strange
just flickers of light
that skip across the water
or a sudden echo in the night

did a lover smile
did a companion laugh
did a stranger stop and think
or even for a moment be
inspired

whereupon
the drift of haze
covers the road, but is beautiful
and the dream goes on
until it doesn’t.

2011

At my age a man expects honors
and recognition.  Forget that!
The bland leavings of diminished demands--
contributions to the ambitions of others
are all that worldly matters, along with familial fondness
however distant, however adhering to someone
I no longer am, perhaps never was--
but what do I know about that?
So this is it--cope with the present
until the light goes out forever?
I end as functions, as scenery,
as someone whose desires do not matter,
whose accumulations are irrelevant?
A stick figure of silence, just another
vaguely startled red face and white beard
identical to every other old man
our individual faces lost?
Small warily searching eyes, no
smile?  Just one
of the floaters without position
in the world, whose children are far away
or don't exist, or never existed?
Old man fading into the darkness.

2011

S'taff

I wait for the song to finally reach your heart,
for the sun of my true fathers to shake you.
I am not patient, I eat knives at my gentle
table, I wake up several times a day
always alone.
I wait for the thunder to crack over your city
of damp shock, the lightning to surprise
your mirror, so you can see the face
that I see.
I wait for the blister of a world to go away
and leave us to our own rain,
our wind, our snow, our sea,
our faces drowning in the same glass
our teeth beating in the same
madness, our dreams
at rest with each other.
I can't reverse the clasp of my mind
or the sinking of my heart
or the skin's discouragement without you.
Call it an unearthly instrument
too clear to bear a name
among the prodigal namers. All we have learned
is to turn away.

1/14/1976

Goodbye

I want to scream pictures into your mind.
Many of them are burnt with a sun I have never seen
but in them.
A leaf purple with other leaves,
a woman pink with strength.
I want to put us both on a healthy diet
and to strangle every cigarette in the world.
I want to not worry.
I want strings pulling ordinary language
past the quiet where my mind zooms.
I want the ether to be noticeable, but easily walked through.

I want your eyes where I can see them
and your hands where they will move when I move mine
and our lives to make silent dances despite our
weakness. I want you to have our baby
but only if you quit smoking first.
I want this to be the last time
I am afraid I am only kidding myself.
I want the world to tease us
to the limits of a love.

1/15/1976