Parable #1

In the dark we see beasts
Where be no beasts;
Our senses see over
What really is.
In deepest daytime, though,
We overlook
Evil most obvious:
Blinded by light.

Solo Camping

And then the foxes’ barks
And the spinning moon
And I lay in my hammock
With my senses strewn
To the fine night breezes
And I saw different darks
Dancing behind my eyes
And I heard the deep sighs
Of the sad dying trees,
Felt a stitch in my stomach,
Watched the latticework friezes
Of starlight through leaves,
And knew that finally,
At the end of a long road of days,
I’d found some kind of home.

Kudzu #4

Moon’s a fingernail
Upon the fist of the night;
Blood bright from the palm.

There Are Men, and There Are Men

Bald man
On the side
Of the highway—
At least I have hair.

Thin man
Walking down
A flight of stairs—
I possess some bulk.

Drunk man
Falling down
In the dank street—
I’m quite moderate.

Sad man
Crying pain
Into the night—
I know happiness.

Mad man
Feigning sane
Mannerisms—
I’ve got your number.

All men
Be well warned—
I’m not like you—
I speak your sorrow.

Travelogue

They give you no maps,
only the vaguest of directions.
“Somewhere that-a-way,” they say,
snickering under their tattered breaths
at your considerable confusion.
So on and on and on you go,
shoe leather, tires, hair wearing thin,
debts and pounds accumulating,
‘til finally you’re barefoot, sunburned,
the odometer’s broken,
but you know no life but motion
so on and on and on you go,
to the valley of dry, brittle bones.

Kudzu #3

Summer heat’s begun,
And we wilt beneath the sun:
Bowing red-stem necks.

Sawdust Man

Now, father, when I think of you,
I think most often of sawdust—
Fine, sandy grainings of the stuff
Sifting down my collar, my arms,
Pooling at the base of my spine.
Together we slaughtered forests,
Fashioned boards into makeshift barns,
Sawed, planed, sanded, hammered in place.
And all the time you coughed and swore,
Sputtered and raged, and I looked on
With the son’s sad, detached concern.
Oh most imperfect carpenter—
Shall we never again approach
Those trembling trees with saws in hand,
Never again inhale their flesh
And from their muscles build a child?

Vegetation

No, no one saw you.
I’m quite sure of that.
Your secret is safe
For another night.
Breathe easier now.

Plant your rank sins deep,
Water them with tears.
In time they may sprout,
Spread out across you,
Vines with blood-red blooms.

Transaction

The light’s too bright;
Let’s tap that switch.
Swallow the light,
Oh perfect pitch!

Loosen your blouse;
Better, let fly.
Listen, oh house,
For our love cry.

Don’t sip that wine;
Guzzle it down.
You’re looking fine
In that lace gown.

Lie in the dark
With me, my wife.
Lend me your spark,
I’ll spend my life.

Kudzu #2

Watch that willow tree—
Branches falling down like tears—
That tree knows the score.

For Mark Richards

Each day he wore the usual—
Levi jeans and jacket faded
By the sun, not acid,
Over a worn Western shirt,
Cowboy boots, a smartass smirk,
As he held forth in the back
Of the rattling, rancid bus
Jarring and jolting down
The rutted pigtrail that
Really was Arkansas Highway 80.
He’d smack the back of my head,
Or the back of any male’s head,
Or pummel our shoulders
Into the submission of the pack.
“Lissen up, you little assholes,”
He’d say, firing a stream
Of sweet tobacco juice
Into a torn RC Cola can,
“this here’s the greatest damned song
In the whole damned world,”
And he’d launch into a wobbly warble
Of “American Pie,” and I’d almost cry
Because he was such a bully bastard
And I wanted so much to be him.
Every morning I’d wait to see him
Hunched in the autumn cool
Before his family’s fading trailer.
And then one morning he wasn’t there,
And he was never there again.
He’d driven his Chevy not to the levee
But toward the low-water bridge,
But the whisky was driving by then, not him,
And he didn’t make that blind curve
Hard by the old Thompson place.
They said a pine branch
Came right through the windshield
And right through his eye.
I can’t say.
I can only say the bus was quieter,
Less dangerous,
And I never loved that ride again,
All those lonely high school days.

Kudzu #1

Red bird and rabbit--
blackbirds over empty field--
Seen from your back porch.

So-so Mom

So she chopped the cotton
Because the cotton needed chopping.

So, later, she picked and packed the oranges
Because the fruit needed packing.

So still later, she built the batteries
Because the Hueys needed the batteries.

So then she built the furniture
Until her heart one day screamed.

So after a few months of rest and pills,
She built the batteries again.

So then he crashed and burned,
Lawyers and bureaucrats hovered.

So then she washed the dishes,
Because diners leave them dirty.

So finally, she wrapped the meat,
Because we want it sanitary.

So one day they threw her a party,
They gave her a cake and a rocker.

So then one day he died,
And she went on and on.

So her mind left shortly after he did,
And she swept the walk until it grooved.

So we had to sell the house
So she could live in Bedlam.

So then she died,
But not quite soon enough.

So.

So.

It's All Over Now

Past the dirt lane,
Past the sycamore,
Past the green house,
Past the open door,

Past the black hearse,
Past the tall stone,
Past the memory,
Past it all alone,

Past yesterday,
Past today, tomorrow,
Past that empty playground
Past childhood’s sorrow,

Past the past. Present.

Souvenir

That cross on the wall
Somehow centers everything
In this new yellow space.
Celtic, sandstone,
Wise beyond its years,
Hovering over expanse of paint
Between the bookshelf
And the open door,
Arms opening wide,
Like rose petals bursting,
Stretching to meet the sun
Bowing into our room.

The First to Leave

A woman drove to the end of the freeway,
Where parking lots spread like cancer.
She took her ticket and walked away,
Shedding her clothes like black snakeskin.
This, of course, attracted a following,
Cell phone cameras clicking, birds circling,
Everyone was sure they’d seen her before.
At the foot of the mountains she paused
Just long enough to shave her head,
Then trekked on up the brown slopes,
Gravel trickling down from her steps.
Around the tree line she turned to the crowd,
Mouthed, “I love you,” turned inside out,
Skin, organs, spinal column puddling
While something white, blinding, bright
Wafted to the clouds like incense,
Growing dimmer, growing duller,
Growing gone.

Demonic Haiku

An ancient cliché:
The devil’s in the details.
Sign on the black line.

The Baby

Center of gravity
For the entire world,
Bearer of smiles
Too big for belief,
Sudden skeptic
Of noises, strange faces
Or food, mood ferocious
One instant, then
Gleefully concentrated
On the wonder of now—
Little Buddha, Little Christ,
Little savior of us all,
Your adoring disciples.

5 x 3 x 2

Storms in the early morning
Sweep across your sleeping face
Turned toward the open window.

The thunder rocks you awake
And you turn toward me,
All lightning, rain, and wind.

2 x 5 x 3

Lonely pool.
Puffy sky.
Bright night.
You. I.
Vodka tonics,
Sudden quiet.

Far away,
Distant hum
Of traffic
You strain
To hear.

Why bother?
Sudden quiet.
Close by,
Bright night,
You. I.

The Aging Satyr to His Nymph

Listen! Can you hear me?
Strange that these flighty words
Have sound, have substance, sigh
Like a sad beast fleeing
The scene of a slaughter

She was powerless to prevent.
These words float above us
As if in comic books
Where we have super powers,
Never age, never lose, never

Forget each other’s special names,
And the villains are obvious,
Drawn all in garish sneers
And grasps toward ultimate power.
We’re real, love. And mute.

Annual Review

Whisper and sneer,
my angry pretties,
whisper and sneer.
Do push yourselves
to further plots,
schemes, vivid pettiness.
Smear the names
of your enemies
like sour jam
on moldy bread.
Itemize the slights,
document the snubs,
relish the rumors
of impending disaster.
Soon you’ll rule,
we’ll love you,
right will triumph.
Right. Some advice:
watch your back.
Targets tempt us.

Old Friend

I remembered you.
Across the room,
Lights in eyes,
Music like demolition.
You are memorable,
Like lofty peaks,
Toothy childrens’ grins,
Declarations of love.
Your face shines
With the lights.
I’ll remember you
Next time, too.

Political Rhetoric

Words slither
though the grass
in the dark

flick forked tongues
at ankles
unwary

Mystery #3

Who can say
why we do
what we do?

Apparently people sometimes
leap off buildings
with no premeditation.

Falling to earth
they never know
why they die.

During Chemo

Blank appetite
And brittle hands
Conspire against you,

Kidneys aching
From poison flow,
Even your hair hurts.

These days stretch out
Like snakes in the sand
Or dreams in fevered sleep.

Afterwards

Still
In morning
Sad thoughts meet

Those other thoughts
Coming in
Early

After
A night
On the town

With the boys
Who were
Sad

Almost Midnight

Thoroughly her thoughts meander
Surfing the breeze from the ceiling fan
Whose blades swing like questions
Going round and round forever

Memo

Flowers have eyes, too.
And stones have feelings.
And water has stories to tell
If your pores will listen.

In the densest city
You may stand solitary,
While alone in a field
You’re claustrophobic.

All of which is just to say
You’re just as screwed up
As all the rest of us.
Did you think you weren’t?

Believe me, we all concur.
We’ve had several meetings.
They were about you.
And you weren’t invited.

Where We Live Now

And I remember the desert
As if you and I lived there
Where the sand scrubs your skin
Down to bone, layer by layer.

I left that dust when I was twelve
For mountains, forests, streams.
Now we’ve left the woodlands
For horizons as flat as my dreams.

I walk in the morning still shaking
From my battles with surf and waves.
And I breathe you in like oxygen,
Like music, like landscape that saves.