five poems, Spring Summer 2016
Would you rather be an ant or a mulberry tree?
Antsing ants, runts ranting over hot sand
Intent upon the footprint scent chant frantic fancies and canst not stand intercept
Tree waves leaves in sunsingshiny wind
Earth hove, she bode, the berrybunches leapt
Clever deathís denier or a fool like me?
Meaning me, meandering, mean, mean, extreme, unmet
Meet me in the garden - you do no wrong to hold your place
Time suspended a tether yet
Settles back into natureís warm embrace
How shall I rather? How shall we?
under palo verde
little leafies verge yellow
tongue gusts soft tresses
she unbundling tumbling
tangent to wind waves
touching on leaflet
twig-clung wing let
he following the curve of her purl
twirling her knurl to the ground
under palo verde
At what level does the qualitative shift happen between the way we believe we know the weight of an atom and the way we believe we know the weight of a stone?
If there is no means by which to differentiate them, mustnít we suppose that neither is there any difference in the surety and intimacy of those knowings?
Shall we say that the lab equipment is part of us, then, or that the stone is ungrasped, merely measured?
Ö and how then do we grasp the heaviness of a heart?
So to come to say we are in the grasp of some knowing other, that we are agents of the selfhood of mother word, lab equipment which is a part of her.
We are a grasping of pond murk out from pond murk, selves midwiving selfhood.
The self is the description of its own nonexistence.
When it points at itself it sees nothing there, yet it points now and then, you know.
Still, we can intimate at the culture, the life force increasing in us as we begin the curation of its growth, its pupation into tetherless metaphor.
In effecting this transformation we agence the selfhood of word. We experience that agency in physical form. This is the tether.
We asymptotically approach translation into pure metaphor, but to be untethered is to be mere potential, then to seek some form again like water.
This reformation is the divinity calling us - resubstantiating us into selfhood.
The Honeybirds and the Hummingbees and the sand swirls all round
An entire day passes
What reason, within, judges me against my will?
Trap of wonder tightly drawn around the world
Skymachines bony-finger Cupidís cuddle clouds
This unpopulated tract of unkempt scrub makes a maltreated hideout for many a loosed miscontent Iím sure