HOMELESS
homeless
a liability
writing
dark, empty,
self-pitying poems
not
my usual style
not my
best voice at all
and yet
still I think I commandeer
a huge expanse
own a slice
of this planet, a
piece of everything
was forged in the unbelievable
heat of a star
too precious
to fail so abysmally
TALKING ABOUT
disappear me
unwrite my poetry
erase every
shred of evidence
that I was ever around
the world needs to know
how better off
it is now
every
moment
without me
not that
when it gets told
it will have
any
idea
what you were talking about
unless I am
much mistaken
unless this poem
these poems
thrive in
my absence
kind of find
themselves
lingering around
SAVED
all those books burning
in that same library.
where before
things got messed
we used to chat
and I caught sight
of you once
strutting your stuff
in a giant white stetson
all those books
we both used
to read
much oneupmanship
between us
for some sad reason
and we exchanging words
at a distance about this tragedy
but there
I am before I ever met you
outside such a storm
creeping across the mountain
the rain slashing down
across
the entire peninsula
me immersed in the Upanishads
reading the great text
on the return
of the soul to the one
like drop into ocean
we
all one
and you my
forever one
though nothing close
to union
ever between us
somehow
that fire in my heart
always burning
consuming
never going out
PRECIOUS
Look at these
they are truly precious
the standard 7.62 mm
Maxim machine-gun rounds
that killed
Wilfred Owen
cutting the supply
of his poetry
increasing demand.
LINE
It was cold
freezing cold
so I started burning books
to get warm
enough to survive
survive
and wrote poetry
I burnt
my entire library
but all
I came up with
was a poor, single, line.
AT ALL
readers refused me
doors, windows,
mirrors,
refused me
when I disappoeared
nobody cared
nobody knew
it was as if
I never existed
as if I did exist
yet didn’t at all
RIVER
was crying
for myself
and not
for humanity
pretty shameful this
when you think about it
those tears
dribbling down my cheeks
like watching
Field of Dreams
the final scene
where crying
for everbody, for
us all
there
tears would flow
like a giant, winding river
OFF THE PAGE
I was writing about
the world
but it all
got very
faint
and small
like a film dissolve
set to permanent
and those strong words
powerful words
there to express
energy, vigour,
passion, life
went elsewhere;
refused to show
their faces
leaving me
in my watercolor world
pigments merging
everything
that might have made
this a poem
dripping off the page
SHUT
close your eyes
it is better
to read this poem
with your eyes shut
lest these words dazzle
trick you, seduce you
lead you off
on a dance
of disaster
as, from the very beginning,
they have me
they have me
eaten me up
entirely
ON THE OTHER HAND
Aphrodite passed it to me
bade me drink
and drink deep
mistakenly, I took it
for a love potion, but
those are
I believe somewhat bitter
this, on the other hand,
was sweet
to the taste
that taste
long and lingering
until it
began to fade
and
everything too
poems 2 die for