4/21/10

Destinations

and
the wealth of distance
in between

our destiny of footfalls
let me
heal those words:
“footfalls,”
“destiny,”
“hour.”

caring hands
forgiveness to muscle groups
that scent and
sugar-wet feel
of oil eucalyptus.
i never felt it while i lay
then when outside, in French-bread sunshine
the city
buildings consorted with me
their roars a hint
less threatening.

and
the trouble with destinations
is.

For the Swampdwellers (supposed to have funkier spacing, but can't do it on blogger... tried...)

Brontosoul

space
bass
d
rums
felt
sounds vel
bet on hour
whirled

introvertus
insanetiable
important.

too many controls
your pilots have no souls.

Ordovician intimate
Lets get down to past,
Play! Man, play!
Woman, woe, get down
Tyrannosaurus meet,
Crimped wrists- grip for a twist
Big ass chicken hips
Do the Chubby Chekr
Shake
“Come on baby,
Take me by my little hand,
And roar like this”.


Bass
Playing
He’s
Bass
Ically
Playing his
Sol
o.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satori

The Foothills of Wonder

Walking, no one around.
I am sorry, Satori;
I didn’t know how
to greet you.
You saw my scared face
and fled,
courteous of mixed company.

4/3, between Scofield Ridge and South Beacon Mountain,
yellow trail.

Fishkill Ridge Poem

Fishkill Ridge

pock-marked hillsides
rocks shimmer through
branches
heat that the heat has not
yet opened
kneads gently skin
light brown smell
gleam silver cornices
soon to be green leaves.

I fight the Garganthor in me.
Man who builds houses
and devours foothills in long drainages.
From Beacon town, up.
Master Fishkill creek,
slaughter and scale Lamb’s Hill, up
the Fishkill ridgeline
and then....
right down the Breakneck
Notch, zooming south
ten miles, swoosh down granite
face of Breakneck
the trees see you/I
flail
like a hawk
through them
preybound-
but where is your prey?

4/4/10 hiking

Proper Names

I return from Breakneck forested
Ridge, fondling spring
to you.
Seder.
Haroset mixing Maror
on dry-flaked Matzah. We bring
spring,
green leaves in salt water,
to Affliction, and affliction
to Spring.


Quiet Sensations
Use all of your senses, child.
There are
salamanders
red-spotted newts
wriggling in the teal
waters between those hilltops,
in recesses.
So don’t take your
SUV.

Blue Table, Blue Sky

The world quavers in my
coffee cup
I’m acting weird in Beacon.
Staring into random mugs
to see a new
reflection.
Of smoke from water.
Clouds above, and trees
that wiggle, from table
vibrations.

Brand New!

Department of Environmental Conservation

With tired eyes, white skin goatee,
forty years old uniform,
brown vest,
DEC,
He’says:
“people always take the easy route”
talkin’ ‘bout trade, and how to save
green. (the environment.)

Forest conservation
loving hand
manicures,
we says.
He’s teaches:
“tradition has a lot of weight too”
I mean, some people have been
doing that for generations.
I mean, progress progress
you shall pursue.
I mean- turtle shells don’t
come separate from the bone.... bon.
That language of plates, sparkles of brownon
hexagonal diamondstones,
dig?
how far different?

Anomie! Anomie! Save the anemones!

Heyo!

You take sea turtles off
Mexican coast I
stockpile livestock
lovestock. cumstock. lode.
californi-uniforma-tearialisn’t.
greenback brow
much do you make in a year?
I make
love in
murder.

cannibalism?
We’re worse.