Monthly Archives: December 2009

Maybe the Other undresses

Maybe the Other undresses

in dark places. I wake up now

with one pebble in mind. Why

am I still here? In the Unkown-tree,

weight pulls bones free

from joy. Highness—

what limits! People think, lift off

Grounded-Dark. Join us

in Illusion, Sanctuary.

The Other speaks my name in the briar. Don’t turn,

I think, into ash

just now. Something tells me

my Mare waits for me in Stillness—

the Other body braided in her mane.

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Banyan leaves reach for light

Banyan leaves reach for light
in my body. I won’t let them

have my eyes, ears.
Something won’t let me

just say this life is wonderful.

The banyan leaves left the night
after a train ride through Wyoming.

I could wish things
into being—his hips—I could

ride a train through that valley.

Something won’t let me sing
this life is the only thing.

Something! Have my eyes, ears!
Banyan leaves through Wyoming, reach, reach!

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Light, what will remain of my body, talks

Light, what will remain of my body, talks
about You. It keeps saying,

learn each other–Today
I asked a stranger

if she was like me, did she
speak into a tape recorder

love-notes to herself to keep
from diving, driving, into

the shale-pain of road.
When she answered, Yes–

Light, the earth, let me
live on the ground again.

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conversation something said / through me it knows you

something said, something said, something said.

I’m hearing you and trying to imagine you as a light-body as I am a light-body.

If I was to describe this in terms of video games, I’m on a new level, but I don’t know the rules.

Any second, a light-body will show up eating berries and tell me the password.

Something in me misses the something I missed when missing you.

I want to break into the your room and feel God between us.

Somewhere, I’d say, somewhere, I lost the ability to do this:

And I’m back on the floor, trying to catch things.

But you’re already a light, you said.

Did you know I had a guardian angel once? I said.

I wrote her name on a piece of paper, but then forgot it.

That’s because angels, by nature, don’t have names, you said.

I’m her now, I think.

The next level, the key to it? you said, is talking to yourself again, like this. Like you’re God.

Did I just think this?

Look, I’m talking directly to you now.

There’s a mountain somewhere that holds itself under the sea.

And now I’m spinning in a field, calling to that mountain.

Now I’m under my own light, thinking its your light.

It’s your light.

The mountain under the sea has a body like God.

And now the light-beings want to take me there, I just have to close my eyes.

Now I’m wishing you were with me.

That I was with me.

There’s a mountain under the sea and I’m understood by it.

In the dark, we can speak to things easier, like stones.

Tornadoes have a love for things like I never had a love for things.

And through me, it knows you. Through me, it can say the world tasted like you.

something said something said something said

Imagine our light as bodies.

They already are, you said.

Oh.

Are you listening to me? you said. You look distant.

Don’t laugh, I said, but I was that mountain, the light-beings brought me back into this body.

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Birds

Laugh-Against-Stone,

I have nothing to give;

birds call Your secret

Holy wind–teach me to sing

God into me

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Ways in Which One Might Come to Feel Their Body is Foreign

* Sleep less than 4 hours for 4 consecutive nights

* drink caffeine or alcohol, or both, more than usual

* read Philosophy, then text about it

* have dreams where you’re reading a poem that makes you cry and envious because it’s brilliant, then have someone in the dream say “but you wrote it” then wake up, staring at a blank paper, trying desperately to recall the words/images

* see spots floating in the air, and wonder if it’s your eyesight, or knots

* analyze how, exactly, knots would be made up of matter, and what kind, so as to appear to your eyes only, then try to figure the change in eyesight in order to perceive the E.T. knots.

* write a 9 page paper on the analysis of the use of every. single. word. someone uses. Then try to write. Then throw yourself against a tree.

* discuss love

* discuss love with yourself

* hear the sound of your voice on a tape recorder

* sleep less than 4 hours.

* dream a figure or monster the size of a pencil, and just as tall, tells you that “friends” are illusions. But that cake is delicious.

* repeat.

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Wake

This morning I woke up, not wanting to get out of bed. I turned again and again into more thoughts of myself. But, instead of lamenting having to get up, suddenly, I thought, but I am up, and the day is my loved one, waiting for me to say “goodmorning.” I honestly believe we are all here, each moment, for a reason. And perhaps we are needed even more so when we are feeling down. For feeling down, or that weight, could be the Universe pulling you toward a moment so needing you that the anticipation of your arrival is a weight, a sadness but not a sadness. You feel confused, unwanted, but you’re just the opposite. Because you’re being woken up into a Newer-Importance. The-Next-Level of being human–and all changes are painful.

A friend once told me that the way she slowly left the stage of desperate, was to finally admit that she didn’t want to not want to not be. Maybe she couldn’t move beyond the dark, but at least she could admit the dark wasn’t her home…

And I dreamed, last night, of poems not yet written. This is the second night that’s happened. And though I try as hard as I can to wake and remember, it must not be Meant for me yet. It’s a foreign poem as all written things are that are not written by me. And yet it’s still very much mine. As is anything and everything for everyone in the Universe, both past and present. Both pain and joy. Cruelty and tenderness.

Glimpse what is almost-born. To remind.

And so I wrote this. And now I’ll be late for work.

Wake
not into this world, a hidden one. Where
are my thoughts anymore, my body? Birds
call for food, I’ll give my eyes.
Gypsy, you need a robe, or
a road–cut the body
open–not into this world, a hidden one.

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