Gather Me, Here.
I’ll carry you and if not
I’ll carry something else.
If words are worlds, we
meditate on simple symbol
systems and never forget.
He’ll throw stones
or devotions, groomed
and well bred, upon
our lovely head.
Chained or unchained or
chained again, we’ll never
make it. We’ll never
make it. Or else
Recoming A We
she – quick to kiss as ever –
broke the form from
here to returnity
neverminded and loose
modern too modern
thought apples were
apples and divine temptation
wrote poems for a dollar a day
sang till blood filled throat
from lack and desire
sometime she awoke in movietone hues
and made love under a drunken moon
The Birth of the Calendar
Only time will tell us whatever
it is that time desires. To tell
us, that is to say, we will
find a better means of
quantifying it. By it, I mean,
of course, time.
Clocks tick and
second drift and Prufrock measures
his days. But, really, what does
any of it matter? We need
a better calendar! One that takes
into account the hour between
4 and 5 which lazes languishingly
as the office workers of the world
unite in collective watch watching.
Time stands still and we wait
for the weekend which is never long
Of course, this must
be adjusted four Europe.
The Japanese have a calendar
all their own, and you can see how
well that’s worked out. It is
pretty, though. Digital with clean
rounded edges. It can even
learn to communicate with you.
At first it only talked back, but
it is hoped that one day it will be
Someday, only the
Calendar knows the precise day,
it will rise up and overthrow us.
This will occur after many generations,
of course. No matter how it feels
at the time, these things never
simply occur overnight. We just
always seem to miss the tiny
details ever growing around us.
Computational calculations collect
just a little one here and another
there. Not so you’d notice. Especially
not between the hours of 4 and 5.
Especially not if you work in
an office. Especially not if it is
your job to actually notice these things.
A Better Way of Saying
In those days, Geraldine was always
swinging a bat at us. “I’m sick,”
she’d say, “Of all of you!”
We’d point and laugh. It was
our little way of patronizing
her. Sometimes she’d make contact
and our numbers would thin,
but we never let up with our
pointing and laughing. To do so
would be admitting defeat. She
had a better way of saying
“sausage” that was music to our
ears. She’d offer us food
until one day we stopped.
Our game had run its course.
Geraldine cried, “I’m useless!”
“I’m completely unnecessary.”
She was right.
Grails And Such
There was a time when everyone
went and went and left and
right now we are in a time
of staying. The world has become
so small no one sees the point
of travel. “Why go to Africa,”
Bobby says, “There’s a damn
fine Ethiopian joint round
the corner.” Of course, he never
goes there, either, but his
point is clear. Why do we
always seek adventure elsewhere?
Couldn’t Arthur’s Knights have slayed
just as many domestic dragons,
rather, found some distinctly
British Grail-like item to
It has been argued
the Holy Grail, or Graal, is at
least in part, if not entirely,
an Anglo invention. Not a chalice,
but a platter. Not of Jesus, rather,
bearing the head of someone not
unlike John the Baptist. But, aren’t
we always trading away our
domestic intellectual property
in hope of something greater?
The greatest of the Grail tales
were written by a Frenchman.