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HE LOVES
He loves the disgusting part of me but does his yearning beautifully. What? Should I feel disgust? I would, and by my dignity, I must. No. I mutually love the disgusting as it lives in him and with...
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I DREAMED WHAT HEAVEN WAS
I dreamed what heaven was as I walked along, plainly,along the wharf museum I walk along daily.The old ship, the tourists, the custom house, the blue sky!The fussy federal park service going about its...
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SCIENCE AND THE SOUL
Well, you know what has to happen.Well, you know what has to be.But did you know if it really happenedand when it happened, did you really see?When someone dies and they say it was murder,Edgar Poe or...
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POEMS ARE A WEAK SURRENDER
Poems are a weak surrender. At best, poems are a feeble hope there’s a God and the God is the public. The invisible God is powerful and useful. Two related reasons: The invisible God rebukes the...
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DON’T BE CONFUSED
The war protestor secretly likes warand the war protest is war.Jealousy dominates the newspaper stand.That's what reporting is for.Sadism and schadenfreude stalk the landand betray themselves in the...
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MORALS
Morals hinge on recognizing beauty.Keats and Poe were right.To make the good a pleasure, not a duty,I pretend I am standing on a gigantic heightand the one I love is about to fall.The secret to...
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DAIPAYAN NAIR AND NEW HAIKU
By publishing his second volume of original haiku in three years, Indian poet Daipayan Nair threatens to become a haiku treasure. Famous paintings sometimes surprise us in a museum—“I had no idea it...
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LOVE FOR A PURPOSE IS NEVER LOVE
Love for a purpose is never love, even if the reason is a grand, selfless one. The grand purpose becomes all— love, being love, allowing the purpose play, allowing the purpose fame, whether...
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TIME DOES NOT TAKE THINGS AWAY
Do you remember when we kissed under the trees near the shore in the moonlight? Time does not take things away. It preserves. It records. Time is the net of memory. For years I felt sorry for myself,...
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I’LL LET THE SEA
I'll let the seacarry me over the landto visit Farah who is not free.I'll let the sea.I'll let the seadarken the dark day differentlyin the unspoken realms unchangeable to me.I'll let the sea. Here...
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EVERYONE IS GOING TO SLEEP
Everyone is going to sleep, my parents who are dead, Delilah, the Jack Russell terrier, Joey, the cat of black and white. It is early evening. (For my parents it will be a long night.) Zeus is at the...
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THIS IS A LITTLE OF HOW I’M FEELING
The language of feeling has its demands. The language of feeling is without feeling. One owing me money punched me in the jaw and I’m reeling. I got knocked out outside the beach restaurant, victim of...
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I WRITE MY BEST POEMS IN AUGUST
I write my best poems in August. My birth month protects me. Surrounded by smoldering late-summer air, I travel up the still-green hills to inspiration. At the top of the hill, all of them are...
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MY LIFE IS NO LONGER MAGICAL
“…devout deep-hearted Germans who believe everything, and so are nearer the truth, I am sure, than the wise who believe nothing…Take away the [gold] shoebuckles and I believe in the little...
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CLUTTER AND THE DUTCH
He always had to go the extra milebecause he knew before they did, but would smile. She hated clutter, airplanes, and the Dutch,things which allowed her to live; but she didn’t recognize it as such....
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VACATION LAND
I live and work in vacation land.It’s always vacation to me.Seagulls cry overheadand I always smell the sea. It’s like I’m in a moviewhich is always just beginning.There’s love, but it’s pretend...
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WHEN PEACE SURRENDERED TO MY MIND
When peace surrendered to my mind, I blamed the quiet sky. There was not a breath of wind. Owner of eternal wings—yet I could not fly towards peace, which became deadening, rapidly, in the perfect...
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THE FOG OF MY WANTS AND DESIRES
The fog of my wants and desiresis lifting as I age.Just stop thinking about sex—you’ll be a sage. You forgot something.Reality missed it.You dropped something in the street.It was reality you...
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THE BOY WHO LOVED TO BE ALONE
The boy who loved to be alone surprised you one day. He really had something to say and looked at you—you felt it in your back as you walked away. “If only I could be as melancholy as Bach,” he said...
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NO ONE IS REAL
No one knows what they like. We look to others. “Is this worth liking?” is always given by somebody else. The mob triumphs every time. No one does anything just for you. O madame. O monster. How do...
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