Little Body

Little body full of blood,
Quite alive but made of mud,
Do you wonder what you are?
Did you come from near or far?
How’s it feel to be alive?
What’s this struggle to survive?
If you knew you came from space,
Maybe all would fall in place.
Little body, full of blood,
Self important Elmer Fudd.

Sleepy Ninja

Sleepy little ninja washes the blood
from his hands and yawns, tired after
taking out a battalion. Heavy eyed,
he hears a man outside rattling the trash can,
smiles and drifts off.

Some Words

A tree with white flowers
On the tips of it’s limbs
In front of me.
A man who’s been dying
For a long time
Finally died.
I listen to the same music
Over and over because
Each time it’s new.
At night I sweep
Scorpions and assorted beetles
Out the door.
A salmon salad sandwich
With goat cheese,
Garnished with olives.
Two black butterflies
Chase each other.
I remember the bum
On the street muttering:
“There is no punch line.”

Baked Alaska

I was on the Titanic
And dessert was being served…
It was Baked Alaska.
Suddenly, there was a loud explosion…

I thought it was just dessert…
But it was just deserts…

Clouds (Boulder 1988)

West End…watching the clouds…watching the waitress move superbly through space. She
doesn’t want to see the clouds change…wants the whole plan to change…frame of reference to change. But just look at the white and grey clouds…sky you could swim in…
float in blue air…white pure thunderheads east of the Flatirons…silhouetted in blue. She has her own clouds she goes in and out of. Smoke floats up and disappears into blue. All variables disappear into clear air. Footsteps slowly fading away…love fading into dream…
dream fading into morning light, birdsong, cigarette and coffee. Staggering again into being.
Pieces come together slowly as day begins to appear. Moving forward slowly, stiff with old dreams, into the mounting air. Things to do…I say: “I quit!” but it does no good. Events happen one after another like flaming boxcars down an endless rail. Falling in love with each moment’s inhabitants…too much of a too much thing…like fast food clouds of verisimilitude. Time to spill my ginger ale,…go to the Trident…small interlude of words is there. It’s the thin night air that does it…like her lips silhouetted against the screen door as she turns for the last time, for the last look that she will remember with her new lover, as the white clouds finally go out…as the last light fades…as the mind fades and goes out… into the night sky.

Fuck Up

I graduated from college.
My father told me “Get a job”
I stood in front of a mirror,
My hair cut, polyester suit
and tie. ..almost lost my mind
on the spot.
After that, never did
anything right, according to
the master plan.
Became a plumber,
wrote poetry, drank,
built meditation centers,
more comfortable on the
fringe of society,
where things fall apart.
Now I feel great, superb,
for no apparent reason
other than unavoidable,
chance occurrence
having trusted my heart.

Dharma Discount

The river of materialism has burst it’s banks.
Deceptive gods and teachers are having a field day.
Many jump on to the latest band wagon.
The wisdom of the ages is lost in time.
Even my teacher has said this may be the last
Generation that is able to hear true Buddhism.
Even those claiming to be Buddhists waste their lives
In trivial pursuits.

Filled with good intentions, lost in materialism’s view,
“Everyone out of the caves and into the pool!”,
the director of recreation blows his whistle.
Perhaps there will be chaos on a scale never seen.
Perhaps it’s best to wipe the slate clean and start over.
The whole world knows, at the heart, that change is inevitable.
My friends are dying, but that doesn’t make me sad.
I feel sad for us, the living.

Greeting Card Poet

Emotions stirred, the bosoms heave,

A smirky smile, he takes his leave.

He didn’t have that much to say,

Just looking for confection’s pay.

Day of the Dead Oaxaca 2004

It’s strange, really,
being from the USA,
to see
the people around
and feeling their life
swirling through me,
unlike the zombie mall.

I feel the call of the cemetery.
I am wearing the black clothes already.
The smell of flowers haunts me.
The bougainvillea that grow so bright
Are brilliant phantoms
In the light, so even day seems as night
livid with shadows of lives barely glimpsed,
But, at least, there have been moments,
The place is teeming with moments,
….how many to build that church there,
in seventy five years?

On the day of the dead, the ancestors
are said to come back…the family’s door
Is marked with flowers
so the dead can find them.

In the Slippy

Oh the Everest I climb with each emotion
Drinking in the sun and moon of each moment
Transfixed by the gaze of everlasting owl
Mesmeringued by whatever hypnopied me.
Making sense doesn’t make sense to me.

I’ve found a rabbit hole; I’m going down.
In the slippy, the deep down side,
Down to where ever never comes.
You don’t know what I’m saying,
But you’ll see...the bizarre has
Become the common complacency.

In the slippy, the deep dark side,
Go’in down, come on along,
Come along for the ride.