Free Range Poetry (a day long poem)

The song has always been sung

freely, made up on the spot of joy.

You can teach someone to put two

words together, but you can’t tell

them what comes next. Art comes

out of an unregulated place, a place

so secret no one knows where it is.

If that were not the case, corporations 

would capitalize our spirit.

Art is the mirror of phenomena.

You can deceive yourself and others,

but you can’t alter reality.

The academic clucks, cooped up

in ivory chicken farms know the 

words but not the meaning.

Training is one thing, life is another.

The great thing for me is this moment

of time, this temporary freedom, space

is cool…I’m just a listener…now I have

time to hear.

Everyday I wake into space instead of

job. That in itself is joy. I have a routine

in space, because I still feel a bit German,

but, it’s boiled down to coffee, cigarettes,

and crossword on the steps of the cafe.

This is a day long poem, a new idea,

writing one poem all day long, clicking

in when it happens…grooving in the 

space of gap.

Update

Two hours into most of the rest of the

day, the sweet spot, marrow of my heart

and mind…let’s see….

One poem, one day….listening to my son

in law’s radio program…e mailing him while

he’s doing the show…it’s the best way I’ve

gotten to know him.

My teacher taught the moment…that’s all

he was pointing to. A moment could be a 

day, a life…it all depends on how you look

at it. My life now is momentary, partially

because my memory is slim, man…It’s

hard to know if it’s even there.

Halfway to the start of being gone 

today…you can’t start halfway

unless you are already in the middle

of things, in media res, where we all

find ourselves, if we ever do.

I already took a shower…don’t have

to worry today about falling down drunk

there…it’s a thing. I can move on,

movelessly, in my place, treading space.

Radio show over, on my own as always

here, wherever….there, that’s it…oops

it’s not….throw the bait into the river…

you never know what comes out.

If you don’t stop,

it goes on….who can you blame?

who can you thank for that matter?

It just goes on, it just  continues.

Why are you not curious?

A day long poem…

isn’t always this way?

couldn’t it always should

have been?

Why do poems stop?

Because they’ve reached

their conclusion of one facet

of life….but the real poem

never ends. Yes, it’s not over….

It’s never over….fuck the goals.

Yes, a whole day of whatever…

your life and mine go on like

like eggs in their shells

waiting to hatch….if you decide

to wait.

Me?  I’m of German genes…I go

on…in spite of reality…you can know

this if you look at history. The Germans

went on…took over Europe, tried for

the world, the Americans were better

positioned and didn’t hesitate to take

the mantle of dominance in spite of the

good intentions which their civilization

epitomized.

It’s a long poem…talk about the world.

It goes on because it’s all day.

Talk about the rest of it.

I don’t edit, the day, or anything else…

it seems to be that I go on like everything.

Sure, truncate experience…. what does 

that give you? A skewed view…well, best

of luck. 

Yes, it’s still the day, i can write on…

maybe I’ll take some time and go away

then come back, write again..ah, but that

is what I always do..they call it poems.

I’m tired of continuing this, which is why

I always stop. You know, end a poem…

I mean, once you’ve vomited your heart

into anything, you have to catch your breath.

But, this is day long…can you remember

any one day in your life? I can’t any more, 

which is why I’m trying to write this.

I could go on…how many people we have

wanted to shut up have said this? All of them.

But, you are only reading…a lost art.

Yes, it’s a whole day, so, I’ll go get more of

whatever it is, take a break… will you excuse

me? Do you have a choice? Do I care?

Is this a poem, a rant, a life, a story, a theory?

Stay tuned, or, keep reading because  you have

already made your choice.

Day long…I haven’t gotten there yet, or, even,

out the door…if you’re reading this, you’re with

me, in fact, you’re too damned close.

Day long….like a foot long hotdog, kielbasa,

what you eat when you are really hungry.

Where am I  going? Nowhere because I’m 

here…all day.

It does go on al day…even art. Where you

start or stop are arbitrary, in fact, you can’t

pin yourself in any way, even though you’d

like to and hope for the best.

Yes, it’s still the day, it still goes on. I could

pin it down, make a map, show you the ins

and the outs, but, you’d still have to do it 

yourself, so,it wouldn’t help. 

I knew this guy…did a meditation retreat…

was seen running through the woods,

slapping the trees singing  “Ta ra ra

BOOM de aye!”

I’ll wait ’till the sun looks like it’s going

down to end this poem. Or else, I won’t.

Well, at least, not yet….no, now…my 

life, my time is on a short leash.