da Gama

This is not the man  

butchered for a stew

sent to his enemies

or the man found dead

in the starfish shipwreck 

left behind the monsoon 

or the captive burnt in the cabin

or the one whose tongue

and lips were julienned

dog ears tied to his head

while brute guards stared

drinking the gore of Christ

from a golden goblet

with a long proud beard.

 

No, this is the man  \

who did all of that  to you. 

He was born on an evolving caravel

smoking arquebus the Holy Spirit 

to conquer time like normal men  

cannot really do 

unless they know the man 

and take his place. 

He enters your kingdom on a carpet of entrails 

intimidates the maids 

and gives you gold you must resist. 

You won't resist. The green forest. The silver mountains 

The raj's sunset

on the land he found with the power that you dream 

and the taste of cardamom. 

You forgive his destiny. 

He dies dramatically

on Christmas Eve.

He lies in a church in a golden tomb 

you commissioned with mastery. 

b.

Alzhemier's Comes to the Immortal

No dice on paradise 
means the proud man, shellshocked 
ends up sitting in a chair  

with no choice but to watch the snow-- 
the same grisly fate his mother

who died of her religion terribly 
wandered into, all the more so 
because she believed she could  
defy death altogether.

The diagnosis just came in.  
You may shower in scalding water 
and shit the bed til your daughter goes mad.

No one can fall farther than he did so quickly.

The long Maine shadows.

Pray for him for your own sake.

Dancing Past Rumi

It took 41 years 

and I still don’t move 

or look like you 

but I sensed to expect 

no conventional answer from transience. 

Like this? Like this? 

Question is better answer than answer 

or action than word 

even if to speak and say No
this is not more true than that 

and Yes this may be

but for reasons I cannot fully discern

as go many patterns from peak to cavern

it could be something else 
remains the way I understand the feeling 

the soul molting questions 

is ready to fly. 

-------------------------------------------------------
 

Dancing like Lennon at Heathrow 

like the kids on the street 

like the girls of Ibiza-- 

too shy and ill to celebrate  

in body what I feel to be carefree!

laughing in the excess anyway-- 

like two drunks after a good night say

What I seek will reach and touch me, as you said!

I see. Like this? Like this? 

Maybe, maybe not.  

Maybe the touch has already been felt 

never to return but memorized  

by the invisible scout. 

I refuse no question put to me 

or earthly passion expensive idolatry

is nicer than the stars. A night nicely dressed 

with no choice but to say yes  

to sun moon and wildfire

or the raw frost of February.  

Tonight challenge me 

to dance with you in the flesh.

Like this? Like this? 

I cannot express my bliss. I am repressed. 

And life’s become too young to fight the fascists 

who move to delete me. 

I am a flamingo with no rhythm.

My niece laughs at me and it hurts. 

I am the man

they put the screws to when it counts

so cut me some slack

my magic man.

I know what you mean
and when again I trust I’ll try.

Like this.

Shock and Awe

Life is a series of divides. 
Eruptions and fires and waves. 
Change is more than god unto amphibians 
dinosaurs sabercats dodos 
those-who-didn’t-(often unfairly)-adapt 
quadrillion shades of unsuccessful green 
and the wildly successful as the comet came down. 

I am one of those devides [sic] 
Fuck! Get rid of this persona! 
You can read more of me in the wake of the tornado.

Today I was called before my superiors. 
I vaguely got what they said or indicated 
but it was time to adapt to a new insane world.
When I went outside it was 125 degrees.

Delusional Treacle, as a Friend Said to Me the Last Night I Spoke to HIm

Maybe an act of kindness....
Maybe an act of kindness wipes out an act of cruelty. 
It is as simple as we believe it 
or a hyacinth in winter 
perfuming gray shadows 
when the blues have ended 
and the tears are dry.
It's also complicated 
as the solution called for by its question-- 
a superparadise for ex-slaves 
a significant period of female power 
peace of mind for the trafficked 
and the grieving 
imprisoned children girls abused
justice for men bonesawed
respect to those humiliated for money on live radio 
gaslit shit-on ignored and awareness

for those still formulating the words  to describe just-how-you-fucked-them-up.

Perhaps enormous squads of moral people 
one day will vaporize our shit 
by building rainforests 
or cities with laws and no criminals 
in the warm breezes of Great Bear Lake headquarters.
Maybe love is more decadent 
than the end itself and sweet 
as what it was to lie in a woman’s arms
before everyone outevolved their sex organs 
and arctic orchids began to bloom.
Maybe a cup of tea  
helps the girl just berated.

Maryland

August comes. Rain on the corn. 
A mist on the crabs shadows on the grapes. 
In a brown bat shadow 
the last cricket of autumn 
sings to the poison air. 

Sparrows jays and cardinals 
shimmer home and fireflies depart. 

Enlightenment is silenced here.

The Importance of a Simile

We fight the spinning of the globe 
and similes link life together 
like a wave, like a bird over waves 
like the wind lifting a bird over waves 
like feathers in the wind 
lifting a bird over waves 
like waves ebbing feathers 
blown by the wind 
lifting a bird over waves.
Surely we can weave enough 
to show each other 
the secret reasons 
we can reason in secret.