Heraclitus
Some moments stretch themselves and
languish slovenly longer
than
strictly expected –
the goatee grazes my lips,
a soft breath on my forehead…
hands finesse
intensity
burning within me.
Such moments exist
in pure duration somehow
even
outside themselves –
there is no edge, no sudden
presence, nor any fading
cadence –
only infinity:
the ever present now.
Happy Birthday John Boyee
Johnny, Jaunito, John Boyee.
You are two and I am three.
And we sit with the cats on the little
stone wall by the barn,
where daddy milks the cow.
We sit, waiting, holding
plastic, avocado-colored
coffee cups.
Johnny, Jaunito, John Boyee.
You are two and I am three.
And you have almost drowned once
by diving off the raft to rescue
a bright pink toy tractor
which uncle Ralph retrieved.
Even at two, you have this
thing about toys
that doesn’t seem quite healthy.
Johnny, Jaunito, John Boyee.
You are my little brother,
and you are supposed to listen to me,
because you are the one who has to be told twice.
You are the one who takes chances,
the one who doesn't even think before he
jumps out of the door of a moving car,
grabbing for his
football as it falls.
Johnny, Jaunito, John Boyee.
You are two and I am three,
and we are fluffy fat bears
in our brown winter coats
among the frozen south texas palms.
You can't talk yet, but I am explaining
the world to you,
as I think I am supposed to do,
because I was here first.
Johnny, Juanito, John Boyee.
You are mute and stuffed
into your fluffy bear hood,
runny nose and hazel eyes.
You know your big sister thinks
she knows everything
you know she puts on a real
grand show.
But you tend to trust her,
anyway.
Johnny, Jaunito, John Boyee.
When you were two and I was three,
someone told me that if I took care of you,
someone would take care of me.
Johnny, Jaunito, John Boyee,
I wish that things were still so easy,
as when you were two
and I was three.
Metaphysics & Rural Journalism
In the Oyster Bar last Tuesday night,
(over a beer, after the
paper had gone to the printer)
when I made it clear how much
I question everything
about my reality.
It was something he'd read, once,
I think:
Something about the fact that
all life is a decision tree
(I am paraphrasing) –
only he used the old
'fork in the road' metaphor,
and when you get to those
places, the crossroads, or whatever,
he said, it doesn’t matter,
of course, which way you go –
only that you go.
His advice –
he said to pick a direction
(he helpfully suggested 'left') –
and
whenever in doubt,
to just go that way.
I feel I have been standing here
waiting at some crossroad
for a small eternity now.
Sometimes I think
it is harder to move on
when you know
it doesn’t matter
which way
you go.
I laughed, and told him
that if you always
pick the same direction,
you only
end up
back where you started…
He shrugged and nodded,
mouthful of beer.
Integrity
I could never be paralyzed by this.
I have been alone before,
and in truth –
always.
Pain of this sort,
these separations and
demarcations,
are external
and wash off me –
they leave no scars.
I could never be broken by anything,
ever again:
having learned my ultimate integrity,
having found
my core
value.
And how can I ever truly know
the truth of anything else?
There will always be
so many interpretations –
that we said what we had to
to get what we wanted,
or
that we really meant everything
and still do –
who really knows and what does it matter?
I could never be tricked
by people tricking themselves,
I am not cheated
by people cheating themselves.
No one can
take in trade or theft
what of me
I give freely
so
there is no loss here.
I remain
as always
whole
wholly alone
integral to myself,
functioning fully
and maintaining
a steady state.
And what could be these,
his desperate crafty dodgings –
the way he pushes
and pulls,
to see if, perhaps, I will come apart –
pass thru or over me…
I bend,
they do not breach me.
I accept,
they do not shatter,
nor disrupt me.
I go on.
Exit Left
What I hear when you don't say anything:
crazy, mad, unspoken
recriminations –
there is no recourse
here,
no appeal
against the unvoiced miscellaneous –
only
detraction.
I remove myself.
I move on.
I don't have time to wonder
about signs not
clearly posted.
And I never lied when I said
that everything's been incredible,
wonderful –
where you've brought me,
the ground I've gained.
You know,
Sammy,
you are free
always only
ever
if you believe you are free…
and careful
not to think yourself
into impossibility.
Happy Gigi Day
In this werld, such gifts as she
are precious, few,
and priceless.
Sweetest blur of blonde
and energy –
vitality that connects
directly to your heart,
verily the moment
she looks at you.
In this werld, such spirit
can't be contained,
or hoarded.
And growing up, you kno, I never knew her –
and nothing was ever said.
For years I would puzzle over
the blank spots
in the family history,
the strange feeling
that someone was missing.
Everyone's life evolves from some still point of communion.
From there we spend the rest of our days
unknowingly seeking to
be swaddled close,
held tight
by another,
feeling
safe and wanted.
Radiant flash of fun
and joy –
you will probably never know,
just how much you
define for me
nearly every reason
there is
for never giving up.
And how when you smile at me
I always want to
try to be
as special as
I always wished
I could –
and as special as
you deserve.
Emotional Proximity
How can I not be affected –
there's cruel indifference in this world.
Sharp pain and anger
when things abhorrently fail.
I was four or five.
I couldn’t understand
how such things could happen –
that no one would intervene…
The injured chick in the pen –
its leg had been broken somehow –
and in horror I watched
while the larger birds,
sensing weakness,
turned on it,
began pecking it to death.
I screamed –
I remember screaming –
and shaking the wire fence
so hard it cut my hands…
I tried to get them to
stop, stop, please stop.
But by the time
grandmother came running,
it was already far too late.
And I had not enough words at that age,
I could only point and scream,
thinking
'why, why, why?'
I don't remember her
exact answer -
Only that it
wasn't enough for me.
And I held tight to the fence
when she tried to pull
me away
to fix the cuts
on my palms...
Nodded angrily at her
when she then asked,
'so are you just going to stay
here, all night,
guarding baby chicks?'
yes...
someone has to.
East Village Manhattan
On the street today…
He, noticeable, rubbed up against me
as he passed, the
punkt out sk8r boyee bedeckt mit
stainless spiky CBGBz hardware,
muttering just below his breath
"…nice…".
She, posing caustic butch/femme fiction
walking the pit bull, smoldered
knowingly in my general direction
searching to illicit a response,
offhandedly passive, caressing
her cell phone.
Walking on amidst fluttering god pamphlets
declaring that 'jesus wantz YOU' –
I find that
there are all kinds of love on the streets
of the east village.
And how do u kno
when u are being cruised?
And how do u kno
when u are cruising?
Eye contact,
nod or smile,
lead the way…
thatz all it takes –
street salvation is just a wink away.
Zak #2
Surfing my couch the summer
his brother kicked him out –
tall, cool, chill one Zak.
Anywhere that he went, chaos,
and desire would follow –
destined, karmic, dope one Zak.
And he was so many things,
both the known and unknown –
crazy, wild, wikkid one Zak.
Giving me little presents
stolen from bars and clubs –
quick, hot, smooth one Zak.
We engaged each other at
everyone else's cost –
dynamic, free, loose one Zak.
Loving him was easy, but
tantric real and chancy –
fluid, weighty, light one Zak.
Still,
he sighed and said himself
glibly into my soul –
salacious, slick, slippery one...
Zak.
November in Texas
Time,
and he
moves on.
And I am
here watching leaves fall
in the driveway.
Funny the winter here,
so temperate as to mislead,
but still the trees persist
in losing volumes of
sickly yellow-green foliage,
determined at an appropriate change.
Ever since I could remember,
you know,
I've always said I'd never hold
nor be held
back.
Who can deny time
its own fullness?
Times moves on,
and he moves on,
and the limen [1]
approaches.
I clean, and
move little things
around the house,
the TV or radio on
in the background.
Large dark clouds
pass slowly across
the winter sun
casting strange
shadows
at the door.
I try to get used to the feeling
creeping in around the edges.
Time
and we
move on.
But I am here,
for now,
too entirely aware of it.
Newtonian Physics
Honest, well-meaning Ernst –
always the structured
scientist.
Just how did you manage those variables –
the ones you couldn’t explain –
all those hours we spent together
quietly omitted from your calendar,
our meetings clandestinely
cited as business travel
– or some other age-old proxy.
I know you tried to run it
like any other experiment,
with reliable controls in place –
the phone calls "from the lab"
followed by
late night data extraction
emergencies.
Direct, decent Ernst –
always the objective
archivist.
Just how did you document those artifacts –
the precipitant mistruths –
those irreconcilable confessions
that although you still loved her,
you desperately wanted me,
and unavoidably hated yourself
– simple cause and effect.
I know you needed me
like any other peer advisor,
to validate your approach –
but I wasn’t the one tied
to the outcomes,
and my credibility was never
at stake.
Sweet, sacrificial Ernst –
always the conflicted
philosopher.
Just how did you postulate the theorem –
despite the conclusion logic derives –
that real integers could ever
produce end sum gains,
when subtracting from another
across any axis of time
– algorithms just progress.
I know I tried to teach you, tho –
my operations were value-free,
easy functional exercises –
expressing discrete states of Being,
Platonic absolutes
not truly viable
outside the
vacuum
of the laboratory.
Atom Files #6
In the autumn
we wander the city
from happy hours until closings,
quietly shocked.
In between,
we were displaced.
You leave for the desert,
and I loiter in the east village
collecting take out menus.
The sirens still echo
their frantic endurance
resounding.
From my window at night, I see the pillars of light
that the city sends up in homage
disappear
into the clouds.
That spring I became
the desire for touch
in the sudden absence
of so many
unknown souls.
In Tompkins park,
leaf buds on spindly trees
the homeless and junkies.
I am beyond it.
I vaulted right past despair,
began my tactile
inquisition
of various men,
not knowing necessarily
in the seeking.
Better, in fact,
to not know too much,
not remember names,
but rather count bodies.
In the spring,
and you leave drunken
while the middle east unhinges,
and i gently explore your discarded lover
on the chaise lounge.
The moment,
so vacuous in its
gains inertia.
The numbers add up
running on
the months of obituaries in the Times.
He could have been anyone
our age and down there.
He could have been me.
He could have been you.
Atom Files #5
I recognize and
call the atmosphere –
I have been here before.
I recognize the air of strife and contest,
and remember the awkward boldness of things said rashly –
but with swift regard.
I can sense the oncoming casual cruelty,
possible only of lust
crossed by desire.
Him. Active, generous, fierce.
Sudden.
Four A.M.
and impetuous, the foundation
of the current environment.
Now, in the near future
and I make a
voluntary change,
with the minor falsehood
and deception
of simply disappearing.
I cut him loose
quietly –
left hand magick type of shit.
Meanwhile: work, work, work,
toil steady.
Challenge myself past the
indolence of complacency
and the daily disinterest
that arises when acquisitions are gained
and lost as soon,
at once.
No.
I call the future environment –
me, my stealth,
prudence, skill, and cunning.
I cut him loose,
full moon,
Time.
The – what I send out –
to him, let go, let go, to him
I send.
Truce.
I send him.
Convalescence, a recovery from sickness
and from the nagging
annoyance of a sleepless
schedule.
I send him.
Quietness and rest,
peaceful sleep
after struggle.
I send him.
Sam-I #2
He has pain
and loneliness,
i know,
under there somewhere...
Not because i see it -
but because i kno everyone has it...
Is life too much to feel at once?
My heart is strapt tite in my
chest...
slammed, pressed
straining to maintain.
The touch of this world is
the tingly numb
electric prickle
of a thousand needlepoints
somewhere deep on the inside burning,
burning like a fresh open cut.
Seering beautiful intensity,
the moment
now
seeing all other
possible moments
stretched before it
in all directions.
Tricky, thin the line we walk
between the moments
and call Reality,
continuity.
Thinking tonite over what he
had said to me -
my existential purpose
blending on so many levels
as to be moved to
inertia...
Paralyzed in the moment.
Compressed by the future
rolling out from me,
pushed flat by the force...
Sam-I
I miss him
so lately
been so long since
i rilly
seen him
need to redirect my gaze
my career
myself
spiritually
humanly
where am i
where have i gone
i wuz
almost there
when i slipt
thru my fingerz
and betwen the spaces of my mind
and time -
well... i just don't understand time...
you kno
i think i might have missed
the bus
and stood myself up.
My Best Friendz Wedding
Focus, grasshoppa, focus...
don't let these fears intrude -
the earth is the law...
Be grounded and centered
w/in yourself...
Opportunity comes
your way even now,
shez watching you,
dreaming your dreams...
Riding her energeee,
be open,
be loose,
walk in righteousness...
Edge
But itz beautiful,
somehow,
this human thing which
hangs, sags about me
needing
constant attention,
constantly interfering…
How much harder
to know the moment
thru this filter…
I want the way
he somehow cuts to
the heart of me through
across seemingly
impassable thickness,
the substantiated material effects
of this werld…
The way he completez my circuit,
turns me completely on.
Incredible,
serendipitous destiny which
propels any of us so miraculously together
in this life for however long,
itz real.
The way he sees the brighter
part of me that
I've never fully been.
I know his counsel is prophetic
so close, my familiar,
always picking up
the subtler signalz
I dismiss as noise.
He has vision
I can feel it
in his eyes,
in his stance,
straddling eternity…
I always feel so close to the edge
near him,
I can taste the wind.
Atom Files #4
In the early morning hours,
I am accustomed to thoughts of you,
unbidden and pervasive.
Your effigy taunts me,
the tacit comprehension
even spectrally.
How can you not
so unbidden?
Yet, even I know
apparitions manufactured
responding to the degree
which you’ve moved me.
And it would be appropriate
to try to write it off
as something precipitated by
chemicals, the environment
and context.
But nothing haunts me
so much as
when
founded on the kinetic momentum
of external impetus.
It would be much
and satisfying
to say itz beyond me –
I did not start it –
it happened outside of
and must somehow be
truer,
more objective and real.
Yet, inside,
nothing ever fills…
Even less these voids
created
by the nearly tangible potential
of who you could be
were we both willing
and able.
Alberto
You wouldn’t understand
the uncontrollable shaking embarrassment,
or the crimson heated cheeks.
I stumble on words,
on your presence,
and
hesitate at
the underlying distance.
Moments ago I was safe,
secure in myself, in my ways.
It was so insidiously subtle,
the unfathomable intent of your stare…
depths of unanswered questions,
in your verdant eyes.
I struggle to maintain
easy tones
of conversation.
West Side Stories #1
What words would you use, andy?
Just how would you describe that day?
Young farmboy from north ireland,
six weeks fresh in new york city...
what would you tell your mates back home?
That it began like any other friday
on the edge of summer in manhattan...
with dinner in a pub where they don't understand
what steak means or how to serve a single malt?
How would you explain the transitions that occured -
from the offhand conversation with the girl at the bar,
the eventual taxi ride uptown
to you, she and i
in your bed at 4 am?
And tho neither she nor I
ever called you back, afterwards...
I have always wondered -
just what words you would use, andy?
Atom Files #3
He's not necessarily
the pragmatist's
choice.
The historical indicators
of instability –
he will most certainly
stray,
have dalliances on the side,
squander
the inheritance,
dissolve
at penultimate moments,
and gamble
impulsively,
fearful
of success.
There will be
accidents –
many things inadvertently
smashed or broken,
the products of
revelry,
or desperate
avoidance.
He will consistently display
excessive
reactivity to any
and every
thing or one
that feels like a bond,
a chain,
or line to cross.
And you should be aware of
his rigorous adherence
to uncommon principles –
know he will cut off his nose
to spite his face
should he believe
his cause is just.
You should be prepared:
At important junctures,
you shouldn't count on him
to manage the level
of hypocrisy
and ass-kissing
so required of
simply getting along
in status quo.
But if you can see
beyond these
relative assessments –
and recognize the honesty
behind the
extremity
of his
equity,
you can have
at least a glimpse
of who adamn
really is…
And that is
worth
infinitudes
more than
any earthbound
conventionality.
It's Odd –
...that with the minute addition
of a single new variable
anticipated paths can alter
so significantly.
Things morph quietly
and what I was
focused on center stage
changes
almost thoroughly.
Where am I in this mix,
what does all this
mean to me?
If I look close
I become
disoriented
losing
my balance.
If I reflect too logically
my heart seizes in
some strange sort
of fear,
werdz choke in my head,
and I am not sure
where to step or how.
Before you were
there –
you were not there –
but your being here now
so strangely
comfortable, as if
before you
there was an idea
of you,
a space already
ready…
This morning in your arms
I dream in and out,
brite lite,
warm, soft,
around me,
surrounding me.
I am dreaming,
it is the future
and I have
known you for aeons…
Atom Files #2
But I love that feeling I get -
the surge of possibility
- when you turn up.
I watch myself,
so out of character and
acting so unlike me,
crossing my own
lines and boundaries,
defying my very
nature...
So easily that I suspect
I might not even know
who I really am.
Maybe thatz the karmic piece –
that right there
- the simple fact that
you pull me out of my
own intricate construction
of identity,
and I follow
consciously heedless
of everything
I have planned for me...
Ready to throw it all off
and wake up tomorrow
as somebody
I don’t know.
And who knows but:
itz all so clear when I've
been drinking.
I fall right into it.
so quick, so conscious,
so deliberate,
my attempts to
find that thing
that just
fills me up
and sweeps me off my feet
and makes everything
else -
all that noise in my head
- moot,
beside the point,
unnecessary
and meaningless…
Atom Files #1
ko·an : a paradox to be meditated upon that is used to
train Zen Buddhist monks to abandon ultimate
dependence on reason and to force them into gaining
sudden intuitive enlightenment
CO-Koan
(#1)
Give me a slice of your brain,
a credit card,
and a flat, glass surface.
I will own you,
for as long as it holds out,
then slither away.
Gone, thru the sun-blinded,
next morning,
window-curtain of your eyelids.
(#2)
Sex is territory won
through a mutual conquering
and countless,
tricky skirmishes.
Front lines waver,
power changes hands.
Prisoners are captured,
some killed.
(#3)
Honesty borders
on cleverly crafted
manipulation.
Such secrets I enjoy,
and
cut into lines.
These, are my boundaries.
When you look,
You won't see them –
You will only feel their stillness.
But Rite Now -
I am
wondering about the second coming.
Wondering about this culture which is always waiting
for the big comeuppance,
the you, you'll get yours,
in your face and i told you so.
Wondering about my hed,
wondering about the why
of the thing in me which sometimes says
some big bad ass gnarliness
coming down,
some huge misplaced
unfortunance,
happenstancing its possibility
into my arena of meager control.
Wondering this as my friends and extended roommates
rearrange themselves on the floor of my life...
Are they comfortable?
Should i offer them pillowz?
Divestiture
Today I am meditating
trying to focus beyond the recurrent
mental images of him
that always linger deliciously dayz later.
This strangely familiar but oh so foreign experience.
A Buddha says
that to gain enlightenment
one must lose the self
in some Jungian
daiquiri blender
of the collective unconscious.
Who am I no longer matters,
even to me. It seems
I have developed some simple faith
that regardless I am
still here.
The quiet rhythm,
that buzzes in the background,
synergy
in the static.
I have gotten past the
ambiguity of where
'here'
actually might or
might not be.
I accept easily the
moment I am in
asking nothing
from it,
suspending my disbelief.
Never mind the fine line
between honesty
and cleverly crafted manipulation.
Take the ride, enjoy the show.
He grinds
teeth,
sets jaw and
tries to say,
argues with himself,
something,
in his head.
I got lost
in his pauses –
mesmerized –
the pile of clothes on the floor,
the cufflinks knocked
across the room.
All his werds
wash over me.
I only feel
and pulse
to the touch,
humming chords,
waves of
openness.
Worm moon thawing
over Morningside park,
empty upper westside
but in the trees
the sense of motion lurking.