Plaint

 

December 15, 1986  (I was 42)

 

         Plaint

A year of less than ritual.

It is a dry vision.

Every chant is sewn into a basket.

All the prayers have become catholic.

No fat revolutionary was ever victorious.

No revolution gets old.

 

The Big Picture is so large and dangerous

it’s a wonder any go there.

Our time is so officially gray.  The buildings,

Washington D.C. is a testament in concrete.

At their officious best the elected

attempt to look like buildings.

 

It is a dry vision, this American perspective,

this telescope over our eye,

each and every with his own view

looking out to everything out there made big and close,

everything out there taken by tradition of staked claim,

protected at a cost within concrete fortresses.

 

Insular democracy, expand like breath.

Accepted inspiration is our lungs’ strength.

The fluent release of exhaled exhilaration

pulses wind off the continent

with an Aeolian sweetness more alluring than any threat.

And the charm is the desire to do no more than draw another.

Freeklimbers

 

from this week in October, 1986  (I was 41)

 

         Freeklimbers

Freeklimbers measure the boulders of Yosemite

with their bodies as they stretch

as they slide as they hang by one arm

and swing to another hand hold.

No one’s ever seen them except maybe Bigfoot.

Ego-dumb athletes doubt their existence.

Professional climbers scoff insecure disdain.

Freeklimbers treasure the gold of the granite.

There is No Dog

 

October 7, 1986  (I was 41)

 

         There is No Dog

There is no dog by the fire sleeping

no shed hair upon the carpet

no urine in the kitchen.

 

No needy beast

nuzzles his slavery way into this life.

 

False Pavlovian eyes pander

it’s a canine art form.

They can squat until they die upon some other hearth.

XMAS ‘66

December 18, 1966  (I was 22)

   XMAS ‘66

Sidewalk Santas

Accordion’s din

Salvation pot

To put dollars in

Headless bundles

Go by on the street

A nigger-man

Old, blind, dog at his feet

“Christ” utters one

“What is worse than to be

An old nigger-man

Who can’t even see?”

Reflecting on this

I barely heard the old man

“What is worse?

To be a young one who can”

Plaint

December 15, 1986  (I was 42)

         Plaint

A year of less than ritual.

It is a dry vision.

Every chant is sewn into a basket.

All the prayers have become catholic.

No fat revolutionary was ever victorious.

No revolution gets old.

The Big Picture is so large and dangerous

it’s a wonder any go there.

Our time is so officially gray.  The buildings,

Washington D.C. is a testament in concrete.

At their officious best the elected

attempt to look like buildings.

It is a dry vision, this American perspective,

this telescope over our eye,

each and every with his own view

looking out to everything out there made big and close,

everything out there taken by tradition of staked claim,

protected at a cost within concrete fortresses.

Insular democracy, expand like breath.

Accepted inspiration is our lungs’ strength.

The fluent release of exhaled exhilaration

pulses wind off the continent

with an Aeolian sweetness more alluring than any threat.

And the charm is the desire to do no more than draw another.

Notes for An Undelivered Address to Class of ‘86

June 5, 1986  (I was 41)

Notes for An Undelivered Address to Class of ‘86

You have had taken from you

the idealistic belief that your country

exists to do right and to support freedom

both collective and individual at home,

and by good example and good faith

to support it abroad without intervention;

to support the right the good and the free

to any disadvantage, cost or accusation of naiveté;

to uphold the principle.

You have had taken from you

the belief that your country

values the individual of its citizenry

values the equality of humankind

beyond political advantage or mere expediency

beyond bartering with the natives or for the natives

beyond class distinction and cultural rape

beyond archeological digs through ghetto squalor

to plunder historic splendor

You have had taken from you

the expectation of quality in all

but the most conspicuously expensive;

you have settled for overpriced fashion.

Religions are fashions;

Sunday aisles are fashion runways.

You have watched and listened

with the open hearts of youth.

You have had taken from you.

And I am too complacent

to tell you what to do about it.

Freeklimbers

from this week in October, 1986  (I was 41)

            Freeklimbers

Freeklimbers measure the boulders of Yosemite

with their bodies as they stretch

as they slide as they hang by one arm

and swing to another hand hold.

No one’s ever seen them except maybe Bigfoot.

Ego-dumb athletes doubt their existence.

Professional climbers scoff insecure disdain.

Freeklimbers treasure the gold of the granite.

There is No Dog

October 7, 1986  (I was 41)

            There is No Dog

There is no dog by the fire sleeping

no shed hair upon the carpet

no urine in the kitchen.

No needy beast

nuzzles his slavery way into this life.

False Pavlovian eyes pander

it’s a canine art form.

They can squat until they die upon some other hearth.

Plaint

December 15, 1986  (I was 42)

            Plaint

A year of less than ritual.

It is a dry vision.

Every chant is sewn into a basket.

All the prayers have become catholic.

No fat revolutionary was ever victorious.

No revolution gets old.

The Big Picture is so large and dangerous

it’s a wonder any go there.

Our time is so officially gray.  The buildings,

Washington D.C. is a testament in concrete.

At their officious best the elected

attempt to look like buildings.

It is a dry vision, this American perspective,

this telescope over our eye,

each and every with his own view

looking out to everything out there made big and close,

everything out there taken by tradition of staked claim,

protected at a cost within concrete fortresses.

Insular democracy, expand like breath.

Accepted inspiration is ours lungs’ strength.

The fluent release of exhaled exhilaration

pulses wind off the continent

with an Aeolian sweetness more alluring than any threat.

And the charm is the desire to do no more than draw another.

Notes for an Undelivered Address to Class of ‘86

June 5, 1986  (I was 41)

Notes for an Undelivered Address to Class of ‘86

You have had taken from you

the idealistic belief that your country

exists to do right and to support freedom

both collective and individual at home,

and by good example and good faith

to support it abroad without intervention;

to support the right the good and the free

to any disadvantage, cost or accusation of naiveté;

to uphold the principle.

You have had taken from you

the belief that your country

values the individual of its citizenry

values the equality of humankind

beyond political advantage or mere expediency

beyond bartering with the natives or for the natives

beyond class distinction and cultural rape

beyond archeological digs through ghetto squalor

to plunder historic splendor

You have had taken from you

the expectation of quality in all

but the most conspicuously expensive;

you have settled for overpriced fashion.

Religions are fashions;

Sunday aisles are fashion runways.

You have watched and listened

with the open hearts of youth.

You have had taken from you.

And I am too complacent

to tell you what to do about it.

Notes for Undelivered Address to Class of ‘86

June 5, 1986  (I was 41)

Notes for Undelivered Address to Class of ‘86

You have had taken from you

the idealistic belief that your country

exists to do right and to support freedom

both collective and individual at home,

and by good example and good faith

to support it abroad without intervention;

to support the right the good and the free

to any disadvantage, cost or accusation of naiveté;

to uphold the principle.

You have had taken from you

the belief that your country

values the individual of its citizenry

values the equality of humankind

beyond political advantage or mere expediency

beyond bartering with the natives or for the natives

beyond class distinction and cultural rape

beyond archeological digs through ghetto squalor

to plunder historic splendor

You have had taken from you

the expectation of quality in all

but the most conspicuously expensive;

you have settled for overpriced fashion.

Religions are fashions;

Sunday aisles are fashion runways.

You have watched and listened

with the open hearts of youth.

You have had taken from you.

And I am too complacent

to tell you what to do about it.

Freeklimbers

from this week in October, 1986  (I was 41)

         Freeklimbers

Freeklimbers measure the boulders of Yosemite

with their bodies as they stretch

as they slide as they hang by one arm

and swing to another hand hold.

No one’s ever seen them except maybe Bigfoot.

Ego-dumb athletes doubt their existence.

Professional climbers scoff insecure disdain.

Freeklimbers treasure the gold of the granite.

There is No Dog

October 7, 1986  (I was 41)

         There is No Dog

There is no dog by the fire sleeping

no shed hair upon the carpet

no urine in the kitchen.

No needy beast

nuzzles his slavery way into this life.

False Pavlovian eyes pander

it’s a canine art form.

They can squat until they die upon some other hearth.