composition: epileptic epistle
philosophic peruvian piper
coronation: kibbutz tzitzimitl

for shelter
my time
is yours

i need
and so
i'll bite
this
tree bark

four score
will be
my years

i'l live
thirteen
and three
(three)
of them

lord save me
from
this
world

let me die
or come
back
something

i once was found
but now
am
lost

saw clear, but now
i can't
see
nothing

I want to write frankly and without pretense,
I'm young and sort of inexperienced,
But I'll tell you since you've asked:
I have thirty-nine hidden poems about rivers.
Crying poetry distracts me from tinnitus,
Frissonic song evokes inner wants in me;
Ants in my shoe, bites on my knee,
Bends in my spine, quavers in my soul
Remind me of how imperfect I am.
        I've seen a glimpse of stoic vision
        And I'm appalled, to tell the truth.
        I want to give you words of wisdom,
        But all I can muster is my own dumb youth.

scorched railroad
hammers clang, boss shouts
blue men moan

Farewell to Benbecula!
Pennyland of the fords,
Dark island of my birth,
Dearly I hold
The days of old;
To you I'll never return.

The voice of our ancestors,
In their song of peace I hear—
I will go home from now on,
That day is near.

Farewell to Benbecula!
Pennyland of the fords,
Dark island of my birth,
Dearly I hold
The days of old;
To you I'll never return.

So goodbye,
And for the last time I'll stay
In these dark seas of ice.
I hold the hope of our last parting,
But no hope can ever reburn
What a sweet melody it was....

Farewell to Benbecula!
By river, by shore and by sand:
Pennyland of the fords,
Dark island of my birth,
Dearly I hold
The days of old;
To you I'll never return.

The hours are drawn and we afar will go
To cap the wanton willows by and by,
To eat and drink, and all that comes about,
That with a man there bays no evil eye.

That one in turn, with others for themselves,
Can hardly crest the stars as they may glow,
Can barely catch the rays of any beam,
Can scarcely fetch the moondust from the snow.

If left to me, I would not come there more,
When moon is red and shining on earth's green,
Unless at last the other suns must rout,
And fade away like me and not be seen.

Then both of us could touch the brink of fate,
And shout without a care the hour is late.

I love a pretty girl,
For her I pine, I long.
I see her smile of pearl,
Then dimly she is gone.
I watch her reappear,
As fair and pure as ever,
And Cupid tugs my ear,
And gently whispers "never".

Who can tame the winds of the sea?
None but ******, Wind-Keeper, he,
Who keeps both the savior and scourge of the sail
Fastened away in a mountainous jail,
And from that bronze fortress escapes not a wail.

Who can tame the winds of the soul?
A man with more mirth than mad Aeol.

in my dream,
fringed with sequoias,
she, love of my death, holds me.

Upon these shores lie wrecks of then and gone,
When once an emperor ruled a land so rich.
The sea-hope of a nation under dawn
Beheld the continent of the western witch.
The sarsen of this land of gold was lost;
By tide, the blood-flagged vessels overturned.
Uneven marks from history's page were glossed,
And all the native flowerbeds were burned.

I vow to you an oath
from now until my death
to starfall and the rise
of the blood moon in the skies:
I'll love you, I'll love you
till the west wind creeping strong
comes along, comes along
to beat the mountains down!

Till the sun, far above
and the heav'ns and earth collide
making every green thing die
there I'll lie, there I'll kneel
over eons, overzealed.
Till the river changes hue
and escapes the oceans blue
I'll love you, I'll love you….

it appears,
broadly blending consciousness
and the pitter-patter
of rhythmic rain,
and I don't feel it, but
eight hours later I pass
from its watchful gaze.

we rivers, lonely, cold and lost,
though we had said we would
resume our course, still here we drift,
becoming ice sheets: silent, stiff.
another day, another shift
to weigh the opportunity cost.
we failed to warm the wood;
our taiga turns to permafrost.

careful glance
sun shadows my plate
hope rush by

daws cry on my roof,
viewing musty lights
builded high on rocks.

seven towers sing
your old song, now gone:
it is not my fault.

A friendly word is wise:
It bears no silken string,
And everyone is glad
To hear it echoing.

A cautious word is prey
To will’s supreme intent;
And lacking any strength,
It makes a man relent.

The emblem of your heart
Is blazoned on your smile;
The wretch and dissolute
Have vanished for a while.

So freely give good will
To friend and stranger each;
Then virtuous reward
Will be within your reach.

rich peasant
pockets bare, heart full
love is gold

ornate blue mosque
smoky jazz risque
enchanted beat desque
question i asque
drum soul mahogue
undercurrent analogue

Popes weigh loomy on the chapel ground
By gardens delightful our ancestors found.
Brush thinned for us, yet the leaves of yore
We green lovers blissfully ignore,
Amazing our elders how such tyrants bore.

Meet me by the fluttering pond,
Where fishermen silently linger,
And birds swim in its pale fragrance,
And all nature commands you,
To eschew violence.

fire and smoke cascading down the green mountainside
the mist-covered forests topple to ash
a solitary ship departs the sinking islands
and the world turns cold in response.

the sun is orange
it blazes hot
but doesn't warm me

i am cold
i am blue
for you, for you

You were Temüjin.
You were Tamerlane.
You would not live to see
your works made into fruit—
—at least you lived to see
Castilians and Franks
accost the flanks
of the Ayyubid ranks,
while across the banks
you gave a salute.

The calm September wind
Hugs seashell clacking beach,
Leaps over shaking pines,
The inland world to breach.
From blue horizons south,
Surmounts the hilly west,
So mountain-walker, water-deaf
Can hear the ocean in its breath.

The limpid river surprised the cat,
He buried his head in stiff bamboo shoots.
The sun was streaming in bright rises from west,
And the river swelled on him so.
But the wind blew and the breeze fell,
The current swept him off the ledge of cliffs.
He died under the leaves beside his tomb.
He died in the dark, under the mist that shivered,
     A lonely, lonely death.

Away from crystal spires
Into the heart of the city
I wander

in outer space, with no sun in sight,
i open my eyes. and yet more black
surrounds this craft alone, as if its
defiant lids were never unshut.

a glimpse: far-off needlepoints of light,
beyond the yawning gulf of pitch-black,
are born-dying drifts in sightless pits,
digesting in a bottomless gut.

four seasons
pass in one long month
salt aches cheeks

poppies and ponies
time twirling woven blanket
plum-blossom undershade

Concentration proves unattainable
Without care
For weather or worse
Tirelessly, I prepare my argument.

crickets chirp
tree mist in valley
fall glow farm

freshly-soaked soil
Burmese cloudscape
humid trunks wrestling
for domain of the sky

coming from over the hillock
the pathway to solitude
the cabrestero singing, ahh…
his couplet in the morning dew

the moon searches for the shadow
the shadow the moon eludes
because that shade is hiding, ahh…
behind the early morning dew

cry no more, watercloud
silence, bitterness
as all milk gives cheese
so all grief is cured
butterfly, watercloud

the morning is making its bedding
over the palms and shoots
the cabrestero continues, ahh…
moaning out his mournful tune

… oh …

tomorrow
when I leave
who will remember me?
only the jar
for the water I drank
bright star, watercloud

to stand over the moon
paramaribo muscle man
i just want to encapsulate
every flavor like a good
one bite sushi roll
to paint a word picture at once
and make the fountain now
flow with understanding

stereo guelphs
parallel mussel shore
i just want to endeavor
a kind soulfoul bristol
currant curacao courland
shiai windring lastun
the most poetic wyrm

finding myself forgotten
wishing i could sit like grogu
burning furrows of blood
shoes in a daydream
little veinthickets delicate
will we ever go together

i'm not going to last
i'm not going
i'm not to last
i'm not

tears well in my eyes
pools bleached from never draining
i make no sound when i cry
but i cry all the same

in the morning i wait for your buzz
i hear just a forlorn signal
the sound of occasional responsibility
purple's the color farthest from me

death is coming to us all
cossack or rocket
it's indecipherable
what and why we must lie
how and shall we go die
doon by wackblatterside

dark the children sing
dyer maker in the spring
wonce i go fallenform
ne'er i come back to mourn

one king one crown for the dark
pull you in
much ado about you
sweet perfection who was not
sadness and thoughts not of me
i can't remain or maintain
failure is all that i am
shall i end it now

la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la

la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la

la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la

have you left yet
have i left yet

think of the fear my father feels
and why
drum last

sing hum
back
out
lullaby

can't we be sweet
can't we cuddle
hold me
please

from the pleasant balcony, well
you can see the glistening
of the moon above
maracaibo

all the fair far corners
of the earth are witnessing
the moon above
maracaibo

and all it takes is a spoonful
to get yourself a moonful
don't dilly-dally mister
take your love to maracaibo and kiss her

walking down the avenue
putting your whole life in review
how do they do it, every day?
i wanna dance
and sing the maracaibo way
dance and sing the maracaibo way
dance and sing the maracaibo way
that's how they do it, every day

that's what happens when
you spend your whole life listening
to the moon above
maracaibo

through a record vinyl
you can feel the whispering
of the moon above
maracaibo

and all it takes is a spoonful
to get yourself a moonful
don't dilly-dally mister
take your love to maracaibo and kiss her

Crestfallen, cantering
down stumble avenue,
my lucky fountain was
outpouring youth.
About-face! I crafted
a curious inquiry,
endeavoring slyly
the avoidance of truth.
And then I walked on by.
Was it my worthless wince
that made you
hardly deign to reply?

My stomach oft knotted,
ink blotted, but you are
faultless and guiltless of
waxing and waning my
hopeless forlorn hope, my
bellowing attrition,
glazed over in glory,
trampled delicately
with innocent fashion.
Swordsmen leaping over
your bright scarlet ramparts;
wordsmen, in a white gift
resonating outward;
they hinted that my dream,
laced up in slack linen,
was daring enough for
your showered attentions.
...But only for a while.

In Scandinavia's oceanbound counterpart,
a sickly vested boy grafted his life into yours;
now empathetic reminiscence recalls
dry desert days 'neath a cloudless sphere,
as war ripped apart your homeland.
Among all the hubbub of upheaval unfamiliar,
tell me, you who are more worldly,
if I mean anything to you?

My heart is filled
With many songs
That I think would not
Make good poems

head poundings
thick broom tidings
jovial jungles
standing atop
little dark city
white shoe brings
moon death to
vesuvian-whipped
crater polis.

i worship you from afar
you ravenhaired evening star
i can tell, i can tell
that you know very well
just how pretty and perfect you are

your shoes are my altar of white
your head rests in heavens so bright
i am so far beneath you
my sighs do not reach you
my being is out of your sight

Dunes of pride are often swept
Away by the winds of humility
Like heavy ornaments on an old tower
Leading ultimately to collapse

all pictures of poets are gray
and cold like handled dusty brooms
like staves that wait at iron dooryards
to clean up attics of being-sold barns
and houses where children cry in their beds.

i put on gray some years ago
a volunteer of duty, not joy
i was the reluctant doorbelling boy
and rarely i roamed beyond it.

winter's messengers are legion crows
its implements: charcoal smoke and snow
winter and company built a monopoly
over the hemisphere whole; no man
gave them permission. God did.

summertime sometimes gives rust
often the sun shines on ashes and dust
but, on the far side of a mountain
one evergreen pine sprite fountain
in the heart of a Maine May
can fill up our lungs with day
and free us this moment from gray.

I am the lion, the wolf, and the horse,
Rainbow and *** of gold, river and source.
I am a windstorm of passion and rain,
Thresher of tangleweed, drummer of pain.

Flocks of the autumn air dance on my wing,
Soldiers and statesmen both bow heads and sing,
Fireflies synchronize hearts to my beat,
Churchimes clap triumphal rings down the street.

I am an echo in dancehalls of old,
I am the fever that comes with the cold,
I am the soul of the goodness of Earth,
Guardian and blesser of every new birth.

I am the mother bird, high in her nest,
All of the creatures are under my breast.
I am the white dove that flies from the strife,
I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

My with'ring will is like a willow:
With ev'ry wistful week, I weep,
And I but weakly wet my pillow.

My brain is a bowl of hot steaming stew
Never decided on what it shall do:
Boil this moment, pop in the next
Outline an opus or spew scattered wrecks
Catch on a small thought, stubborn as steel
Caring not for what its owner might feel
Ruin a party, clothesline a dream
Embrace a stranger, mend a torn seam
Lead me to valleys ahead of the wind
With constant recalling of how I have sinned

bluebird, blackbird
sailor, sun
multi-star, hegemon
chariot, gun
tree-perched wings
sea breeze cloud
laughing, crying
dying out loud

heavenly signal
as his wife's car left
and the church pastress,
a lurch of sad grace
which struck a dead horse.
"don't go, please don't go!"
but the whip came to bone,
the horse wailed alone.

no one to answer to
there's no one to answer to but myself
no one to answer to

take my hands and knock me down
take my life away
all i am lies on the ground
ei ai ei ai ei

i long to fall down in the shadow of you
to be paralyzed by your secondhand chill
my heart stolen by your unconscious banditry

branching out into the universe
a solitary butterfly learns that
pestering God won't turn him
back into a caterpillar.

I cannot in my aimless nature make
My promises to work and study good.
Before the damnèd test on Wensday take,
I set up for myself a failure rude,
Forgoing what I full soon must address,
For now, for now. I put it off with ease,
Indulging in calamitous excess
Without remorse, till, struck, I beg God 'please!'
If He that fashioned me might kindly cause
The stars in heavens bright to rearrange
So that my hectic life is put on pause,
To rest, to wake, to find resolve, to change,
Then I should own, secure in what God willed,
The spirit to endure and not be killed.