so I got the job anyway
and came in to work
I think it was at 9.30 am
and the Manager called me
into his office
(what a nice guy, I thought,
giving me all the attention)

and he said: "You should have come in
to work at 8.30 am, mister"

"8.30am?"I asked...*"Why, what happened?"

the lungs of a human being
tough short brave
tongue tasting the air clouds the storms the rain
wide feeling, the chest feeling bluer as wind ages it and writes on it
headed away from the end
to the hands
shadows of motion come through the nose
we neatly place down our tracks
because we know we are slow
but our lungs beat like boxing gloves
for our heart is away deep behind
the two-sided soul of depth and energy pushes everything,
the Grandfather Everything such light air you must run to feel it
our souls do it for us
the face of the soul is wind
spacing itself that way in the flat sky
spacing the breaths in it out
raining air in a lion's roar
wanting and feeling like a child
harnessing two wings of a dry old new back of a book
for the underside, the stomach, the words
to rise into being

I placed an ad
outside my office
offering a job in my small company:
The applicant
must be computer literate
and possess secretarial skills
and must be bilingual
(and proudly, I added)
WE ARE AN
EQUAL OPPORTUNITY EMPLOYER

and this dog came in
and indicated with barks and snout
he wanted the job;
and proved with paws and limbs
and tongue and tail, and with various barks
he had all the skills

Astounded, I put up all sorts of barriers
but the dog could not be stopped by any one
And so I finally said:
“You have demonstrated your skills, sure;
you have barked – but you don’t seem
to know any other popular language…
I can’t offer you the job  -
I need someone bilingual!”

And the dog replied: *“Meow!”

He looks on the level of the ground
and level of the sky
and says you only see these two arrows
because there's black in your forearms
when you lift them to your forehead
to hold your eyes
your legs feel the right & left wing pointing up through
your feet, and the right & left wing feel the north sky
your chest felt the shooting star
all the shadow from the top of the dream
the lengthy golden cream from a filled bucket
the back of your neck feels the whole sky
instead of your face, and your arms outstretched
instead of the truth that you crave the sky
instead a lie that your bones in your arms
must point to the ground
must crawl like a stupid fattened caterpillar
who eats and eats all the life
collecting in and out of the daydream
for that cloud, not the face
yet it's the face that is leading the morning meal
not the very top of the distant distant distant clearest shape of a heavenly sway
it's the feet I have swallowing the arrows
it's when I live in the dim shadows of the sky instead of them pouring all at once
it's not the bottom or the top that I am supposed to only see
it's the east and the west, the width, wide, not the north, the south, the extremes
and it's what's inside me
the arrow that I feel the most
and it is not just the blue above my head
and not the brown below my feet
it is my arms
which are friends with size and width
arrowing out instead of too low and high
bending long from the shut chest
knowing peace
and being my skin that I feel my heart like water
speaking the truth that my legs are the things that hold the words of my dreams up by reinforcement
and my eyes look up with the wings of my neck
opening to the fight
and my arms open my chest despite the dark grey and blue colors in breathing space
my arms usually crossed in an X on my chest because it is so extremely hard
to hope
to leave the closed rooms and mental paths
to not cry about reality
yet the doors are thinner than my books
of dreams and emotions during dreaming
and my arms though so heavy have always been
creating, thin as the air, on the floor
painting uncrossed in the world or crossed in my mind
every color between black and white spreading, spreading my roots in the ground

All the way
Down to the homemade earth
I feel and feel reality

Art is not a layer, it is the necklace on the neck
lacing the neck of the face
It has eyes it is so real it is a mirror
the child, all the way through the water to the most key most pure Nature
the deep so pure it is the most clearly brown
the light has never worn smooth and flawless, it is so dim so grey it is a shade of dark rock
it does not need beauty, it is beautiful
it does not need shielding, it is shaded from its mountain shadow
the land it's frumpy and a shade of dirt
the most thing is old
it is the most creative of us all, never drifting from little and big shapes
the sentiment, wonder, god will always taste it
he will not grow weary of the cliff view

they sky looks itself in the mirror
a bowl of ocean water
leaning over hands holding the east and west banks
Earth living on earth doesn't know
Earth tries to do the dishes there and sinks in
Sky chooses to wash his hands there instead of in the dirt
but discovers they are the same

six blind elephants
disagreed over what a human is;
and they concluded
they’d have a direct experience
to resolve the matter

and so the first elephant
felt a human and declared:
“A human is flat”

And each other elephant
through its own direct encounter
concurred on the lack of human dimensions

And so there was an end to the discord

the four monks are out in the open
meditating;
the prayer flags are flapping

“The flags are flapping,”
hums the first monk

“The wind is there,”
intones the second

“It is the mind that
is flapping,”
observes the third

“Mouths are flapping
is all what I see and hear,”
says the last


the frog in the grass
is silent

the would-be monk
(fervent, eager, so into-it)
came knocking at the
Buddhist monastery
but no one answered

the would-be monk
saw a sign
there in the shadows
that read:
“inquire within”

so
the would-be monk
went away immediately

Having defied gravity
(not me personally
but by proxy
namely through
a dog, monkey and Soyuz
and fruit flies and bullfrogs
and lately through NASA)
I defy humility
I brave it, I challenge it
for there’s too much hypocrisy
in humility
For humility is such
that it never speaks its name
For when it speaks of Humility
it is Sans Humility
Take me
for example -
you hardly hear me
mention myself as Saint Humility, do you?
But that’s what I am, my other name: Humility
But people keep insisting on calling me Saint Humility
But I defy Humility


POSTSCRIPT
I also defy repetition
and over-emphasis
and contradiction, paradox
But, it must not be left unsaid -
in defying humility,
I think I’ve also
quite inadvertently
defined humility: *Saint Me