I eat ravioli
Out of the can
Not because I have to
But
Because I can

I eat ravioli
Out of the can
Chef Boyardi baby
No
Need for a pan

I eat ravioli
Out of the can
Just like I use to
When
Was a young man

When I was a young man
Hitching across this land
I'd eat my Chef Boyardi
Out of the tin can

The dead are all around us
they are as alive
in their way
as we are
in ours

We share a world of shadows
with these manes
and step awkwardly
into the light

Every breath of the wind
is a dead soul passing
every autumn leaf that falls
a secret hieroglyph
from the beyond

Beasts in the wild
know this
thus the coyote
sings his mad lament
the raven turns his dull eye
toward the east
expecting not light
but a flight of dark wings

And dark wings
command my attention these days
my eye
turned inexorably toward
the night

Where every word
is farewell
where all commerce ends
and I rejoin the stream of stars

Done with all of this.
And surely
it will be bliss.

What is this feeling,
overwhelming, new, yet somehow
half remembered,
uncomfortable, ferocious,
and where even fear is not unknown?
Is it the same when I look deep inside you?
when I touch your hand?
when I know you want me to be there
(even though you do not speak or look at me)?
when you struggle for the words to tell me
what you want to say?

My heart races, I want to shout, laugh,
cry, hold you, be still with you.
I have known happiness,
but this goes much further.
Happiness belongs to the world;
like the things of the world it can fade.
Joy is of the spirit;
it exists of itself, intense, in the spirit,
yearning and fulfilment in one,
and it will not let me go.

I'm wrapped in this eternity,
its suffocating grip
break my breaths
into splinters I can't fix.
I'm worn out
and my unbound edges
are starting to dissolve in this chasm.
One day, it'll become me
and I'll become it.
Then they'll know
that my depth
was never fathomable.
This unknown ocean is my home.
If they asked,
I'll tell them that 1997's
summer seemed like
streetlights casting
orange glow over deserted roads.
I'm an infinite distance
drenched between
my broken dream
and a reality so real,
it shook my being.
I'm this flash of light,
almost resonant,
almost imperishable.
Almost.
My unbound edges
have dissolved into this chasm.
If I could reach out now,
I could touch
that little diminished glow
my dream used to be.
I've fallen out of faith,
fallen out of fear,
fallen out of dread.
I'm this numb throbbing
left behind by the bitter tint
of their crude remarks
That I haven't learned to forget.
I'm a being of ashes piled high,
desperate to touch the sun
though it burned me so much,
That I've become nothing
but a screaming grey,
That they call thunderstorm.
I'm like water splashing,
through broken water pipes
with rusty veins
and faded sunsets
and dark dawns,
fissured with almost inexistent clouds.
They know now though,
I'm faded.
They still don't know,
I'm a bottomless void.

Sour smell of wood smoke
seaweed flayed and dried
upon the rocks
those huddled stones
prone and obeisant to the grey sea

And there
a star that is settling
into the indifferent waves
leaving us cold and bereft
soon to be entwined
with the night

But do not despair
We will wake with the dawn
bring the candle of hope
in our hands
and much peace

A solemn and ocean-deep peace
shared
with every sentient being
in time
and every being departed
from time

The moon has its quarters
the sun its seasons
I have only this tenuous grasp
on life
a primal sense of loss and love
and the dull roar of the Pacific
in my ear

Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel