Leaves Of Life

My life has been just like a book
The first pages unsoiled, clean and slow
Then gradually quickening as henceforth I grow
My ravenous mind was greedy for life;

Always eager to reach the next page
Now reluctant to proceed in my old age
I have lived through countless chapters
Seen love and hate come and go

But what comes at the end, I do not yet know
The beginning pages of my book
are now worn and thin,
So many times have I read them all,

things my memory could recall
But what of me when the last page is in place ?
Will another volume be my restitution,
My gift, payment, or restitution ?

My enthusiastic view of life has dimmed
I once felt young, and radiantly free,
Now that's just a part of my memory
At least I saw the words "the end" before they came

I cheerfully lived my life in full,
And although it has neared it's end, I loved it all !

I am the night clerk
I work the graveyard shift
I've checked in many people
Never saw anyone check out

When they walk in
the night bell rings
I think
What's all of that crazy thunder about

I've checked in
the wild and weary
the tormented and scary

The pious
the martyrs
the dancers
the fishermen

Even
Bob & Ted
Carol & Alice

Clark Gable
he stayed here too

Everyone looks me in the eye
pleading for a room,
I have many
the night is late
only the dead are awake

Some nights, though, it can be quiet
I put my feet up on the desk
watch another season of the soap opera
The Young and The Restless

There are no regulars
No one returns
Not even
the dopers
the smokers
the flatulent
the token takers

When everyone is checked in
That crazy thunder it stops
But the night is long
There's sure to be another storm.

you wish to sell me roses
my pocket tells me queen annes lace

you dream for something delicate
my hands accustomed for rough

you ache with quiet longing
but i hear your untold groans

your desires are not unique
not a rose within the weeds

your plight is universal
unwanted in our garden

be gentle with our hearts
that attempt to ease your woes

flowers and weeds both grow by the roadside
each bloom in spring from sun

you are not unique within this life
roots, stems, pollen, pedals, blossoms.

Give up your muse
of mediocrity
Throw him to the wolves

Let him roast on the spit
of your whirring pen
laugh without mercy:

"You guided me to this place,
Miscreant
Now I'll show you where to go."

The ink stains your hands
You, Lady Macbeth,
but instead of washing

use it to tattoo
the truth
all over your face

I've lost my fishes
My pottery fishes...

ماهی هایم را گم کرده ام
...سفال بودند

I lie on my back at midnight
hearing the marvelous strange chime
of the clocks, and know it's mid-
night and in that instant the whole
world swims into sight for me
in the form of beautiful swarm-
ing m u t t a worlds-
everything is happening, shining
Buhudda-lands,
bhuti

blazing in faith, I know I'm
forever right & all's I got to
do (as I hear the ordinary
extant voices of ladies talking
in some kitchen at midnight
oilcloth cups of cocoa
cardore to mump the
rinnegain in his
darlin drain-) i will write
it, all the talk of the world
everywhere in this morning, leav-
ing open parentheses sections
for my own accompanying inner
thoughts-with roars of me
all brain-all world
roaring-vibrating-I put
it down, swiftly, 1,000 words
(of pages) compressed into one second
of time-I'll be long
robed & long gold haired in
the famous Greek afternoon
of some Greek City
Fame Immortal & they'll
have to find me where they find
the t h n u p f t of my
shroud bags flying
flag yagging Lucien
Midnight back in their
mouths-Gore Vidal'll
be amazed, annoyed-
my words'll be writ in gold
& preserved in libraries like
Finnegans Wake & Visions of Neal

We will know no sorrows here..

Dark matter poured taut
in ebon plastic,
elegent, limber, perched on spikes.
Confined in chosen monochrome,
so lithe in gritted temper.

Full fraught on waves of jaw - smoke,
tumble nails from this wretched pelt.
Enscribe my will
on soft , ribbed, levees
Spread and buttered oysters
downed , your earthy spices ground
against my viscid grin.

Now raise the dead in frantic transport
Sound the depths of this cracked voice
Imagining....

We will know no sorrows here.