the trouble with poetry
(and this poetry site) is its

facilitation

awoke in a strange bed, my own,
in a different city, with my old eyes
renewed with, by loving amazement
at the beauty of so many souls experimenting
with edged, loving, dangerous compo-notions,
that make me older than King David, who loved the
love of life and this world, for here I am, falling too
for the life & love potions
of words of my fellow humans across
vast oceans
and I stoke their and stroke their
heated words, pretending that
the cool warmth of my tablet
is both their gorgeous skin and
alluring verbal twists that arouse
my innermost, and break my already
broken heart, and heals it at the very
same time...
all too, so easily

this communication is at levels that
descend, transcend,
grips me with passion and consternation
at my own desires, my open body & mind
stirred, chilled, shaken, stirred and soothed
by the busting out contradictions of us, me,
so well hidden, so well revealed in the marvy
ability of so many to share their essences,
their own scents, just by words upon a page,
and here I pause...
to consider the duality of the word

f a c i l e
for poetry shared facilitates this burning,
  "     "              "            "             "     tumult,
and yet comes to me so facile, that I worry,
that the words themselves are facile, cheap
& easy, but then I am reassured by the very
real drops of my body's fluids upon my cheeks,
that confirm, that poetry is too so real, so living,
and I guess you know me by my real name,
my real face, and my realized words here,
and wonder if I need cease to wonder why
wonderful is...
a thing

my poetry is written by silent night, or early morn,
so very differing, and laugh out loud at myself,
for I am a differing man, at differing times,
of a potpourri of contagious contradictory
conceptions, that I traverse so easy, this facility
is my blessing, and poetry my well worn skill
at...facilitating this absurd admixture of
human~you-man~a man~amen.

and here I leave you...
for I have left
the sunroom too...

@
3:26 am
Thu Sep 4
someplace else

its birthplace, its origins, the where the whence,
these clues are inclusive of
sources of inspiration which
are like handholds,

Even,

"incidents and accidents /
There were hints and allegations"
but you knew, you knew in advance,
you,
Can Call Me Al"

eye easing offerings, kindly giving kindling,
to the overwhelmed reader burning eyes,
ease the struggle, hire/higher the insights,
just hints of the wherefores, if the whys so
desperate must remain secreted in your heart alone

you are so right!
the greatest poems ever
go oft,  without stepping stones,
why not mine?

If you anticipate scholars centuries later
explicating your poems, well then, they
most of all, will  need a leg up about your
disco~

graphy

I think of Harlon Rivers, poet,
and go to my corner to
contemplate modesty and
idiocy, or both, that is, to say,
my unique combination of both

and repost one of his jewels

SEE BELOW

it will always be complete

too late, this wisdom for me,

so i guess i write more, daily,

to eradicate that feeling of

incompleteness

clearly, i never met a good piece of advice

i didn't ignore

for her~4:41aM

so you write a lot,
pouring entire waking existences,
current n' prior,
into a long and crafted 'pistles,
and pixels

and you got jive pride
and then, the poem,
you worked so hard for,
ups and dies
gets a few middling fingers of reads,
dying on a vining of
Juliet's pseudo poisoning elixir,
no big deal, happens all the time

but here's what's wielding & weirdly wilding:

A poetpourri.
of newly found co-inhabitors,
from around the universe,
from places unpronounceable,
unlike Venus & Mars, (very poet-popular)
and from previously places were
never or seldom was heard a
discouraging word, igniting a
rewarded mutuality of a
following up embracing

par example;

Tirunelveli
Poland
Lisbon
Cyprus
Bihar
Uruguay
Ankara
Vienna
Albania
Tanzania
India
Bangladesh
New Zealand/Australia
Soldotna (Alaska)
plus Texas, West Va., Ohio, and other exotica, like
Nowhere

what a blessing!

Blessed art Thou o Lord,
that permits the miracle that my integers
of 0 & 1
can be translated into such
varied exotica, in harmony,
thus permitting this discovery of
never visited oceans and landfalls
of poetry never heretofore to join as
one.

Aman.

<>
nml