if un-packed
i'm a hack
way on back
of the pack
and my yak
yak yak yak
lost the knack
off a rack
my kettle's black
pure hipo-crack

but, I do know
i'm here to grow
still starting slow
with highs and lows
but I won't glow
till I forgo
this eating crow
on death's plateau
with status quo
so here i go

a dim reflection skips a beat
complete with foreign tune
matter not wholly familiar
where voice and image loom

inside - or outside - looking in
peering at copy dark
impressing shadow silhouettes
awake only in part

endure now the present tarry
the mirror's steady lies
and the twelve year old is still here
after shutting both eyes

Community center laughter
Raising its false-eerie falsetto
To a decibel that unlocks
Fantasies of vomits
Why didn't I bring a flask?
I'm owner to the darkest mind in the room
But I can describe beauty with
Tears and heart
Are you too chickenshit?!
Too committed now to your own death
Of small talk, small words, and small ideas
I'm surrounded by slow moving train wrecks
My God, I need to get outside and find a flower

Beauty comes suddenly, cleanly
when the thing comes at all
for unpursued and dimly lit
zipping boundless or small

evasive as an arctic dawn
under an unturned rock
echoing all senses at once
if recognized or not

its grandeur through stories to heirs
that echo manifests
its rhythm, bearing, and function
wise to youth, wise near death

Beauty's power, intangible
a high altitude hawk
unspoken in its reflection
unseen, or quickly lost

I have yet
to write
a single
poem

certainly I can
rhyme and meter
compose a verse
haiku
limerick
and build cadence
yet
it’s
withheld
refrained
restrained
it does not allow nor admit
in fact
it’s fraudulent
a paean sin of omission
omitting truth
vulnerability and
humanity!
why not weep of wide
open
limpid lucidity?
why not the magic of
heartfelt disclosure?
each ****** feature fearlessly
presented with palpable pretensionless
petals that the sun skips
over skin through
sky of algid air as
each lung
animates
all admissions
tumbling down
in the merriment
that transports
grace
eternal, primal
screams
ancient
songs
that release grudges
from muscles
the mysterious immersed magnificence that
confronts a chartreuse day as an
unimaginable
gift
through the lens of immediate
freedom
with burdens and cares
falling away to
a purely peaceful
poise
not a song, sonnet nor
a single sentence
rather the grasping of
a fresh infusing of
divine pleasure

coltrane seems capable of quenching some carnal craving

magnificence and Veracity
entering in a form
so undoubtedly Sincere
un-convoluted by
inconsequential script and scribble

perhaps this is kilmer's Tree
perhaps this is the universe's Love supreme
perhaps this is a Truce for the one who writes