Insolence

The muck stops here
the affront in the irony
the trouble with being guilty
the trouble with being found harmless
the trouble with the finery
what it hides below the line

what it hides without a sense
of personae or a lasting sense of time

she winked at me awkwardly, and lunged at her quarry
in passive recline
he sat, relaxed,
at ease out of place
draped like a leaf
over the arched seat
focused on the cake

set adrift by vague demands
it rained a bit that afternoon
lost in the noice
pale but deep
the demands run
like ink

the spider in the kitchen
the raining walls that bear
fruit for the fowl
the raining veils
that seduce the
miles laid waste
by the moles

the terrible waste
of lives in the control
of land assets

in a world where space is premium
access to water is wealth

The tanks cut through and the water is buried
in the land

4:09am
July 29
2003

bewares

beware of friends
you step around
they will never be pleased
with your distance

beware of friendly offers
to help you fix the motor
they lose the bolts
or the clips for the carboretter
then leave you stranded while
they search their garage
for the one they found last week
you know, the one they found last week

beware of the needs
of those more thirsty than most
and the bleeding thieves climbing out
the window beware the needs of the dog that chased them

beware of the leads
that run around corners
unable to see what is on the other end of the rope
has led many off the path to joy

When it's born
it's supposed to be
a girl or a boy

16:44

21 July 2003

morning

an early gasp of light
shatters darkness

day draws on
cars queue on the bridge

and evening
falls like words whispered
from a mother
to her child

Until we Go

the line fades all winter
but then that sun rises and makes the landscape
light warm and pleasant and you know this
because you can see the dust hang in the air

there is a silence we go to
a silence we crave all our days
a silence that eludes nearly all of us

until we go

go down toward where strong bones
take control

where there is life there is time and where there is time
we pace the pattern into our eternal carpets
and hum tunes we really do not know when driving

so many years on the road to somewhere
she forgot to define exactly

the journey lies as the droplets form into rain
not wasted, but spent
again and forever again

the pulse of fluid over the planet
and our model motor
pushing us about
from daughter to daughter

the well oiled shoe
makes no noise
and we sit in our cubicles
waiting to be served

laughter and echoes falling down from
extraordinary clouds that muster
spirit from how she was adored

It does not really end like this


_{Saturday, June 21, 2003}