When the Dust Settles

"The Revolutionary

...

Man your kingdom;

a wicked wind is coming

the screens of dust will blind

with hidden ominous howls

and the whistles of your destruction,

until it all sneaks up on all of us.

So, ladies, gentlemen,

man your kingdoms,

if you have a flag,

raise it high,

pierce thy clouds of pain

let that rain fill your fruit

and let your laughter be

as angels to awaken one

from any dream

bless us know,

take my men and make them strong,

give unto their minds

all the wisdom buried in their hearts

and let us see better

when the dust settles.

Of Those Who Dance in the Rain

She told me baby

          take it slow

          so I took off my socks

put down my beer

and went    

                    naked outside

because I had been saying 

that Nature is alive and real

and calling us to save her, man!

             but I got too excited about it.

 I danced in that warm tropical rain.

My mother had secretly warned her

about what she called my manias

but which both my wife and I

considered to be more like

spiritual experiences and

sometimes divinations.  That

is a chasm that reaches deep into history

and continues to fracture

modern western society.

These very digressions in logic

were signs of clinical crazy.

Nonetheless,

I danced in the rain and

It was as if her veins were made of

rusted roads,

          there was dust

that blew through

         there was mud

without shoes

and when you're literally

                dancing         in the rain you're shivering

    at the beginning of it

and then you adjust

and take a deep breath

and, Christ, that feeling is

                           more than just the body

it's like           you are the chill that goes

                  all   the   way            into that dark

and the air is like something thick

and invisible

palpably pregnant with, quite literally,

all possibilities.

And we can by seeing them

and moving them

make them real.

And so I danced in the rain.

Sometimes it all shifts and feels as if

                  it is organic in ways

that are metric, tantric, serpentine scales

unfolding always, everywhere like fast flowers,

mathematically abstractable molecules

of logical modules of the mind, man.

 

                  And that is the rain at night, in the summer,

when it is warm it is better,

in my opinion, for dancing in the rain,

but the weather always seems

to have              a feeling of it's own

if you go

into the yard and forget where you are

and remember you're never not here

            you might hear that rain

sing,

you might

                  hear a bird within

and the two might dance

like a breeze pushing forth

           the more vague components

                               of the moment

and then violá:

you have          gone and       come back again

you have        been all and         there you are,

dancing, like a fool or a shaman,

who is to say, 

dancing like either one

in the rain.

And if if you didn't see it, one can imagine,

and just by still-imagining,

imagining without action,

one feels as if one travels,

so just imagine when

dancing in the rain

and the whole beautiful myth

being real for a spell.

If that is not freedom,

innocent, harmless freedom,

then I don't know what is.

 

when the rain melts and bleeds

and sings and signals

the lines of shifts in the winds

of time for minute

the cat is in the box

and in the next

we are the ones

scratching at the walls

we ourselves built.

 

Meditation

New days are only

a glance away

from your head position.

Turn both ears

toward your chest

and listen.

Take your wallet

our of your pocket

when you sit

and when your hips

are straight

pay all of your attention.

 

There will be an attraction

to a form where your spine

is aligned and feeling ideal

not provoked like some serpent

but prepared for life's ordeals

and prepared to build,

from what sometimes seems nothing at all,

a life worth living

worth avoiding the dangers

and pitfalls.

 

One wonders because he

recognizes the truth, so

one wonders how far

does he, in fact, wander

from the truth

and thus

his wondering is

for forgiveness.

 

And this is when

the face of Jesus shapes

in the clouds on

one's way running to stay healthy

alone in a street

so perfect the moment

for the Lord to sneak me

a peak of his boutique of

unique possibilities

for those who believe

Caveman (song idea)

I don't want to shake the

fragile ground you walk on

but I'm in the clouds right now

 

You make me think of old days

when what you said

didn't make me lonely,

 

I know times change,

we grow and we try,

lord knows we try to stay the same

 

the flame alive,

fire in our lair,

I'm a caveman,

though I haven't been lately

go lay your body

and I'll meet you there

bohemia

She decides to never iron

looking very serious

in the doorway.

You have never ironed

since I've known you

I thought to myself

and then out loud she moaned,

I turn again to the canvass

and she carried on

saying we'll go out in public

with our underpants

all in creases

And we both laughed

in a way 

I will never forget.

"Woman asleep"

My queen sleeps naked

with too many sheets, she

cannot breathe 

without me,

We dream together,

and then we sleep;

love is the secret

that we keep,

look here, we weave

into the breeze,

a single lifeline when we sleep

and hold each other

through the calm

and most confounding of times

something sacred

pushes our dreams further on

and the light of you

glows upon me

and mine upon yours

yes

we are the dream

where love is indeed

an eternal thing.

Migration Reasons

These fair-weather feathers

blew south for a spell,

this was before the

morning chimes sang through us

sending kings to the floor

and fools to the post,

I could smell those days a´coming,

like fire in the wind

upstream, blowing back at us

as we fished and lived in bliss.

Tides rise and fall, I suppose

and we shan't be scared,

but we do scare,

we run home from the crook,

wet shoed and broken twigs

behind,

the hot breath of safety

in which we lay low for a moment

gust away in an atomic wind

the worst of outcomes

for we'd have starved to the end

if that is what He'd asked of us.

Man, take away your bellicose tin,

your toys of cataclysm,

potent bombs like balls hanging

before a greedy, hungry slut.

Ah, the forrest and the creatures

through which God sees.

To take them is to gouge out an eye,

to dismember the bread

to undo the risen flesh

upon which we omnivors feed,

to do so is the cast away belief

like a ghost mistakenly made sacred

after millenia of men,

and now who are we

say the ancients who never slept,

who are we to claim to know,

to be beyond belief?

Ay, how men self deceive

and in such deception render

every solider of love weeping,

the day of an impossible surrender

has come to pass,

they cry, they gasp,

the clasp at their own finger tips,

the gnaw out their own hearts,

they bleed for you and me,

and we will all die

and you may come back.

So while here, learn love from

hard to tender, from solid to mist,

from slave to savior, from addict

to prophet, from pulpits and upon graves

songs sang and words writ,

but none like that which

silence tells us all,

speaking in riddles and confounding dreams,

tangled into life like all the things nobody sees.