Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Today's Checklist

- bathe
- do myself a favor: write the truest year ender entry yet
- clean my desk and book shelf
- yeah, more general cleaning
- create a schedule realistic enough to finish all the books I want to read
- arrange my files from MP3s to movies and back them up to my passport
- watch the DVDs I left hanging around the back of the TV

Phases 2006 (c)

Rengga #1


by Michael & Corin 

A fading shoreline signals
the invasion of ancient discontent.
A body tethered to a jagged rock
sways in the undercurrent.

And the build-up, a centuries worth
of sediments. Silver school of fish traveling
along possible mermaids singing. The ocean
teeming with water flowers for this grave.

The ebb and flow of misunderstood emotions
constantly change the messages on the seafloor.
How long must I wait before colliding tectonic plates
create new terra?

Where I will seek comfort in madness.
My soul bellows brevity, longing
for its turn. I will place my faith
upon the ephemeral, living passion
within eternal wakefulness.

I will dive deeper into the abyss,
bring the fight to Death's door,
shedding all past transgressions
until I finally become weightless,

unbound. Frailty awash, all the blue folding.
To finally trace cracks and rifts back
to the promise of the shore. Never minding
the weakened walls of my heart.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

I write as though you could understand
and I could say it
One must always pretend something
among the dying.

--W.S. Merwin

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Upon Opening a Letter

I write as though you could understand
and I could say it
One must always pretend something
among the dying.

--W.S. Merwin

What do I know of writing, but this:
An archaic means to speak of things
Thought to make us feel alive.

It could be about an old song
You’ve always known. You heard it
And wished the music never ends.

Remember, everything is a reminder.
Whatever we lose within ourselves,
We’re bound to take to our graves.

Maybe even the things that make you
Believe in grace. How you witnessed
The sun rise as your soul quickened to say,
I will never take mornings for granted.

And I will describe the way arms cross
As if to catch the soul from falling
Out of the self. This is the body failing

At night, while the city insists on
Emulating the sky with its numerous
Constellations. An act that creates
Force fields, sleep, to find consolation
Upon waking in dreams.

While some will find comfort
In repetition-- consider sin,
That we mean them most of the time.
Trust that all good intentions
Will never run out.

Now, will you release your arms,
Rest your heart? Listen.
I will hold your secrets like a stone.

August 2008

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Human Lot

I’m amazed we haven’t crawled off by now.
Later we could go back and cross things out,
that way we wouldn’t know where we came from,
the shapes we asked to be bent into.
Sinatra’d be okay again,
mother the same distal approximation,
the sea still trying to spit it out.
Sometimes your sleep is different than mine.
I can’t catch up.
I don’t know—there are voices tangled outside.
Wind wants to make me correct something,
the refrigerator says something needs to be pushed
further from the sun.
Out where the sunset ends, they’ve installed a graveyard
and where it rises, some automatons bash together
mellifluous metal tubing
imparting a festive contusion
to the usual calm disaster of getting out of bed.
To find out why life has this glass sparkle
at the end of a dark hall.
To find out why the paper skeleton holds its hands
demurely over its crotch. Did it fall that way?
To find out how we fell.
There is a name to wake into and music to sleep through.
To find out where the blood comes from on the towels.
Old friends, I believe your betrayals were inadvertent.
To find out if my heart is unruined.
Father, are you out there
or was your corpse accurate?
Something happened to me when I was young
that I don’t want to happen again
but I remember the first smell of ocean
when the family got out of the car in Jersey
to buy peaches. Spark thrust, spark dust.
The road was sand.