FALLING THINGS

Nothing sticks.
Nothing holds.

Everything is falling.

Pictures from the wall.
Tea cups from the hand.

Falling down, all falling down,
they all fall down
from walls, from hands,

(from clumsy hands)

they all fall down
on the wings of a bird,
on the wings of a fly,

a snapped branch
and a crown of laurel

from the shaved head
of the fallen hero.

FINDING THE WAY

Lost.
Even the compass, lost.

Time is lost.
The hands of the clock
are lost.

Your keys to the car,
your way back home,
your poker game,

lost.

O lost, lost ghost,
O displaced daughter
O taste of salt

discover me
lost in the shabby pocket
of these fancy pants
I wear to church;

these pants
that walk the walk
whilst I talk the talk
and, for the last time,

lose my way back home.

FAREWELL TO TIME

Everything is spinning
at the center of a cyclone
in the eye of a salamander

lost on a rock on a dune

in the desert of the heart
in the Sacred Heart of Jesus
in the bleeding heart of darkness

bleeding dust and darkness,
spinning in the center of a darkness,
of a particle, a point,
a second of regret

for an hour lost in passing.

A WIND FROM THE NORTH

Loaves of bread
sprout from the ground.

And the blood of Abel.

Bread and blood
and the voice of God
calling from the Antilles:

“O son! Where art thou?”

Here! I am here!
With a pomegranate in my hand
and the blood of Abel in my mouth
and the bread of Cain upon my head
and the minutes turning into hours
and the hours into verses.

And the verses breaking in the wind
like sparrows from a tree branch
breaking in the wind
without direction or compassion
or a name upon its forehead,

or a pomegranate in its hand.

IN THE SECRET PLACES

        “O my dove, thou art in the clefts of the rock, in
the secret places of the stairs.” Song of Solomon 2:14

Secret dish. Secret spoon.
Secret writing on the wall,
behind the door, over the moon.

Secrets.

I crushed the serpent’s head.
I rode a stone, a leaf, a door.
and walked through walls
of straw and sticks and bricks.

Many secrets.

A secret eye
peering through a secret hole
in a hidden curtain
of a secret stair.

Too many secrets.

I shall not tell the beads,
inform the dust,
reveal the runes,
or gut the fugu
for the Feast of He who Saves

until the secrets rise,
uncover their eyes,
and dance upon
their open graves.

TIME AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT

Time is a coffin.
Light, the speed
at which it travels.

These mountains know it.
The tree stumps know it.

This coffin knows it.

It and I are moving
at the speed of light,
beyond the speed of light,
beyond its silver satin lining

over the mountain tops,
over the trail that never stops
over the foot of Heaven’s Gate.

Where we wait.

DEATH’S OTHER KINGDOM

Why are your eyes closed
and your mouth open
tonight?

Of all nights,
why tonight?

when the earthworms
wriggle through the keyhole
and dig beneath the bed?

when a stranger’s tongue
suprises me in the dark?

and a silk scarf floats
outside the window?

I have no appetite
for dreams tonight.

no yearning for the kiss
of death upon my neck.

But, are you listening?
You whose eyes are closed?
Are you listening?

Do you see me?

I am the Tin Man!
I am the Scarecrow!
I am the Walrus!

Koo Koo Ka Choo!

I am the face in the mirror,
reaching for you.

THE SIXTY-FOURTH ORACLE

       “Vast indeed is the sublime Creative Principle, Source of All.” ~I Ching

The ending comes softly (on tiptoe)
with three copper pennies in its hand.

And fire above water.

Like a little fox,
crossing the ice.

No goal. No destination.
Only a wet tail.

Cautiously.

GOD ABHORS A VACUUM (Part 2)

Something stares out
from the nothing
surrounding everything.

Everything.

Neither right, left,
nor middle;

A blank stare
without eyes,
ears, nose, throat.

Faceless.

Surrounded
by head, shoulders,
knees and toes.

Neither holy nor unholy.

But, mother of tooth.
Father of lingam.
Sign of the cross

hanging upside down.