Out of the quiet heart of cluttered night,
a son of man or of some nimble beast
will meet me under silent, dusty trees.
...
He stared at me across the fire
and licked the salmon from his beard
and smiled. “My yoke,” he said,
“is kindly, & my load is light.”

They all say that, & mean it at the time,
all those who come to tempt me with salvation...
He’s just a little cleaner than the rest.
..."Come to me."
"Only if you feed my crows," I said.

...my gutter jesus, the only jesus... read more

The bastard plum's pale heart is tough
And sour at the core. I trust

The sweetness under its frail skin,
Its overpowering juice; and just

As easy as your breasts drop out
Into your lap; as weird as lust

Itself; irresistible as chance;
Decisive as germs lurking in the dust;

In iron love and rocky trust -
The Revolution burns like rust.

For you, most precious Fly-by-Night,
A daisy chain of hectic roses;

The Emerald Tablet's leaves unfurled;
But last & least & most of all,

My heart on its empurpled stalk
(when I have learned to set the hook) ...

For you, most precious Fly-by-Night,
A daisy chain of Aztec roses.

End of last year, my son Ungtartog and I wrote a two-part poem. He started ("I went out drinking last night"), and I finished ("Venn Diagram"):


I went out drinking last night

I lost myself in a sea of stars
stumbling cold whispers
scuttling to the river's edge
laying back I opened the crack of my throat
to slake the thirst unquenchable
The rocks and fishes jumped in ecstacy
landing like jumbled hatpins on the lap of possibility

To the drop, I left that river dry
Wheeling in ... read more

I'm not sure I approve of this whole blog thing. I've never had a public blog before. Do I really *want* total strangers to know where I go and what I experience and what I'm thinking?

I mean, you know, someday I hope to have an unpublished thought.

Stop laughing.