Sunday, June 29, 2008

Good Afternoon

Refreshed by
perversity of dreams
and the goodies I can find
in the deep personal
worm world of the night,

when I arrive
in the afternoon
with springing step
and regards for all,
I can be Mr. Sunshine.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

On Being Rejected by a Baby

When they are
eight months old
they temporarily attain
the ability to look
directly into your
internal record
of evil and good.

They accept you
and reject you as if
they were standing
behind the desk
of Puritan heaven.

Oh tiny Hannah
why did you spurn me
and pass your
darkened face my way?
I worry that
the neighbor woman
who brings about your smile
will record a
bigger deeper heart
than I.

Annotated Letter

"Dear Dotty,

Sorry for not writing sooner.
The weather has been very springy weather.
It's been fairly warm. And we haven't had much rain.

We've gone to The Forks,
where the two rivers meet,
Red River of the North
and the Assiniboine River.
It's a park and has a market.

And the people meet there
to start their day exploring Winnipeg.

Winnipeg was built at the crossroads
of the two rivers that meet."

Sorry for not writing sooner.
Where am I? Oh yes,
The weather has been very springy weather.
It's been fairly warm.
They have been
stealing my medication.
And we haven't had much rain.

We've gone to The Forks,
I wanted to go the
hotel to find a policeman.
where the two rivers meet,
Red River of the North
and the Assiniboine River
like burning..
It's a park and has a market.

And the people meet there
Where am I, oh yes,
to start their day exploring Winnipeg.

Winnipeg was built at the crossroads
of the two rivers that meet.
when will it end.

--Joyce

Saturday, June 21, 2008

The Continuing Humanity of Ghosts

They get ugly
when they die,
with the things that
killed them still
visible on their bodies
and some of them
are a little pissed off.

But there's no reason
why ghosts can't still be
civilized, especially in
relating to strangers.
Talk to them.


Ghosts are noncommital,
like smiles.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

A Denial of What Jiminy Cricket Said

The very last shards of life
are slitting the curtains
the furniture is already
wrecked beyond repair.
The corner has been
turned. There's
no more forgiving.
The ones who
are going to continue
have left and
there's no one here but me.
I am babbling
about dreams
when the future part of dreams
is missing. What
Jiminy Cricket said
is no longer true.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Poetry Writing Dream

Chaos tends to worsen
breaks through
the variegated walls
of my mind and I
catch it before
the vegetation covers again.
That's how it is
when I see the
hairline spot of grey
in the milky white.
The surface
defends itself back to
its calming blankness
and I rejoice thinking
it has it's own strength.
Another day of
easy breathing passes.
Then returns
a slit containing
the writhings of tiny
things. Then it
buries the calm.
Then it overwhelms.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

A Lapse of Art

What
no art today.
Everything is still.
I am free under the cloudy sky.
No camera,
no paint,
the poetry isn't
trickling to my mind.
I sleep well,
starting in the early evening.
And while
all my neighbors are
still celebrating night,
I have a breakfast
of sausage and fried bananas.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

The Wedding in July

When I show up,
I will look like I just
emerged from the jungle.
And everyone will say, Don,
where have you been?

I will say yeah
I'm alright
I'm all right now.
My words will hide
the dark memories of adventure.

I will come back
from the dark years,
after I bathe,
my hair will glisten with fresh water.
I will wear a clean shirt.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

An Afternoon of Baby Sitting

A bright bump
in the dead current,
she flows with it casting
flicks of attention like
flagella. She touches

every motion and every
pixel of sense, protesting.
Struggles to grip each
novel muscle lever. She
toys with the artifices
of her mouth and breath.

Halfway between protest
and joy she rails until
she suddenly fades into sleep
in the middle of her trevails.