A bit like a bird...

what is--
from what depths, this
strange, rising warmth
on the lip
of panic, spreading
slow through my mind
I sit, hunched
but something in me
is wheeling
across another sky
a slit of which
slivers the dark
beneath my ribs
I can feel the distance
only in the spreading
of its wings
yet something is flying
within my bones
and I sit, enclosed
insensate
blind and dumb
and tasting only--the heady
bunching and un-bunching
of its muscles
beneath its skin

Another one...

I appear to be in "kneel on the ground-shake fist at the sky" mode.

... classes need to start so that I can be translating the dark soul of socialism into leaves and light.

Oh well. I don't think I'm even going to title it, but since this appears to be all I can write just now--and not overtly megalomanical...

---

I will--I will
I will break myself on the wheel
                   rolling the boulevards
      I will turn my head back
at the stars, and give them my gaze
               who don't answer
         between the hard earth
  and the cold clear sky
                    we are too soft
         smeared
                  like the stars are hung
         we are strung onto our bones
    and for their sake, we walk
              and by the ground's grace
we walk, and we return it our shadows
    well, God
                 I'll bind myself to the wheel
          and break along my spine
                    and I will smear myself
               on the asphalt
       with the sky clear above me
                         until I am nothing but a glistening
               a wavering reflection of stars
for this service, Lord:
            spare me your Heaven.

---

dusk, and the porchlight
gleams yellow, in the blue seeping shadows
and there is smoke in the air
and the wind in the bamboo
rustles and hums on my skin
there is, perhaps, the shadow
of a lap
the suggestion of a head
of a hand,
          and the rest fades
into dark, into wall
     and on the great high road to Heaven
  a trail, rocks bare
       sinks, down to the light

furies

if I am tired in the daytime
if I'm tired at night
and my dreams are troubled
where then can I rest?
and the confines of my flesh
become the jagged, firm walls
of a prison
and I might walk--but I carry terror with me
within my veins
in the light or the darkness
what crime could I have committed
that the ghosts would follow me
out into the sun
because I said that I was
that I was more, that I murdered
the bit of my soul
that was trailing behind me,
and caught on the ground
is it such a crime--God?
to set myself free, to not have waited?
is it such a blasphemy--that now
I must walk with the Furies
harrying me in the streets?
but you did not come
quickly enough.

swamp

how did I come back?

slowly and with great care

as with every time before

caked in sludge and the jagged-edged seconds

I sat in the sun to dry

now, I am peeling myself clean

it's the end of May--rejoice

soon June will come with clouds

but there is time enough, and sun

for the mud to dry

when the rains come

they will wash me free of the dust.

How to Write a Poem for the New Yorker

the porch-light, some moths
the boat on the lake
when I was a child
                                 (parentheses)
      the light through the window
              the film on the coffee-cups
as wind whispers
through the door you left open
light kept light
     for cowards

woo (ii)

I am already returning
before the incense left my clothes--the dust and thyme
before the sun left my hair
every word I speak is a greeting
every step I take--takes me one step closer to you
do I care if your arms are outstretched?
--no. Keep them at your sides
I never had any expectations
am coming just to bide

day (rhymed)

oh how to sunder myself from the passing of the day
how to duck its ghastly motion
I want the sun sunk in the ocean
its echoes on the waves
oh--if only the night would come a little early
I would not need to go from pool-to-pool of shade
the breeze can go to bedlam
the colors all may fade
black and blue--is it any wonder the night is bruised?
--the reckless seconds squirm and try to fly away
we tromp heavily through the hours
we all come to the limits of our powers
I wish the wall wasn't so hard, so tall
I will slump against the midway
for the bright light to pass away