What Remains

is that smoke before my eyes
no merely the haze of age
all sensation gradually fading
yesterday's high a memory

and yet I am happy at last
with everything I need more
fully satisfied than I deserve
accepting gift and blessing

slower still I am fast enough
this plateau goes on forever
in the moment of enjoying
what remains a perfect life

No Question

what more could I want
than this living together
do what it takes to go on
no question this is right
night lead us to the light

Nothing Is Perfect

"The big choices we make are practically random." (Amos Tversky)

I still want perfect
though nothing is
and when I'm not
I can feel regrets
but not enough to
spoil the occasion

Into the Rain

another game of ping-pong would have livened us up
instead I let you drive off into the rain read "Villette"
until eyes tongue brain boggled collapsed on the bed
before recovering to finish cleaning up boil more eggs
is it too late to learn to follow my well-won impulses
know it right to do what we need not justify or explain

My Thoughts

Terrible Mistakes

here comes the future
like it or no
some nifty advances
some appalling regression
terrible mistakes
some nourishing love
some destructive hate
we can't go back
but could go forward better
I may be wrong
probably not

New Routine

our new routine seems real
but changes every day
improvised according to plan

we set ourselves a schedule
to follow if we know how
who did what when and how it worked out

tomorrow will be much the same
overlapping continuities
colliding in the good name of progress

I Rise

the dream is long and various
Sweden a three-wheeled Vespa
sex with a boy an ancient theatre

having trouble breathing I rise
to a luminous colorful morning
ready to resume togetherness

choosing not to demonstrate
opposition to neighbors' votes
much as I deplore their choice

Some Things

"What we are projecting with our minds is what we get." (Walter Anelli)

can we be happy
in spite of everything
some things go well
care and good will
solve some problems
improve situations
warm feelings are exchanged
more time bought
for the joy of living

On Living

by Nazim Hikmet

I
Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example—
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people—
even for people whose faces you’ve never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you’ll plant olive trees—
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don’t believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.

II
Let’s say we’re seriously ill, need surgery—
which is to say we might not get up
from the white table.
Even though it’s impossible not to feel sad
about going a little too soon,
we’ll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we’ll look out the window to see if it’s raining,
or still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast . . .
Let’s say we’re at the front—
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face, dead.
We’ll know this with a curious anger,
but we’ll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which could last years.
Let’s say we’re in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say,
before the iron doors will open.
We’ll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind—
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if we will never die.

III
This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet—
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space . . .
You must grieve for this right now
—you have to feel this sorrow now—
for the world must be loved this much
if you’re going to say “I lived”. . .

Good Ideas

illusion of three dimensions
illusion of flat all illusions
describe themselves as real

illusion of black and white
illusion of natural colors all
impressions lean on artifice

impression of good ideas
independent of real facts
facts are what actually is

Natural Energy

tired of looking my eyes
would enjoy a vacation
maybe nothing but art
zero pixels or moving
images give me a break

too much of it electric
buzzing into the brain
pleads no more let me
vibrate organically live
free on natural energy

Solitaire

how pleasing when the game works out
and it often does if you just cheat a little

Enough Opinion

a finite number of ideas fly around
which ones will you grasp and hold
as if you were thinking for yourself

enough opinion about without mine
I incline to travel at my own speed
and keep what I am thinking private

No Telling

everything said becomes true
although nothing can be known
an opinion may well be wrong
whether you express it or not
even thinking we know better
no telling what anyone will do

What Else

if not why not
you have to wonder
what else is happening

news goes on
repeating its clichés
as if any of them signifies

while we talk
someone else suffers
lives and cities will expire

be still then
grateful to be exempt
spared the ruin of all things

Changing Light

pink clouds and orange stripes
complement the golden grapes
before gray devolves into rain

I like even the dreary weather
changing light in our windows
marking seasons' stately march

today gives us a double rainbow
arching perfect over the walnut
as sun touches the cottonwoods

Aperçu

how it goes on

So Lucky

eating reminds me that I exist
I am not alone self-sufficient
the pleasure of taste connects

by yielding to my suggestion
we'd eat well and walk less far
preserving our energy for art

each to his own way of power
exercised against a dull void
where others are not so lucky

Urban Charm

rabbits first thing promote good fortune
though perfect health no longer assumed
each our physical civic and political woes
recite as fascinating to ourselves as dreams

waddling chickens more attractive as meat
center conversation on the delicious table
depart for the slaughter in Halloween dark
as beloved guests reconstitute urban charm