Music Too

I don't know what anything means
what does that mean for example
is it myself or the world I refer to
and is there any actual difference

it's early for chocolate but why wait
I can have more later if I decide to
these convenient routines not rigid
I can still decide what I want to do

music too at the click of a switch
something like Mozart always helps
realize the possibility of being alive
rewording what I continue to believe

Our Place

if we took it seriously we'd go mad
like Artaud choosing not to pretend
everything is available nothing counts
as if history didn't put us in our place

this tone no artifice or affectation
these words emerge express this
thought whether I like it or not
and I do or I wouldn't go on

My Play

I love it so much
and I can't have it
anymore or ever
again oh do my play
delicious nutritious
what more can I ask

to share the pleasure
with the world we act
our parts savor words
suit action to desire
honorably present
the best we can do

past tense not more
relaxing after all
only tells the tale
as if it happened
as we say it did
lie only for truth

Sudden Plunge

4:15 and it's getting dark
sudden plunge into another
time shouldn't matter so much
changes occur dharma is real
clocks are all machine part
human we have to deal with it

dive deep the water's warm
pure buoyance neutral gravity
electric balance restored in
fresh dimension surfacing
breathing still as if in new
air colder darker full of fear

held temporarily at bay our
circumstances easy seeming
safe for another season well
dressed and insulated against
the common effects praise
what brought us to this place

Like a Child

just be glad we did it
while we could no more
be young first noticing
learning the repertoire

no more new places
people revealing secrets
we are glad to know
believe will never end

read and remember how
I too arrived amazed
thinking only I was new
and strange to the others

I tuck her in and kiss her
chastely like a  child
well loved and honored
in her private inccocence

The Nothing

forgetting the dream
leaves a hole in the day
nothing fills distracted
I can hardly read write
instead the nothing no
tiny corner to catch
peel it back revealed
then I would be free
to hear this music
as if for the first time

All One

    If I want to feel like I am flying, all I have to do is stretch out my arms like wings.

    If I want to write, all I have to do is open the file. Content already exists or arises spontaneously. Chaos is the beginning of order. Language wants to communicate. Words naturally assemble into thoughts. If I want to be happy, all I have to do is think I am. As I lay out the cards in solitaire I feel a smile emerging, tangibly moving from the back toward the front, coming into focus as I silently watch. I only have to open the door and I can go in. The forest awaits my walk in it.

    The eager sincerity of the young deliveryman arouses my heart like the boy in the novel who barely dares to love. My feelings awake unbearably intense the writing is so good, the writer so purely open. All I have to do is let truth pour out before my time is up. There is no time here in the realm of the muses. Time is only the structure we live in.

     Here now I am, to live, play, love, work. All one.

In This Life

they have given up trying
to make it out
in middle age
I have just started in old
I say because
it sounds good
truly alwats was but poorly
missing moments
fooled by foolish
imitations of being normal
my parents' lives
a flawed model
wounded betrayed superficial
I'm no different
but still trying
to make it out in this life

Can I?

unnameable emotions
elusive inspiration faint
glimpses of possible
strategy can I make
something I enjoy
effectively share dig
deeper and find gold

Fast Enough

(for Philip Guston)

like paint the words
fill in the background
figures emerge cloaked
in personhood smoking
to stay awake hatching
patterns on the zeitgeist

go figure how transform
before the heavenly music
ends without resolving
questions of medium rare
insights into how it works
if you imagine fast enough