Aesir Protest

Odin stabbed his eye with Pa's cigar,
was handed a nickel, placed it there
so that Jefferson faced out,
and became infinitely wise.
Not so fortunate for the bricks that
laid up Hoor.

Fenris bit the hand
of Tyr off in a rage over
accusing her (or him?) of sixty
four years of age:
The national guard balked
and ran off with the sun.
(S)He'll fine you every time
you mention Njord.

Loki stands with a grin
and hands Hoder a dime,
asks the pretty Baldr if he's
having a good time:
Heimdall blows the gjallarhorn to signal Thor.

I ain't gonna work on Frigga's farm no more.

That is a Dead Man

Perhaps the rain is dark, tonight.
Be serious: this is a funeral,
and comb your hair for God's sake,
put a tie on, wax your eyebrows.
Be dignified (and please don't cry).

Perhaps the rain smells nice, like
the petals (and the open wooden box)
that overwhelmed my eyes.
(They took his out,
apparently the eyes are useful
past death).

Perhaps the rain is rich:
STREETS OF GOLD.
HE WALKS ON STREETS OF GOLD:
I'd rather walk on wet soil
and not worry about it sticking
to the white carpet.
I think he'd rather ride his motorcycle.

Perhaps the rain is sonorous,
My voice cracked a few times
on the high 'E'. Eternal: Father: Strong (to save?).

Perhaps the rain is envious,
And death, Jesus,
How am I going to deal with Jesus Christ,
when my heart stops moving?

Perhaps the rain is full of salt:
There was so much ham after the funeral,
there was only one dish of macaroni.
I wanted to take half of it.
I hope he doesn't see me hiding now.

Perhaps the rain is full of life,
and perhaps:
Perhaps not.

Sunday Dinner at First Presbyterian Church - 03/02/2008

"My wife passed away two years ago."
You've said it now, sir,
take it back if you can;
no one will respect your tie,
your pressed shirt,
None regard your stately eyes
for fear of drowning.

You smile: why?
Perhaps you've become
accustomed to the silence
perhaps the taste of still air
in your nostrils makes you trip,
like the alcohol it's so obvious you took.

Your loneliness is radiant and sweltering
like Spica or Betelgeuse,
You took a teacher's Volkswagon beetle
and put it on the stage in high school.
Your son's a computer engineer who
programs missiles and doesn't give a fuck.

What does a man stand for at the end of his life,
and why do Virgo and Orion shine so terribly this night?

Sequence

Lamentable, indeed: the lamplight touch'd
your breast and felt the breathing sound.
One limb, lithe and mirthful, reached around
to cover eyes and stop the witnessing of birth.
Please, beseech your tears and stop their exodus.

Momenta of the memory-full field of pansies
disreputable flowers that they might be,
born to base themselves in brick-surrounded soil
unelegantly undervoiced and plain.

One necessary night for most is what fulfills
liquid desiring escape. Most fire oxidizes,
presses upon our skin with weight of atmospheres;
Such weight, such destitutely jostling molecules
of bitter atmospheres.

Ultraviolet Catastrophe

Black and heat:
Visible uncertainty and field lines
seep through surfaces in flux.
Alike, the bodies sleep
and slowly wake, and slowly keep time
with hands whose trembling
shakes the fabric of surrounding air
and radiate infinite power.

Memory (Unremembered)

Hello light,
in love, switch to manual
and drive, and drive - answer
phones for maytag refrigerator
customer support.

Hello light,
where to fly, and where to snow,
(some call him such a busybody)
Where to go? Where to sleep tonight?
Greetings, You are Hypnos. I am Pan.

Hello light,
For Ten Points, What do men think about women?
ANSWER: things, I feel excellently
when I eat the trees, so excellently.

Hello light,
and hello Child, you bear some
pleasantry of peace; deny
your hungering infants;
deny their food; deny my drink.

Hello light,
and whom to be but he who slays
thy chivalry. To die, to sleep?
What have you (have at thee!) to keep?

And hello light, I think
I am to love.

Madame X

Skin so full of light, such wild white
held aloft by fields of black
and pressed into the earth by skies of beige,
One hand, pressure on the table,
a lonely fingernail, one glaring sideways eye,
a gentle cut of red into your face, half-lipped,
orifice and soft pink shell of funneled sound,
one dark pervasive nostril:
doorway to the arrogantly facing mind:

They are, and they are loveliness
and sharp, it's sure the
teeth and wit are too.

Tell me: "Do diamonds strike the suitors blind?"

Tell me: "Are they swallowed by the dark heart on your breast?"

Tell me: "Did they write their lives to you?"

Please, I beg it, tell me what is true.

Silence, she has gone to rest.
All that's left are blandly colored walls
and the unseen one who desperately loves.