Long Day's Journal

11/27/07
I ALMOST KNOW SOMETHING
12/12/07
The present tenseness is my world surrounded by a dense fog of condensation dripping
down the windshield of memory, breaking the impact with a whisper of comfort, making
the collision reverse the indentation with a poem filled with air. No one but you
understands. No one but you can pull me from the wreckage of old age and the wind of
fire that wreaks havoc on the structure that I imagine will protect me. Who are you?
The despicable world glows in its own darkness, spotlighting the emptiness like a star
outlining its dark glasses with black lines – cloisonné without the church, stained glass
without the stain – a clear view of nothing and a fear of running out of time, burning out
at both ends. The moon waxing and waning, coming and going, again and again, two
ends meeting in the shadows, hiding from the truth, making deals to continue to end and
begin once upon a time……
5/16/08
on the outside
looking out
for myself
I spy I
trying to find
the one thing
I have in common
with myself
in the interim
the outer rim of
the boundary of chaos
scribbles a message
to clean up
the inner ear
and balance
the books
the inner sanctum
rocks with works
of articulation
words that resound
and suddenly
you hear
what you are
here
right here left here
there you are
everywhere
receiving direction
from the chaos
placing you
inside the outfield
in left field
the playing field
the magnetic field
attracting the traction
of gravity
holding you in place
as the hand moves
across the universe
and paints your pain
to a T
an exact opposite
of a duplicate
another appendage
to old age
and wisdom
added to the subtraction
becomes what adds up
to an answer
an approximate truth
that declares itself
as a dependent
that is independent
of the calculation
separate
from the attachment
to the whole truth
and nothing
but the truth persists
and swims
in the river of periphery
the outer rim
of the boundary
of chaos
and spits out
its teeth
I catch its drift
and float upstream
of consciousness
half awake, half awake
sleeping in the conjunction
the caboose
of the train of thought
a crazy reason
to be reasonable
a loco motive
I think I can
I think I can
both ideas
sky write
their impression
of indentation
identity
and attention
to detail
each finger points
to a choice
each choice points
to disaster
a tunnel of delight
mishaps ricocheting
off the dark particles
of transition
bouncing off the walls
until the onslaught
offers a compromise
light
with a heavy consequence
a sequence
of black “ands”
that hook each sentence
to its counterpart
and in the play
the map of interplay
zig zags
back and forth
crossing the tracks
and playing the part
of a wanderer
wondering why
I get off track
and wander
into the tunnel
inside the tunnel
the deep depression
at the root
of all totality
why do I always
end up there
at the beginning
starting over
stopping under
the bridge
understanding
standing under
an umbrella
a black arc
that diverts
the pounding downfall
to a puddle
around my feet
my reflection mirrors
this deflection
askew, awkward and slanted
toward my next step
when it splashes
I awaken
to my sleepy coverup
a hiccup hidden
under the covers
my eyes water
expressing the excess
sorrow with a flow
of stoppage
choking movement
by clutching
the stiff neck
of disappointment
with fingers
that refuse to move
yet
in the natural flow
things move
in spite of stillness
they naturally change
places with the moment
before the next move
the choice
is no choice
or no choice
it just is
as unjust
as is
is
events eventually
explode on the scene
like the next
autonomic breath
breathe in, breathe out
intake, give out
collapse, lapse into
a comma
along with
my periodic double
a look alike
who likes
looking like me
but being
someone else
elsewhere
like a mirror image
with a life of its own
waking up
much later than me
without guilt
without the unfamiliar
dreams that cloud my skin
without the need for baptism
each morning
to wash away the film
the documentation
of an imaginary struggle
a picture
that reflects
another picture
******
7/1/08
The day begins like every day begins – slightly different – so slight, in fact, that for the
past 5 years it seems like one long day – which it really is – because the segmentality that
caused the human psyche to divide the one long day into moments arose on the back of
sleep’s mysterious darkness.
So when I awoke on Tuesday, it was really any day and what happened could have
happened to anyone and nothing much happened. The temperature changed and the wind
changed direction. The sky turned gray and the sun closed its eye. The world proceeded
to self destruct and the future gagged on its memories…..
10/17/10
As I awoke I saw the smoke, the remnants of what was and what will occur. I am in them,
making them, mine. I draw the boundaries around the events and (if I can handle it) I pick
them up and carry them home on my aching back. When I bend a little, they slide off and
present themselves as petit memories – small enough to fit into my pocket – a corner
formed by the intersection of circles and the missing links of circumlocution…
9/22/09
Here I am in Washington Square
enclosed by the absence of a circle
of friends
pinpointing,
painting, permitting
the essence of lonliness
to geometrically trigger
the progression
of the mathematics of zero
multiplying the echo the echo
the non repetitive echo
that reverberates in
the empty space
left inside my future
I hear the silence
like it was tomorrow
it is warm
full of the emptiness
of neon existence
the opposite reflection of life’s presence
born out of nothing
in particular
the nothing inside
an empty cell
full of prisoners
escaping the inevitable
blood bath of
contrary synonyms
“I sit like a broken circle
inside an open ended square”
11/15/08
either
aw
some
or ful
?
***
I reap
what I rip
not what I sew
***
1/16/09
Then Buddhism
be here then
looking at what happened
is a way of being present
behind every moment
lies the truth
\
what then?
Then Buddhists
turn their backs on
what is coming
they look to the space
behind the space
where the universe began
a reflection on an opaque mirror
9/21/10-10/17/10
sleep, perchance to wake up
much of this landslide comes from the end of the line
each piece of soil, half asleep, bundled in mud
slides into the whole and disappears
beneath the obvious loss
flowers still percolate
and punch their way out
in the wake of this inconclusive dream
a yawning mixture of catastrophe and strophe
produces the bare bones of fleshy splinters
a barrage of undeniable miscarriages of just ice
and under the scrutiny of the brightest star
the third dimension melts
into a mutiny of flat puddles
filled with a dry sense of humor
and juicy misconceptions
sleep, perchance to wake up
in between then and now
in the cracks and crevices of holistic yearnings
doubt, like serious clouds, floods the blues
with puffy intrusions of malpractice
a vision seriously blurred by age and intoxication
right before our eyes
the path becomes a scribbled contingency
a wobbling short future in between now and then
occasionally seeing I to I, but often lying
down
to sleep, perchance to wake up
******
Today is later. And I am still sleeping. Last night dreaming of blood pouring out from a
hole in my fortitude. Uneasy, I tossed and laid flat against my spine. With every vision,
every concocted scenario, my wounds throbbed and my broken heart beat me down. The
noise of uneasiness made my eyes jump open and my legs spin to the floor. I then began
my daily sleep walk.
******
waiting for the next block of time
to drop from the sky of the ground
spit out by the earthly sun
like a bolt of split seconds
dirty little perhapses
march into my daze
like needles in a haystack
pricking the full blown balloons
of conversation
letters fall to the earth like leaves
the rake of progression
piles up the language on the front lawn
dawn breaks and lights
a fire under the executed sentence
of a life of sleep
perchance to wake up
in the mean time
the average clock
has no time to stop
the day is dark
as if the crack of dawn
allowed an inky black dusk
to leak through
the break of day
and the nighttime sun
shot out shadows of dark light
I can hardly see my way
through it all
a sleepwalk
of unseen proportions….
8/9/10
it’s obvious
that I haven’t
met the woman
of my dreams
because if I had
she’d be here
beside me
right now
10/9/10
“my life as me
has been quite familiar,”
he said
“no time to change my mind
no time to reform my tendencies
or reform the shape I’m in
in no time”
just as is, quite unjust and quiet
but pleasantly surprised
by expectation
“just as I expected – unjust!”
fairness is an intense carnival
complete with
clowns and big tops
with midget ideas
at the bottom of it all
pouring out of a vehicle
(that is me)
one by one by one by one –
…….forever