“April is the cruellest month, breeding\ Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing\ Memory and desire, stirring\ Dull roots with spring rain” (TS Eliot, The Waste Land, line 1 et seq.).

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life and music

life
is an intention,
is a desire
enacted;
music
is emotion,
is desire
encapsulated –
the energy
beneath
the logic
of lyrics;
in ventures enacting
desire,
intention,
emotion,
music amplifies
that particular
form of life;
in ventures appeasing
desire,
intention,
emotion,
music
interferes.

longing

longing
walking through
douglas furs
forest paths
ancient gothic
stone architecture
carved
into the rockface
oxidized copper
misty mossy
cavernous paths
entwining stairs
darkness peering out
onto stone balconies
overlooking
mountainous
river valley vista;
another
was always there
beloved woman
saddened
about her son
or about me
or relieved
at our escape
of something;
like others
like us
our age
we sat
atop and amidst
those vistas
and felt
our miseries
and ecstasies;
old man yonder
sitting alone on the bench
watching
longing.

grandeur, tonality, judgment…

grandeur
tonality
judgment
invocation
agreement
viciousness
calloused
judgmental
evaluative
perusing
causational
formative
operative
constructive
abstruse
longing
yearning
lusting
craving
colding
holding
which way is best
closet
folding
germane
scolding love
my hosed
holding
mane
folding
balancing
excitement
pleasure
contusion
monstrosity
veracity
resting arms
lonely eyes
swarms
pastels gentle
smile
like the wind
beautiful
waiting
blown away
frail leaf
flicker
of sunlight
your existence
come again
then gone
breaking stone hearts
he worried
about himself
again
scornful face
unchangeable
unconstant
unseeming
he forgave
the lies
we told ourselves
our thoughts
and the trees
golden rustled
in muddy green
daily girl
perennial smile
unfaked
informed
weathered
right place
right size
gentle mother
loving gentle.

yellowed brown the face of learning

yellowed brown
the face
of learning
trying honestly
and small
moving
to keep warm
rainy dry
green blue
leaves overhung
my spotted vision
once gone
once away
once fled
into rome
for a day
i paid the rent
once more
again sinned
to call it
that again
my watches
of water called
and my words
the words of all
the streets i’ve walked
the halls down i’ve called
sunlit white façade
bluelit lacking shy
i honestly know not why
you turn your head away
from my mind
all mine, oh that’s why,
to relearn one’s own voice,
the texture of black
writing your delusions
slow on a sack
of intellect spilled deep
and far, but not wide,
there is no more to hide
since we called
your home phone
and caught you at home
watching yourself
watching us all
the all-ready there
placate the mind bare
found walking on
shadows of gardens most fair
your hair was not
the fall of water i’d hoped
nor nose the right shape
nor mouth right hook
but who called the gods
those self-centered dogs
presiders o’er pagents
and moralless hogs
fogs creep their stage over
w wittely humid
their image their face
and that face a hood
don’t be so you
and i won’t be so me
but i’m just speaking
of my wants there to be
another me but better
a craving i watch
stroll down the halls
with eye-squinted clutch
of my throat of my eyes
of my arms and mouth
what wall did crash down
what words ring aloud
crying
crying sobbing
lurching
heaving
outpouring
years of long debt
i decay tomorrow today
it’ll all be alright
please let it all be ok.

i’ll sit here and write nothing…

i’ll sit here
and write nothing
for the millionth time
again,
no category
to fill,
no silence
my refuge
oh sweetness
with no loving words
to speak
i still ask questions
and live without knowing
of knowing anything,
one more
lucidly insane day,
one more
dream,
fulfillment is elsewhere
nowhere to speak of–
shocked
around a corner
all my apprehension
flying back,
so hot
so knotted
obscuring
clear thinking
if that can be
called thinking at all,
look away
keep walking
out of sight
fall to lean
eyes closed
around
a single
wall’s turn,
i almost want you
to come
and find me
but am too terrified
to think on it
for more
than a moment…
oh just relax
it’ll be ok,
the awkwardness
and fear
makes both worse…
probably,
“the waiting
is the hardest part” (tom petty).