Everyday Alchmies
NO PLACE I stand in all the doorways of this town, lost in long ago velvet Septembers when the air was almost yellow and filled with drunken wasps. Now concrete winds cry like dark sandpaper against what flesh is left. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FINGERTIPS A black lamp glows in the dead hours between words a fading scent of ashen violet in kitchens at dusk dreams become unbearable ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ HALCYON The days are paper-thin and stained with wine and coffee. The hours turn into years as I stare into the empty sky. All the kingfishers of memory fall dead into the river. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SUMMER DAYS Black suns fall down black alleys into the black river. Through burning grates of air an oracle rises, and I am gilded by another earth beneath these sticks and beetles. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SPIRIT LAMP The sound of humans on television, as if from outter space. The stillness of glass, of silver. Weeds and starlings, the red ash gardens of twilight. Your whiteness smeared on bridges at night. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ INTERGALACTIC a chill lingers about roots and shoulderblades skirts of steel gleam under pink stars memories of so many words written lost between light-years, in the blue ash of pages ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE DISCOVERY OF POETRY BEGINS AGAIN EVERYDAY breath stills and lamps darken a whisper of ash and chrome the rivery shimmer of Eurydice's hair and the curtains billowing with sirensong in the afterglow of the pages * tendrils of mist connect one day to the last only yesterday all these roses were scented * pink drifts of vetch fall to the river black clouds take the moon to another world like the light from a black hole like a time traveller trapped in a clock I keep looking back * a catbird sings in the dark ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DEAD ROBINS Blue eggs appear on the streets as if fallen from the sky. Nights are a bitter green powder in the mouth. Clouds and dark petals close in quickly over the mornings. A beautiful woman whispers in my ear, Remember Life, as pillbugs begin swarming over the edge of the porch. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FUTILITY ITSELF IS NOT ALWAYS FUTILE A dark moth flutters at my door. A grey cat slides off the porch into the grass. Everything rots, bodies buildings stars. People appear and disappear as if in a half-watched movie. Waiting for death and cicadas, I drink my coffee and watch the rain. The garbage cans fill with poems. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 5 LINES Nights are layed in obsidian and chiffon. The cold star of summer gleams in four raindrops. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ WANDA GAG'S WOODCUTS wet black leaves call me home to another earth of childhood's pages torn from the void ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ MEDITATIONS At 430 in the morning, a mist is on the hills, the dew is on the grass. I have no job, I have no lover; I have this coffee, I have a bed, I have last night's rain, I have this poem; I have death. I turn and look out the window at the stars. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DOUBLE-SLEEPER sometimes I hear something rattling around the kitchen in the dead of night I know it's only me, lost in a world of comic books, lightning rods and paper routes rabbit ears and 60 cent pocket books forgetting that I'm actually in bed lying awake at 3:30 thinking of news stands in the magic light of weekends black and white televisions broken cups, cigar smoke and old metal garbage cans standing in the rain ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ IN SILVER SHADOWS I walk the trail through the mornings a rooster crows across the river the past laps at my ankles the moon is still here a white echo on the water I suck down all these green sugars and burn myself into the deepest shades of time everything vibrates everything is irridescent everything has a voice ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ MORPHEUS DESCENDING Revolving shadows of the afternoon become decades thought by thought Under another moon's earth there really were no better moments A wish remains for rain and wine to sleep away the years ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ WAXWING in my hands your final breath and the impossible, un- believable stillness of death. I buried you in asters, rain, failed poems. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ASTONISHMENT A girl opens a white silk parasol. A moth comes to rest on the kitchen windowsill. Ballerinas and meteors fill my head. The world is all mist and myth and moondust. A cranefly hangs on the light, On the breath of a ghost. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ HYPNOS Speak to me, rain, of the moons you hide, of the distant, misty eyes of sleepy women, the vanishing glow of suns and dreams across this vast expanse of space. Speak to me, rain, of your silver gloves and silver hands, and the murmuring of women in their sleep. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ HOURS AWAY I walk between sky and river dark barges bear the hours away then years the Sunday moon is white lace behind green silk stars faint like breath webs of memory thicken and spread over streets and hills life is a drop of honey on a tonguetip here and gone while poems wait for ink ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AMONG THE HEMLOCKS There were signs of faerie wings of rose and gold in a glittering cloud over the stream and moss that pulled my hands to it fatally the sudden sharp smell of vinegar between the toadstools and the rotting logs the taste of nymph in the air luminous with emerald lipstick and the phosphor of silver footprints appearing and disappearing continuously around and around all the trees ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LI PO MOMENT I stare for a million years at this river. A redhaired undine slips back into her waters. The Maid of Wu drifts by on her lacquered boat, her pink kimono and silken mouth bringing me delirium. I beckon for more wine: none comes. I walk on, mad with sobriety, awaiting the icecold dreams of winter to carry me away - already, the winds hiss high in the treetops. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CANYON SCHOOL ROAD porcelain echo of August nights drunk on crickets and whiskey the wind itself gold with the grasses the sky itself heroned and dragonflyed eyes finally open to oblivion under the scrawl of sleep' s cool white hand ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NAMELESS GRIEF Brief, distilled crystals of language. Pears of light, beeswax, shadows of winter, still, in these circles of gold windows. Trees and tombstones, sob of ice in my throat, like a dead bird. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DREAMS OF GLORY I was somewhere surrounded by palm trees. All the misty streets led to the sea, and all the pigeons were white in a cool blue light: an eternity of strong coffee, sunsets, beautiful skirts. For a while, I could not even look at my notebooks. Now I can't stop touching them. Every night the ink disappears from them, and every morning I get to begin the poems all over again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TIME'S BACK Doves haunt the grey hours. I lie across the bed. Everyone's off to work. I'11 make soup, do nothing but have visions, write poems, stir the vegetables. It's a day for dolls and silk cocoons, lounging about in half-lit rooms where the ghosts of cinnamon and patchouli linger in memory like the sound of snow on dead leaves from the last century. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ EMPTY BOTTLE sitting by the river watching clouds and wind and flesh I while away an hour in dreams of an endless poem and the winedrenched kisses of nymphs the gold is quick on the leaves and is gone with the world ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ GIRL IN THE ARBORETUM as willowshadows ripple under me like water I wish I was waiting here for you dark moon with your skirt of gold just trailing the still-wet dew ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THIS WINE The light is narcotic and sings. The birds swim in it, in the vertigo between sky and river. The nymphs bathe in it, and leave behind their steam, an aftertaste of berry and hair. When the stonedark clouds have passed with their symphonic rains, hypergreen and hyperblue remain. The light rings in the leaves in rings. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SATURDAY cool beautiful coffee chocolate radio voices river dreams crown of clouds dark blue bird a million shadows filled with stardust WAY ABOVE THE MORNING The rain is full of light. The streets murmur with its wetness. I press a cold yellow apple to my forehead and await oblivion, listening to the leaves that haunt the bedroom window. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ IMMORTAL MOMENT at night the rain like gravel on metal awnings by morning the stars are mine again the blue powder of infinite pages MIST to bear in mind there is nothing to hold to stare at the sky where a moon is embedded among the pines ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CONCRETE a breath of rain then mist like a ghost's mouth all over me COPPER BEECH in the middle of it blinding pure green hair, green body green spit I covet down my throat ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CHRYSALID Light encased in emerald drips from the leaves, and falls into a rivulet where the mosses breathe. I walk through folds of silence into another hour. Someday, I will find a golden shell deep in a cave and curl up in it, to sleep.