Friday, August 17, 1979

BEHOLD THE RIGHT EYE


BEHOLD THE RIGHT EYE    
                                                                                             
you watch my nakedness
watch my body turning
in the room i am naked
your eyes upon me
are naked
your left eye gathers me up
the right eye keeps distance
my breast calls your name
you gather me up with your cock
& your right eye closes

8/15/1979
rev. 1980

Monday, August 13, 1979

UNTITLED LOVE POEM perfume of flowers


UNTITLED LOVE POEM 

the perfume of flowers
sitar sound
drumbeat
music slips into the ear
bellies slip down
make love

8/13/79

Monday, August 6, 1979

TREMORS


TREMORS

(in two voices)

It's their existence I deny

Maybe I really am getting old

Only well after the fact

Somehow it makes it seem all so valid

I prepare for their eventual occurrence 

That's the climax, the waiting

The event itself escapes logic

When they come i 
don't associate the 
falling off of stools 
for no apparent reason 
clumsy i guess 
nor do i comprehend 
the rattling of doors 
with the shuddering 
earth...oh it's the cat 
or maybe it's the wind 
on the 11 o'clock news 
the epicenter was in millbrae 
a 4.8 on the richter scale 
they have these marvelous 
machines that measure the 
earth's pulsations 
those machines its those 
earthquakes they do exist 
it can't be predicted 
when they will occur 
in the spring it gets hot 
it's the weather that gets 
muggy during april 
it's the waiting for the 
event, the eventual release 
of the earth's shudder.


Aug 6, 1979
(See Coyote Lake Earthquake. It was a 5.7. I remember that it threw me right of the stool I was standing on in Cotati. Makes sense that I might not have gotten the final strength right. Also makes it easier to date the poem!)
added 2/2017



Friday, August 3, 1979

THE POET'S VOICE


THE POET'S VOICE

There are repeated curves held back
as if by contemporary indifference
And the indifference is the illusion
of intersecting lines within the ear
We are uni-motivated organisms
Lips seek out their own order
Eyes seek out their own rhythm
They beat down upon the drum
the tympanum of ear
What you hear is merely
the voice of the poet.

8/3/1979