Monday, June 23, 1986

First drafts

623 1986 CPITS retreat, Calistoga


The trick is to trap the wild laughter 
of the ancestors beneath a fat hill 

laughing like fat hills 
wild ancestors 
trap and trick us 
into believing anything.

A stranger knows 
how fast lightning 
captures the spirit under glass 
before we put out the flames.

The magician who travels 
to the source knows 
the bitter surrender 
of the wave to the beach 
is central to the struggle.

The resourceful magician who travels
to the center of the earth 
will bitterly object 
to surrendering 
to sand on the beach.

6/23/1986
CPITS retreat, Calistoga, from wordcards?



When the greed of horses 
strips the fossils of time 
from the checkbook of skeletons, 
then go to the carnival of books 
where the clown of tears 
wears a wedding band of fright 
under his shawl of death.
There you will find the mask 
of fluttering lies has fallen 
from the face of the moon.

AFTER ROUSSEAU
Sleeping gypsy
Ekphrastic poetry


Under a full desert moon 
a lion stands over the sleeping man 
dressed in a striped tunic 
with a jug and a mandolin at his side 
the green sky, like a lake 
that feeds the mangrove swamps.
A cold Indian in ceremonial robes 
floats on the cloud-studded horizon.



6/24/1986 three words per line poem

Three virgin hills, 
Islands arising from a deeper blue 
where the sea and sky 
confuse themselves 
with circular distances 
and the cloud formation 
doesn't just happen to appear 
on the horizon 
like there was no tomorrow 
because today my mind's, a dog,
it's fogged like those sea cliff arches 
and no one even knows they're there 
but still the wind moans through them 
because it's not often one finds a mouth 
in such a place as this.
So we go on as they say 
this fog to will disappear 
with enough heat and pressure 
but who's counting keeping counting score? 
The Giants won 18 to something 
you said in the middle of a conversation. 
I feel like leaping from the cliff from cliff to cliff. 
That's about as much logic as we can stand 
in a place like this, falling, falling 
like snow covered apples, 
we tumble into the sea 
and float to the horizon 
where the sea is returned to blue sky. 

6/24/1986


FORGETFUL
   after Rilke 

I've been with one fawn with terns



Found in a Pages doc

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