dialogue between two flies sitting
on a meat box thinking of the
bill perry orchestra

 

 

monkey :

 

this is you

and

this is me

 

the bamboo

still

the wind

still

 

which face do you use?

 

eight eyes

see one thing

eight ways

 

the wine has dried

at the bottom of the glass

 

i am there

 

my tongue and i

are there

together

 

we are making music

 

things are always

happening

 

getting colder now

in here

 

i am in the leaves

in the veins

in the roots

and the ground

 

in the lava

at the center

of earth

getting colder now

in here

 

"be careful with this one.

it's one of your best."

 

"i can write more," i reply.

"it's nothing. just another poem.

 

throw it away. forget it."

 

and the robins

are still whistling

as the sky grows

dark with rain clouds

in formation

like robins

whistling

in the

rain

and

after the rain

and

then

 

when the moon

floats

 

they go

somewhere else

 

 

?

 

 

 

_________________

 

 

 

 

there is no context.

 

the form is in the lines.

 

the lines are in space.

 

space is in the space between space.

 

unfeeling dust becomes me.

 

i become dust.

 

all the dust is scattered everywhere

like stars in ashes

 

like stars in loneliness

 

when all the bamboo stalks

look at me

with one eye

 

when the robins whistle,

their breath

moves everything

around

 

from one thing to the next

 

just as

a volcano might

 

or a wave

in the ocean

 

or the taste i left

of me on your lips

 

just as

a volcano might

 

when the robins whistle,

their breath

moves everything

around

 

 

whisper now

 

only whisper

 

 

 

 

quietly

 

impact

 

autumn