Ravings at Dawn
Commuter train
A cartful of tired passengers
Plus a cheerful man just got back from Jamaica
Carrying a tambourine.
The Dead
If you mingle with them
long enough
It's reall the same -
Just shout back and forth
across the river
Bonsai
Flowers flush
from the dead man's body;
Earth covers
the lost book,
reclaiming ownership.
Name Seal
In stone then
and in the flesh now
benediction
brand
bloody red in color
February
Branches in snow
burgeoning spouts of leaves
In this month the wanderers sets foot
to faraway lands
to tell his tales
Rain soon comes
and Earth pushes dandelion seeds into the air,
the wanderer has learnt the natives' speech,
but he no longer says they
he says we
Into You I have entered
Into this realm of sky a comet has entered
Like into a pond a leaf is blown and sunk
headlong and steady like an iron pellet slowly
sinks into a block of ice
under the melting sun
burning in the cold of the heat
the heat of the cold
ripples trailing
signing, vaporing
singing along the way
sad and happy
Sisterhood
Bonded below in the murkiness
We set root in the darkness
of the mud
Your lotus, my lotus
Facing the sky
Facing up the blue sky
In this pond of sleepiness
You pour gold into my cup,
- Like a genie -
and I, in gratefulness
pour it back into yours
We trade sighs two ways
beneath the quilt of green
To the Teenager Hit On Dey Road
Dey Road lies near Princeton, NJ. there is not
really a
dead boy, the poem is entirely fictitious.
You were hit
by a truck
on Dey Rd
so you squatted down
in the dirt
and became
a White pine
By Christmas
you were ready
to be brought home
for music, sounds
and indoor warmth
still young
and carrying
a bodyful of lights
That morning you
waited outside
half in snow
knowing the next
child will be named
after you. How nice.
The angel came
in a garbage truck
and carried you off
for burning and later
for Heaven Of trees
Moments of Spring
The land's bared after rest
the whole winter
not yet put to work;
the orchar trees are bloaded
with juices, branches red
like vines full of blood -
mind rushes forward to open fields,
yelling friends, me too, me too!
When night comes rain beats upon the earth
impatient to turn the page.
His breathes come steadily
the jogging of a colt
Wind turns thin leaves over
thin slivers of the moon
So much inside wanting
to come out from the wait
Cat is ignoring the spider there
like a pro
say anon my Juliet
sings Romeo
Res's Cafe, NJ transit station at Hamilton
The glass walls are lined inside
with plastic respectables,
dolls, one of Queen Amidala,
one of Brandy, and another of Rosie O�Donnell;
a Barbie with Captain Kirk n� crew,
another her waving next to a Harley -
Beneath the flotsam and jetsam of POP,
is the picture of a Chinese man buffing tobacco smokes;
it perches upon the ATM machine
and a cardboard sign says
�used books $3-$5�
No poster ads, which is great.
The cafe inside with genuine walls and ceiling
are for the truly authentic,
like Marilyn Monroe on that sewer crate,
worrying about her skirt;
Crayon portrait of Howard Stern
shoulders with Bogart in black and white
who like a spy in a gray trench coat
half hides himself behind stacks of coke
The soft neon sign of Maxwell House coffee
softens the light and gives the place a homely feel;
The conglomerate of beanie babies
chilling around the sugar-and-sugar-substitute rack
should have given me a headache
but in reality warm my heart.
A song for spring nights
These days
The land and houses put on spouts of greens,
While the city begins to reek of human odors and rat wastes
The wood is getting denser;
Frequent rains in the day
Wash asphalt streets
In the city
The procession
Of thieves, pirates, whores,
Circus men, and victims of child molesters
Pass by in the water like pale leaves beneath my house,
Singing sad string music of the dead men
Everything feels pantomime
Everything is post something
Must fix gaze
Upon the rounded moon,
As if it is not an object but a token of good faith
Must see her again, like now, her brow, her mouth pressed tightly,
But she was lonely, even then
While with me
Raven-haired ring bearer
Came from shadows of the night
To give back the night�s meaning,
Key in an open palm and eyes solemn, silent.
Oh hast thou seen them when they were free-wheelers
Still in their bodies, owned by no one;
Hast thou let them in the secret
Your eyes shine like this,
So full in your own body,
Belonging to no one.
M in the morning
Darker hair and
Softer eyes, Being
Always on the seedier side
Of roads
You have seen
The triumphant shouts
Of the Light-God
As it leaped free
From its bath,
And brought out from the greens
Shining streams around their roots
Renewed dawn, renewed
Bird calls and paling lights
That make you
A day creature again;
Night is satisfied for once
Of its asked price
And leaves
Your eyes softer still