Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The Unicorn Tapestry
-- for L.H.
jesus mary's mother's
milk of god around us
how it hurts
this charge
mercy might white
hide your sight
to ring us round
with fences bright
leaf-scuffer
we bow
come to us now
we knead your plasticene,
we bellow,
you bow
but you don't have a voice
or even a horn
believe that real?
lay back
that white &
black shit
looks like zebra to me
&
in between
the moving lines
she comes, she do
les milles fleurs de Tanganyika
bless
your dos*,
Donna,
& your don'ts
two like as one* do's [sic]
posted 10:31 AM
Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Thursday, April 09, 2009
There is nothing so valuable as friendship with no wording. Just the ribs of a leaf's structure, with chromosomy imagination. The leaf held in the hand, a hand over the hand clasped. Our hands. Ours to clasp and unclasp whenever there is need. It is true. Yes. A lucid understanding with only the aberration of distance past the uncleared spaces of the mind. The aberration is infinitesimal, as in the stars.
Boor. Drop. Drudge. The narrow oarlock holds the narrower oar. Confined, so. And yet the tip of the oar dips in the free connected seas and gleams in sunlight as the water flicks from its end sheening. So you, climbing your circular iron staircase, never quite seeing the open space at the top. And your shoes make such an ugly noise on the dirty metal rungs. Yet the cleared space is at the top and you can hear laughter--open cleared laughter--between the measured drudgery of your clanging steps. So why should your hope falter? You have seen the sun, and its light peers forth from behind your sheltered lashes. It is there. I have seen it.
Catch the sunlight as it escapes through the confines of your lashes and hold it to your heart. Bask in it and rub yourself with it, anoint your body and your inner body and your inner inness with the sunlight. There is enough to keep you warm all your days, even though you never reach the top of the rusty iron staircase. The laughter may be soft and hollowed, but some day you will realize that it is your own laughter and that it has always been your own laughter.
Chink. Slug. Squeal. Stop and turn around, coming back to everyday.
Slowly the point of the silver lancet of thought pierces the spongy gray volutions of brain, and up from the depths the cloud of uncertainty boils and dissipates. The sunlight, in straight rays pierced, falls to the ground and spreads in pools. Pools within pools, each cooler and darker than the last. Within the innest pool, a white arm, a white hand cupped. A knowing unperformed tear held.
My name is the Rock. The sun that beats against my sides is contained, radiated; the seas that hurl themselves upon me are pushing away, mindful of strength; my power is made up of all your little powers and as i think of you i gather strength; wisdom beats against my granite brow: you, because of you.
posted 10:55 AM
Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Saturday, June 02, 2007
Perils of Pauline
Tags:
posted 3:24 PM
Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Saturday, May 05, 2007
CPA
Tags:
posted 12:06 PM
Yes
Tags:
posted 12:02 PM
RDPF Papers:
Mudra
Tags:
posted 11:50 AM
Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Thursday, May 03, 2007
It is quite obvious that animals appreciate and practice music
Tags:
posted 6:56 PM
Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Saturday, April 07, 2007
Work on
All Sinks Love Clear Thinking
for D.I. from R.D.P.F. 11/28/79
while transferring the crisco
from
the freshly opened wound-edge
into
an innocuous planter's spanish peanut can suitable to
a bedside manner for an adorable doctor,
i
in my birthday suit, buttons exposed and lapels creased,
long for you
across
the tightly-sewn satin pillows of your stomach, the
depressions there from my head's rest,
(can a peacock rest its head?)
to image you forth takes
a hundred thousand satin-covered buttons
in your sleek array
some satin limousine takes
all my worry-shaking-bead-taking
heart shriek
into wonderful pillows beyond suffocation's rap
GOD'S OWN HUB-CAPS!
School is Go
under the tow-bridge
the dowels fit with which
thee and I endowTags:
posted 8:07 PM
Work on
Cities and Keys
When the city of San Francosia entered into me and I into it, ancient chevys trembled in their muni rusts as loose pigeons clambered, slim Chinese ignored skinny shanks, the yelps of dogs in orange plastic envelopes were mailed to the more than four corners of beaches of the world I love, all within this city of weary blokes and doxies, resting. Heigh-ho, like a sigh!
The fish in the water meant what they did as they slid up to the hooks, eyes, nets, traps, seines and all the other ladders of an indifferently laid-on strife.
In San Francosia all dots are splotches, blurbs, dabs, scallops, oil blots, earrings, clamors, whey bumps, headphone curlers, damp and untwisted buttonholes. San Francosia is known only to the suspended few gazing and rapt down the filmstrip street, the soundsprocket sidewalk where no mania's large enough to hold the mayonnaise man far and wee. Whistles dive where no curb curves such straight streets.
San Francosia's paragraphs drink between indentations, share books, shift stools, compare the incomparable air, too thick, too sold, too June, too old; tules unfold in a valley's weary pages turn by windshield wipers no sky can pipe beyond murk.
All can leave; none may stay. The sky of San Francosia alone sticks to its inhabitants, by longs and shorts bellowing its moonglue toward its assertive sun. Pigeons
darkly descend to the jacquard blots before sunrise with no light upon them. Only then to the fluffed lids of the foreigner in the streets of San Francosia do the tightly carded pigeons' vanes raise the darkness into these sudden blots and blurbs, these sheer shanks of smirches, the ones reconstituting San Francosia's alleys and accents into streets no welcome farewells by land or sea.
I salute with one eave of departure the uncaring sea.Tags:
posted 7:19 PM
Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Sunday, August 20, 2006
Work on
Pose/Soap
hear john cage rap
cheep-cheep initiation/to/eric satie
being
sibyls rehearse
the guatamalans
of all san lucas together
each gets up
time
rehearsal
living & dying
stops & starts
A SOUND
among us (beckon
finger the blow
start and stop
*
*
*
melting stars, toes tumbling up.
do you ever sit
down
!
ghastly marvelTags:
posted 1:52 PM
