men and women see places in the night differently

men and women see places in the night differently

men see doors and the kind of entrances and exits

women look to the windows and all the glittering 

i lingered by the base of the tarpeian rock on a winter evening

and i imagine the kinds of shadows and echoes that floated

high over plaster ceilings with oil lamps held by slaves 

and the ramparts supposedly secure a night owl calling to another

we are responsible for everything we do hero or villain

the response and magnifications of the world are harsh 

even absurd to the level of myth that keeps one forever wondering

when were we truly innocent &

trying to remember all the feelings

when one was 

that way  

*

 

"Honey, Mr. Bee is not from dimensional space ... "

 "Honey, Mr. Bee is not from dimensional space, so his attempts at humor will be different from ours. But he is not harmful. He never has been." 

"Yes darling, but when he turned your face blue, it was just for an afternoon, and Mrs. Simmons wasn't bothered by rhyming every other word over that 3 day weekend. She said it felt novel. She is a poet, after all, and she still teaches him poetic theory on Wednesdays."

"I will talk to Mr. Bee and remind him, most firmly." 

The caller then noticed me, after he had placed his phone in his pocket. "I do apologize if my conversation was too loud." 

I shook my head.

"In any case, our lab is funded though the public, and anyone is welcome to attend ... a totally open and above board program, with no hidden agendas." 

I nodded.

"Here is my card, you are welcome to drop by anytime and talk to the Departments."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh, the Departments? Time, Space, Novelty, Linear Theories, Circular, Things, Clouds, Weather, and Harmony."

The train pulled up to the station.

"Goodbye!" said the caller with the card.

at dusk i hear a man whistling

at dusk i hear a man whistling

just a few notes 

he's going somewhere

on the sidewalk up front 

the sound of the tune

has to bounce just right 

to reach my ear 

in the very back room 

as i type

.

.

.

but how do i know

he's a man or he's going?

or they are whistling

a tune?

i go to the front

and look down

no one is there

*

say i am thinking about nothing

say i am thinking about nothing

i say i am thinking of nothing

what i am thinking about is how we take on new names

i am thinking about when separated we all get older

i am thinking about the soft shock sometimes when we meet

after many years and what that would be like magnified by never dying 

vast trees and mountains with a view of the sea never move except for growing 

what is seen is always in sight for them so they are not disturbed this way

i will never be immortal nor will you always coming and going 

meeting and remeeting each other over waves and foam of beginningless beginning

we should become like little birds that ride on the tides of becoming & destruction 

never ruffled or afraid or feeling away from home as the swell goes up or down

even when time seems to break into a storm 

full of prayers we go along

and then when the air is calm no concerns

**

every day should i allow myself to enter it with grace

every day however i see it and allow myself to enter it with grace

becomes that absolute solace of 'everything is new' but acting so seals the deal 

.

no matter what this is the first day of all the days and my lack of mental control

makes it seem like a bouncy house i blame you for the turmoil

.

later of course i love everyone like the statues of beings that love 

i have gathered a few over my bookcases and paintings

.

they are as indispensable as railroad crossing signals 

or the offramps trucks can ride into when they have no brakes

.

if you are there look at the chamomile blossoms on the hillside and red stone you tread on

i took them all for granted but now let us set that aside and have this new day 

---

1/1/24

down by a lost stream after the rain

down by a lost stream after the rain

in the back of an office park seen better days 

.

ducks by small pieces of trash the ducks looking good

earth on the riverbank black with glistening roots

.

i've lost the love of someone it happened the other day 

ducks in the water now swimming splashing washing 

.

they can be fine in a castoff creek by a shamble of a place

so i can be as well no matter what or how i think 

.

living with broken plans until they are not seen as broken

an Almighty dwelt as if from a great distance with aims

.

then no distance no other personality or plans or mind required

faith by not believing in what seems impossible but through seeing 

.

realizing what one did and a few vital actions

while visiting the ducks the trash the stream

*

12/31/23

One More Evil Trifle for Your Deluded Senses

 

A report from the edge of night

A report from the edge of night: Bikini clad girl immerses herself in the waves, the surface looks like silver strands. She adjusts her top and dives under the curling water. Someone methodically breaks down a beach umbrella, clack, clack, noises almost like shells and stones rinsed by the surf. A father holds his son’s hand as the small boy goes round and round and round his father. Now the sand looking like aluminum in the fading light, streaming sheets of water put up by the surf. There is a claw of a cloud that raises up to grasp at the half moon, but it is untouchable.

In the fading light at the beach, it becomes light purple. On the horizon are rain clouds, across this view teenagers run to the surf. They grab each other’s hands and run back up away from the waves screaming. In the fading light a solitary beachgoer doomscrolls, then they put the phone down. They sink into a trance, resting their chin on one hand. They’ve connected with the horizon and the rain on the edge of view with the fading light. More people appear talking and talking … ready to take pictures of themselves, then forgetting in the fading purple light and the smell of the ocean overtakes thoughts, pretense, assumptions, perfume. The half moon overhead, over everyone’s shoulders. It smolders like a white ember in the sky, or possibly it signifies a clock half run to some end. The solitary beachgoer grabs their shoes, and goes.

— -

Cove Beach

we can / wait

we can

wait

whenever

i wear

eddie bauer

everyone 

stares at me

then i see

they are not

staring at 

me

if you die

before me

i will become

a vagabond

in laguna beach

strolling at dusk

homeless/ half way

homeless

bathing in the

ocean caring not

of any social

conventions

that is what

i would do

----

we accuse each other/ of living mediocre lives

we accuse each other
of living mediocre lives

almost posting about it

thinking it could be funny

we are quite content actually

with our heroic hearts

and our unfulfilled fancy dreams

have a sense of fulfillment 

because of so 

but if we are not satisfied

we could still write a poem

with perfect freedom

to see through thus

---

for Deborah 

The wind blows down the riverbed, there’s no water in it now

The wind blows down the riverbed, there’s no water in it now. I've gone over the fence. I sit on the River, on the sand. The wind is the only thing flowing but I know there’s water underneath going to the sea. The sand is rough with hard white flecks in it. You can see where animals pass, birds, coyotes, deer, and the wind blows up the river banks from the sea. The cars going over the bridge here sound like waves, the cars and people in them as unknowing and impartial to the river as waves at the ocean driving suffers and boats or people into the river even into death or revere on a pleasant day like this one. Sirens far away going further. Gold flecks on rocks then silence. The wind blows harder, it is so true, so reassuring. It will always be this way, forever and forever. Even after it has ceased to be.

I wasn’t very good at writing though I thought I could be

I wasn’t very good at writing though I thought I could be, even great, but still I wrote “Ruth” or “Rita” with all my heart until I believed it somehow the same as the truth. More lust and lost ambition than anything, really. I can recognize this without regret, I’ve climbed and climbed to even higher thinner grassy vales. But here you can see the sky turn deep night blue, and not even think because everything is laid out in a great golden swath. Tall and low equal, along with the fearful, the brave and the fools. Then there’s a million million stars below and above. And we are in the stars and they are us.

I get older and I stop believing in anything

I get older and I stop believing in anything. Or believing I can do anything normal. Like I can’t be natural, I can’t go anywhere and be relaxed and not thinking something. Always making up some boring bullshit mental activity. And it is true, yet false. I do think too much, I do wallpaper reality too much with what I think it is — based off by my self thinking. But the moment can get though, and when it does it is sudden like a plate breaking, or a vampire being turned to dust with a single ray of sunlight. What a release!

Before

before you'd have 

nothing to do with me

i thought we were friends 

but some friendships  

fade over time 

just like in the sky 

or in a great tree

culled by time there's

something natural 

in the departing 

even if i wanted 

this to last forever

things come and go

and i don't know

all the answers 

though if i see you

you'll be in my 

grateful heart

never separated

always here 

just like always 

a sky that i can't describe

 

a sky that i can't describe
so let me try to put it
into words 
this evening 
no i can't

i spoke to an empty room

i spoke to an empty room
but it was your phone
but it was an empty room

i did this for many years
as if speaking words to someone
but it was just an empty room 

i hope you are satisfied
with the thought of this 

even one day say
you spoke in vain 
to an empty room

i was not there at all
for all your speaking 

but part of you
was there 

so thank you 

for the room

and may all

our heartfelt 

dreams 

come true

----

SoCAL

8.1.23

The Chaining of Christ

christ was young once

he was free

with his group of friends

roamed about the countryside

barefoot with walking sticks 

they had a good time and 

they'd whack a devil out of someone 

as soon as go to a party 

and turn water

into wine 

now time and guilt

disguise this bearer of light

enthroned in the overbearing 

body of jupiter 

offensively grand

all this old god's sour 

whiles and moods

towards mortals 

a fortress face

with pits for eyes 

christ chained to the flesh

in your mind while he is 

a bird a cloud

or halos in

a sunlit sky

---

Sarcophagus of Marcus Claudianus. Circa 330-335

Jesus Christ mosaic in the apse, Monreale Cathedral, Monreale, near Palermo, Sicily, Italy

when planning a trip/ pack light

when planning a trip
pack light 

and leave you behind

even if one thinks
they have absolutely no self left

there's always plenty to carry

---

SoCAL

7.9.23

the ocean is a backdrop

the ocean is a backdrop

magnifying whatever artifice

they can suggest served by

even light and air

i was like that once

exhilarated with the possibilities

of every illusion or dream 

i could conjure

i am still like them

my methods have become

more subtle and cunning 

with some resignation

i am not free of whatever

springboard i vaunted 

everything becomes ocean

deep measure

it consumes all of us 

this freedom 

---

Woods Cove

 

i’m told all situations/ will be rectified/ in "god’s time"

i move back to california 

face certain keen difficulties

.

i’m told all situations

will be rectified

in "god’s time"

which I guess means

now

later

never

or forever

.

because god is all that

inseparable from everything 

listed

forgotten

regained 

or lost

.

wrecks deep in the ocean

sunlit exalted snowy peaks

surprise parties

newborns

and solemn funerals

Bruce Lee Isn't Talking Today

Bruce Lee comes over, while I am discovering the dryer didn’t dry my clothes, and one of my shorts has snagged on a pin that keeps the dryer door shut, and it has wound itself around a bunch of shirts, turning them into ropes. It requires a lot of untwisting. Bruce sits on the couch smiling, twinkling his eyes while I untangle them. He’s like a cherub or an angel, just perched there on the couch in the living room, surrounded by paintings. When I get done, I close the screen door to the patio, and I smile at him.

“Are you talking today?” I ask.

Bruce Lee doesn’t reply.

He keeps smiling and looking up and down at the magic wonder contained in everyday things. He does that long enough, I can’t resist seeing it myself.

It is like the livingroom has become a fantastical garden, clothed in endless gems. There seems to be an inviting melody too, played above.

Then Bruce leaves.

It takes a bit, like a drawn out sigh — the other reality slowly seeps back in, like a fog.

But it is as only as full of sighs or as foggy, as I’ve decided to grow up. So I keep seeing hints of gems, and I’m reminded of bits of cosmic music.

If I tell Bruce Lee about this if he comes back, I bet he’d be proud. But I don't know if he’d talk.

— -

CM Evans

Quail Meadow

this word salad

 

this word salad

with robot dogs

a carbon neutral clown

able to cry and save the world

one flea at a time

----

me why

me why

looking for a window

into my own soul

for myself

-- -

we are all going towards the light

this morning just after sunrise

i am driving on the 405 to 

laguna canyon road

i am going towards the light

it is like the brightness is in front and

also going through me

in my rear view mirror

i see the light behind me 

in the reflectors that show the lanes

we are all going towards the light

any direction we are traveling

even if we think we are going the opposite way

the illumination shines through

everything completely 

it only occurs to me this truth

when the light is so strong

---

March 2

Irvine, CA

it is easy to fight

it is easy to fight

just disagree

-

my knees make a mountain

my knees make a mountain
when i lay in bed and read
i look over my book sometimes

this night i see a yellow one

i've climbed many mountains

this way with my eyes 

the route up can be dangerous

from avalanches of memories

tonight it is clear at the top

from that summit i could see

all the way back into my life 

almost to the beginning

but i choose not to look 

so far back or turn my gaze

searchingly into a new vista

lit equality with light or gloom

raised up the eyes find
what they seek

the wisest discover
their heart's delight

-

but for me i find it clear

the ground is frozen
at places ice translucent
blues and greens 

as if going in mid flow

then deciding to stay 

and hold snow 

some say this is

the hardest part of the year

but for me i find it clear

all i see and be

is firm yet flowing 

glittering full of halos 

glowing sighing

lit from within almost 

yet black is even darker

starkness holds us up

presents one side or

the other both mirror like

----

A very short story

 I do not want this to be my last sentence, but it is.

*

in the/ irish hills

in the
irish hills it rained
we gathered your great grandmother's
rocking chair
small raindrops fell
even a bit on the wood  
or like on us
when you placed flowers on graves
beneath a leafless tree

by the big cross 

with nothing to anchor us

the mind begins to look everywhere

at everything 

because we are strange

yet also family here

as your grief flowed 

we drove home

saw a few flecks of 

snow by those pillars

of rock like giants 

or the people we loved

and memory grasped them

in the forests all around them

then when the grey seemed eternal

the sky lifted and showed

blue purple and yellow

then gold 

*

for deborah

the ice stayed

the ice stayed
and a small pine bough fell
scattering green and yellow needles

countless small animal tracks

crossing there with a fox following

stalking them

seen last evening late

out the back window a sleek

dusky red animal with a tail tipped with frost 

seven inches of snow

projected to fall 

*

on this day of threats and promise

on this day of threats and promise
how big is your mind? 
whatever the answer
it contains everything 

in emptiness 

look at the sky 

see how it mingles

sustains or blows

with everything 

but not touching 

we work play or worry

in plain view of the mother

or father who sustained us

with the sacred or profane

unseparated purity 

always a feast 

no matter what

+

this day frozen bright and white

this day frozen bright and white
the snow in shadows a hint of blue
as if i had never seen this before
the whole world ready for us

not everyone is nice/ nor helpful or kind

not everyone is nice
nor helpful or kind

but everyone deserves 

to be treated with kindness

we live in a hell 

of self sacrifice otherwise

and our supposed virtue

in this like chains

*

flexibility to share

flexibility to share

and feel accurately

cooperate with cross people

technically minded

and slyly knowable

bringing out the best

from bad situations

with a pinch of excitement

and everlasting love

*

you were raised

you were raised

with a marvelous mind

keep looking

fall in love 

with everything

X

i want to see everything

 i want to see everything
in myself like i see in that
beautiful moon framed by a blue
deep dark night inescapable beauty

-

there is the sky endless

there is the sky endless
then there is the writer

what separates them
is lack of feeling in the person

though no separation 
ever occurs

and the sky is this

with no thinking

gradually gathering the 

wanderer below

through display deeper

than any discursive dream

season after season

in concert with the earth

--

i saw the line of black trees

i saw the line of black trees
silhouetted 
behind them a hill of snow rising up
the bottom was in shadow 
but still brilliant 

all around being built and soon

this peaceful glade will be no more

its simplicity 

yet carried on in my memory

i drove along the mighty parkway

passing all the homes 

their yards with a soft blanket of snow

and many tracks from play and pets

shadows on the sides of them all

but still brilliant 

everything is in motion going

everything is moving and will

not stop

i look inside to the horizon

to an infinite line 

seemingly unattainable 

but then suddenly crossed

almost like going through a shadow

ever infinitely brilliant

where all beauty goes

is gathered up

and sent back

carried on in memories

we all walk the trail of recollection 

if i remember this

i can be kind and go on

eventually go nowhere

and be there still brilliant

so empty i am full

just like the sunlight on the hill

or the shadows at the base 

every house being built

trees growing minds moving

that eventually stop

with no regret and no ending

just plain clarity that doesn't mind

--

Halloween

excited vampires
confused ghosts
dancing bats

parents behind them

i hand them candy

some want two 

if they are nice

i'll give them three

there's a half moon

under the deep shadows

of the porch lights

leaves everywhere

off they go

with flashlights dancing

in the dark and later

guilty teenagers knock

reminding me

the last time i trick or

treated about 14 

with a big pillowcase

i give them the leftover

candy and say have fun

they laugh and run

to the next house

---

Exotic Specimen Portion

It wasn't my problem, and the solution was not an exotic one. We simply needed to get the appropriate specimen. We'd wire them into the cage, and extract a portion quickly, they'd barely feel a thing. 

8

a yellow leaved tree

a yellow leaved tree

between two evergreens

all about the same size

tall and slim

leaves vibrate

in a bracing wind 

& pines swaying gently

almost in unison

let my worried mind be 

with these things

thought is 

wrought

these simply 

move 

uncomplaining

as the world steers cold

even sprightly

touched by flecks of snow

---

Complete Unique Similar

The aliens that escaped the containment fields were all complete, unique, and yet similar. 

Dr. Maarten was eaten first, there was something about Mrs. Ktech that caused them to totally disregard her. 

#

Resignation Whisper Article

In resignation I stared out the small window, on that long fall day. The world was full of color, dazzling yellow leaves twirling past my view. As a renunciate, I was permitted only to whisper if someone came close enough to my square porthole. It was the only light into the tiny cell behind me, with a small table, a cot, and a large holy book. In article XXII, I was permitted to look out this window between the time of noon, until the sun touched the tower over the sanctuary. I had no idea how long I had been in here, but my hair and beard were down to my waist. 

*

Division Rebellion Preoccupation

Not being native speakers of English, my parents decided to name my little sister Division Rebellion Preoccupation. It did not matter how much I pleaded, or begged, for them to reconsider. To them, from the small place they came from, these words sounded exciting, powerful, compelling. Which happens to be my name. I sign it as "X". My parents are deeply in love, and so happy for us, even so silly, that I end up forgiving them. 

-

Calendar Commemorate Chin

Every June 13th on the Foolish Calendar, we commemorate the Raising of the Chin. This is when St. Abracadabra fell into the open sewer and was able to get his head above the surface one time, before he was drowned. 

_

Disappear Mutual Clerk

For that small piece of paper to disappear -- a well worn stained hand-written claim, it was no small action. And I suspected there was a certain primal, mutual feeling between me and the clerk: for me, they would never find the gold. For the clerk, they'd never discover the body.

_

Sight Pleasure Gate

At first sight, there was no pleasure to see that gate. But then as it creaked and rattled, metal quivering as it was raised, a strange calm came over me. The spikes were dripping and had muck on them from the river. We bobbed under them, the oarsmen silently working, averting their eyes. A dot of black landed on my sleeve. There were many lords and officials to see me up the stairs. 

Detector Merchant Jungle

I bought the lie-detector from a merchant in the jungle. It was brand new, still in its box and shiny plastic wrappings. The box was a bit battered and stained, but it was oddly thrilling to hear that crinkling noise and the faint whiff of "new" when I unboxed it. It gleamed like a jewel under the swaying flickering single bulb light, on the rickety bamboo table. I took a deep breath and wiped the perspiration off my forehead, cheeks, and jowls. I avoided looking at myself in the small mirror, above which was a small crucifix. With the dim lighting, the mirror appeared to be a deep hole in the wall. 

"Bring the señor in." I said, almost to myself. "And a sturdy chair."

Abanto, sitting on the other side of the door jumped up, to obey.

I watched the swaying single light.

"Doctor, the señor is not here." said Abanto.

I looked at him, we looked at each other without expression.

In the room made of concrete blocks, the shackle and chain were gone. I tested the bars on the locked door, they were firm and beaded with humidity. 

How had he escaped? And now what would become of I, and Abanto?

Berry Point Lid

After the crash, I found a berry, a single berry, on the point. The point was a place that was high and windswept. I put it under a lid. I looked at the looming trees all around, the deep forest that surrounded me. Who knew what was in those woods? I was probably going to starve. 

---

i know

i know
everything that is good

and everything that is bad
is thought up 

and the habit of this

is what i feel is a good life or bad one

.

life itself 

is endlessly amazing 

.

true consciousness

is beyond hope and fear

---

morning

morning 
as if permanent 

every cool thing with dew 

perfect in the endlessness

of the universe

in every drop

all things all possibilities

-

your fears/ aniconic

your fears
aniconic 

and then

one forgets 

they are featureless

which adds to 

the unease

until you

realize there 

is nothing to fix

nothing to improve

nothing whatsoever

that had any

reality beyond

absolute perfection 

and the intuition

that goes hand in hand

with this view

so you can rest

as easy as being

in a swing with

kuntuzangpo

or any other

smiling sky

like being 

and under

both of your feet

as you sway together

all the earths and

all the skies and stars

and smiles and tears

you could possibly invent

*

i remember you teaching

 i remember you teaching

on those hot summer days

how i longed to see you

ask you a thousand questions

you were only 1 door away

and you would have been

happy for my visit i am sure

but i acted like i wasn't allowed

there were many of us

vain imaginative excited

and a bit overdramatic

but always welcomed

now mellowing with time

missing you just the same

and i aim to fix what does 

not need to be fixed by praying

devotedly and attempting 

to spread what you were really teaching

and what was ever in your heart 

then you remind me again

everything is resolved in its own place

from the beginningless beginning

from the view

love unconditionally 

this endless beauty

and be aware of now

--

July 22 

Minneapolis, MN

For Lama Tharchin Rinpoche

off you go on this day

away you go on this day

like off a spingboard or

on a rocket

or i am off the 

board and flying 

on the rocket

ultimately we don't

come or go so much

as it seems

---

LTR

you want to almost / hold your breath

perfectly balanced air

you can imagine it stacked up 

to the stratosphere

as the rabbits sit and squirrels run

this evening is vivid

the color of gold 

while green is striving 

growing blooming 

you want to almost 

hold your breath 

to prolong the summer

memorize the flash of lightening

and thunder that rolls out

over a steel colored lake

put the haunting night

into your heart with a million

zigging fire-flies

--

No Murder on Mars 002

The body was laying straight, forearms up. Clothing & skin had a thin layer of frost mixed with soil of a uniform brown color. The face, almost unrecognizable, was contorted.

I looked at the two, who were nervously shifting foot to foot.

"We should go over your timeline again. This is very important."

"Yessir."

"Tell me what happened first."

"Backed into the wall."

"Saw a hole"

"Then we saw a body."

I looked at them steadily.

"How long was it between when you put the hole in the wall, and you found the body?"

"Um. Er. Right away!"

"You are lying to me."

"No sir!"

"Why are you lying?"

"We aren't."

"You are! There had to be some time that passed between you backing into the wall, and then you retrieving your vehicle, and then finding a body."

"5 hours." said one of them 

"Because it was stuck?"

"Yessir"

"Anything else you want to revise?"

"No Sir."

"Pardon me. But how did you know at all these boys were being dishonest about their timeline? How does that influence the fact that a body has been found?"

I looked at the superintendent. "It has everything to do with how the body was found."

The superintendent widened his hands, "So?"

"See the crystals and tearing on the edges of the clothing? This body has been moved from a different location. Someone placed it here after the hole was put into the wall."

There isn't supposed to be murder on Mars 001

There isn't supposed to be murder on Mars. That is an Earth custom, a sense of the old barbarism from our planet of origin. The body was found in the old tunnels, it had become freeze dried where it had been stashed. 

"Tell me again how this was found."

"Varne Warren226 backed a sledge into the wall there, and we saw a hole."

"What were you doing down here, past the 3K markers?"

"Rat hunting, scrapping."

"They say these tubes here are haunted!"

I could see how someone would think these were haunted. Gloomy, unlit. Frosted. These were the old warrens and access corridors, bored through the Martian rock. 

When I looked at it, I involuntary shuddered. Lights from our headlamps slashed and raised monstrous shadows. 

"Have you touched the body, moved anything?"

"No sir."

"Hmmm" I could see that someone had. 

many of us dream of home

many of us dream of home 
at first in sleep
then we go and aspire
make that in
this waking day

when we dream well
it makes a beautiful home
where lots of people 
can dream their dream
of home

if it is built real or

in my mind

home is always home

what allows it to be

is the dream and

a dreamer who has

a dream

i would write poems about you

i would write poems about you

and poems about lightening 

thunder and storms

then of the quiet peaceful light

which is softly over everything

from beginningless beginning

we seem to have a makeup

that is not fixed and is as exciting

as it can be disappointing or unreal

the best writing are the phrases

never to be claimed but proven through 

every kind deed i do with you

*

one small flower

one small flower

on a bush outside the back door

with no mind to be seen

nor ever admired so i admire it

and i remember how a duck

saw making a nest behind 

this bush to be very tidy and snug

but when i came and returned

i made it afraid 

so i resolve to be

more vigilant and make room

if i can for shy things and

especially walk softly 

with a view this world

is not my rumpus room 

but formed very purely

cradling happy beings

that can flourish if not

cowed by brashness

*

we are mysteries

we are mysteries

which can make us so 

compelling so lost 

so haunted so graceful

so alluring blessed

wonderful

*

people that were loved

people that were loved
now dodged

how better it must be

now that i am sane

but is still just as bad

because while i err

i cannot see how

until later

*

this attitude

this attitude

like a sky that will

not go away 

but when i am 

asleep, is not here

*

Cycle

i apply to a job
they automatically congratulate me for applying
later they automatically reject me

it is all very friendly and encouraging  

i apply to a job
they automatically congratulate me for applying
later they automatically reject me

it is all very friendly and encouraging  

i apply to a job
they automatically congratulate me for applying
later they automatically reject me

it is all very friendly and encouraging  

i apply to a job
they automatically congratulate me for applying
later they automatically reject me

it is all very friendly and encouraging  

i apply to a job
they automatically congratulate me for applying
later they automatically reject me

it is all very friendly and encouraging  

you get to a point in life/ where nothing is safe

you get to a point in life

where nothing is safe

and that is when life

becomes interesting

*

marie antoinette's shoe

i look at a picture

of marie antoinette's shoe

it fell off her foot

on the way to the guillotine

it is a dainty thing

looking almost new

i wonder who grabbed it

when they saw it fall

they must have been

thrilled to have 

marie antoinette's shoe

*

show me a wise poem

show me a wise poem

the poem i need

to free me from my idle nonsense

which i very much like

i will be raised up

full of righteousness and abandon

my daisy arms and lazy fingers

writing stories in crayon

\* 

at one point

at one point

you'd call me

usually in the middle

of the night and i'd

always pick up 

and then part of me

always hoped

somehow you'd

come back 

though i knew

you never would

but i couldn't

help myself

thinking this

half asleep

hearing your

words (with a TV

on in the 

background)

then eventually

you stopped

calling

__

some people they ban books

some people they ban books

wishing they could ban thoughts

or even ban some people 

from breathing air

who wants to admit

they dream of thought controlling

& murder there's a few

who dream of the day they could

*

we do not agree on everything

my partner and i 

we do not agree on everything

that is why we are together

one of my associates 

tells his girlfriend, "i don't care"

when it comes to how she feels

(how do you own 

anything from another?

so he tells her)

"i don't care" could work for some

it could be just the right thing

for some people but

i told him i'd heard that love is an action 

now that we were comparing

philosophies 

but in then end he is right --

i don't care, we don't care about 

anything at all 

there's this primeval nature

an infinite view

of time and space

wherein we do not achieve

but instead abide

never separate

but until i get 

into vastness of clarity 

that has no ending

i am in a relationship

i can offer my sympathies

if it seems to help

i know we can't do anything

for anybody 

but i still want to

i'll always be this way

giving to another is a hard habit

to break 

and somewhere in there

is a path 

--

for Deborah

snow crosses an american flag

snow crosses an american flag

as the wind blows and the sky

is like a map of all the conquering

done in the name of a young nation

every high and low place every broad

plain or stabbing river flag furling

and unfurling in victory over forgetting

all the people shoveled into the earth

or gathered together and burned 

but then a flag is just a flag and the

blowing wind suggests nothing as

the flakes of snow and hail make the flag

look big and stand out against a turgid

rolling screen of clouds as we make new

friends and learn to see and speak parts of

new languages which suggests 

everything possible before all of us 

every one

more flurries across the front of a

flowing and wending american flag

we are all children sprung from disaster 

crossing a great map in our minds which

constantly is changing and extending

giving everything any thing you'd wish to see

hope victory loss anger commitment

punishment or imagination a day 

every day or no day at all let us have

the courage to know and be faithful 

towards each other

_

during the day / i watch the clouds

during the day

i watch the clouds

at night

i listen to the

pine tree

blowing in the wind

in the backyard

>

i imagine

it tells me

of every rising

and setting

sun moon and

star it ever

felt and how

i am so young

and how

i will be

gone so quick

>

scampering

some more

memorable

than others

>

so now

for my tree

i give it

a fine bed of

needles for

the snow

to fall on

as if

i could

keep it

warm

>

do trees

actually feel

or think?

i ask

the sky

>

no reply

yet but

the magnificence

of every

thing i see

hints

—

CM Evans

help me break my / patterns / they blind / me

help me break my 

patterns

they blind

me

the way

i decide how

to place

a line

snow reported

to be 1.7 inches

in this

afternoon

as i struggle

to find my

feet today

in my

profession

instead i

look up Billy 

Collins

who has never

written a

poem i 

did not 

like

then i wonder

how someone

like this

could

exist

and do they

ever mean to

get their feet 

in the

day

yet go looking

for other 

things

and billy collins

knows where

wild 

birds 

fly

and why a

beautiful 

woman

sighs 

he'd know the 

signaling of 

something 

secret

and precious

the message

in a 

trembling 

sustained 

string

or where 

the highest

star in 

the night

winks towards

all the while

i doodled here

in my brain 

writing poems

like a shopping

list or a 

description of

being lost 

but here is

something to

hope for

now

here is 

where

i have 

reached

soon will

endlessly 

be falling 

beautiful 

snow

beautiful 

snow

i have nothing to give/ yet here in what i am offering

i have nothing to give

yet here in what i am offering

could convince you to not

become what i decided to be

i am a unit of estimation

worthless for measuring anything 

except for the imaginative

and all of that is endless

may all of us 

become complete 

in the recognition

of our own folly

then spurred on

to offer even more

*

CM Evans

Poem - i read that it takes a raindrop/ seven minutes to fall from the sky to the ground

i read that it takes a raindrop

seven minutes to fall from the sky to the ground

and during that time any of us

can live lifetimes of wonder worry dreams or ideas

until the raindrop splashes us 

and if it is one single big drop it could put us into the now

where you stop with a sense of shock

even wonder free of all this mental rummaging

and you look up at the greatness of the sky 

feeling a sense of freedom and even a strange exaltation

+

i do not remember anything properly

i do not remember anything properly
because i viewed the whole world and every person
as magical

so i have a pageant in my mind 

life like a float in a parade full of amazing beings 

astounding scenery

my seeing started out as totally sane

then later i was forced to affect it with a bit of courage

but later it became as real 

there is something holy in persistence

especially with delightful aims to disarm and brighten

every dark corner

possibly god or whomever 

smiles here because i will do the good work no matter what

they may brush me with a fingertip

or handsome is as handsome does

and those who devotedly love for love's sake take on an aspect

from the glory of their own heart

__

angels stung / demons promoted

angels stung
demons promoted
finding out 
their next assignment
is to be angels

_

help me

help me
i'm falling
through lists
crème cheese
cat food
salad
onions
soup

__

wander the furrowed fields of words

wander the furrowed field of words

the farmer is the mind going along

through memories or recollections

all of them invented in one way or the other

then bound to the exertion of the task 

just like bull bound to the yoke and metal blade 

dreaming thoughts and earth both ripped and flipped

showing the other side then following 

of a filling and then gathering then burning 

the ground will be gone over again

trodden torn open then planted anew

real and imagined seasons overhead underneath

quickening phases of life and death 

more strain more images and imagining 

lines like furrows cut on the page 

and then a rest when the hands rest

sigh be still and take it in observe all around

like any tiller will do from time to time

see how it never changes from a point of view

but freedom is at here plowed or not

and the earth lays so serene uncut

if only we could be more like ponds

steams rivers lakes or the sky

so thinking goes 

---

CM Evans

i dine with god and goddesses

i dine with gods and goddesses 
way above my paygrade

in my dreams

it is so absurd to see

they accept me 

*