It has no use.

Zen is in whatever it is.

On a voyage, it is a boat in the boat.

If you are sitting in a room, it is the room in the room.

Illusion of self, in ghost of mind.


**

Bass Lake
Maple Grove

i come

from landless hope
no purchase

we sailed
landed cleared

deep woods

when any friend
shows up

there is
a celebration

I am sleeping.

No, I am not sleeping.

I am dreaming.

No, I am not dreaming.


----

Basswood
Sept 2016

nothing ends
or starts

no ending because
there was no beginning

only now hands
trees leaves eyes looking

is the wind old
or the sunshine over everything

thoughts say

but then they
start telling me

when things start
or end

i am alive
i don't know what happens next

i am free
to feel about this any way i want

-----

Bass Lake

the rain is coming
it will fall hard tonight
you'll keep hearing it
each time you turn over
and try not to listen

drops fall and they are orbs
they collect high up
by first freezing then falling
in near darkness
mirroring city lights below

angles are the only witness
so high up and silent and watchful

tonight they are watching
looking down seeing everything
they never sleep the whole night
when it rains and the water
falls on you


***

Out in the Fields
Osseo

gradually hear them having sex in the room next door
the walls are thick and only a very distant rhythmic thumping
a cycle that speeds up sounding so far away
you have to be aware of it first and then at length you realize
there is a good screw going on getting better n better
while trying to take a fucking nap

then slip away dream of oceans of tides currents
diving deep under water where the kelp sways
in columns woven with schools of fish
bubble rising bobbing swaying
waking up a silent 4 o'clock in the afternoon
next door very quiet


*

i read the ancient poet's writing
beyond any i hope to make
but

i am looking out a window
seeing the thunderstorm soon will be here
like past writers

we shared a window and a sill
specks of water
and a view

drapes rise fall
then blow into the room
as the thunder and wind arrives


----

Maple Grove

dream construction
sculptures of yesterday today tomorrow

workbench first cleared
then assemblage built like a mobile

thoughts and feelings
hanging from threads of recollection

every fact or facet
turning in relation to the others

4th dimensional
inside a 4th dimensional stream

when i wake up
i become aware of my own life

a model of thoughts
like the airy thing i make in dreams

i can craft the day
into any turning gliding path i want

i want to tun to jump to explain
o hateful explanations or explaining

like the woman in the church
who corrected the portrait of christ

stroke on stroke
into a monstrous joke

word by word
i turn the truth into a baboon

vanity and lack of skill

i see places i belong
like in a wood sitting on a dunghill

i could talk to any passers by
give them thoughtful useless advice

but it doesn't pay

----

Maple Grove

wishfully find me

in minnesota
standing by a lake
with a lutheran church
in the distance

is like saying

find me i'm by
a stoplight
on the corner of a road
in an unnamed town

but do remember me

a fall a winter
will make wonder
will mute
some other feeling

if you do recall me

i will have
thought of you too
never believing
you owed me anything

and isn't that nice

a coursing river broad
with a piece of wood
floating to the falls
where all will keep going

the wood does not mind
nor does the river
only my eye and brain
has questions of

but the sky
such grand clouds
suppress my ability to think
i become like what i see
flowing flowing

----

At the First Bridge
Minneapolis
8.21.16

st. anthony falls
pride of minneapolis

shown to visitors
near and far

blast of wind
off curtains of water

then above
the drop

a placid
crossing

of the first bridge

mississippi lingers
by banks of reeds

this city
tied to the river

defined by it
imagined in it

minneapolis'
mind and fate

all in and of
the mississippi

the river
will last forever

is never the same
for one moment

from the water

st. anthony falls
pride of minneapolis


___

8.21.16

i can't stop dreaming of you
you show up every few months

this time wearing white
with a white satin on the sashes

i have never seen you wearing all white
but it looked good

i said hello with you sitting there
you were sitting on the floor happy

when i said hello i grabbed your hand
and i squeezed your fingers a few times

a bit harder and longer than was polite
because i miss you

when i see you in a dream
i feel like crying

it has been three years
since you passed away

i hope i never stop dreaming of you
because it feels real when i see you

i hope i will always see you sometimes
because it feels as real as me
typing this poem

_____

for Tsedrup Tharchin

i need to wake up
but i can't wake up
but i must get up
in ensenada

a hot bed and a fly
that keeps landing

crawling on my leg
while inside i have
a physical chemical
so so so so so so so

the hotel room
twisted sheets

killing me with a fly
and a hot white room
in mexico hotel
with the staff waiting

last night was so fun
so much promise

i'd even cry
but everything hurts
so i go into a dream
that does not hurt
of giant colors

flying with an
umbrella
in one hand and a bible
in the other

and i'm clean
and good

flying
over all

of ensenada

i tap on my window
wipe frost off the pane of my own mind

bringing day to night
or night to day to the house in my head with slates for a roof

if you see my silhouette in the window
you'd mistake me for someone else

i'm outside just like you
waiting to get in


*

say in a field or a home
wouldn't that be nice

where you can take
off all your cares & read

or if words were like
a helping hand x 2

this poem like
a kind old lady

or a lost uncle
who has a million bucks

but why would you or
i want much

knowing what comes in
must go out

but wouldn't it be nice
to find aladdin's cave

to have a golden touch
or ice cream body

and give it away
all day for free

sometimes in hurt or agony
the heart rises

zooms straight through
a dawning or


you might be able to see
from a view

that has never been yet
always will be

where loss
has not been invented

where separation
is impossible

then after the apex
come back

see all the true
little things

stirring here
peeping there


creatures and hearts
you can help

oh on his
birthday
i think

all the birds
in the world
are singing

all the
planes
soaring

the wind a stirring
every orchard
blossom

every land
with green grasses
swaying'
forests breasting

all for him
for his heart
for his eyes

with such love
i do not exaggerate

and we can all be
loved this way

knowing it
can be done

then
loving


----

For David
7.27.16

i see the full moon
in the early morning sky

even before
the sun has arisen

the moon is lucid
perfect there

when i see it
i had lost track
of where it was

i thought it was
in my pocket

or i had left it
behind on a trip

i'm so glad to see
the moon is the moon

marked marred but
completely free
unbanished



*

bolsa chica 2016

i do not know where i am
each mid day is 1000 years long

this span we call a day
the start and end of it are the same darkness

each time
i begin aware of time running in

i end the day sensing time trailing out
like a tide

surrounded by people
doing the exact same thing

exactly at the same time
every single day

even the music is the same
songs play at the same time

why do they say one day
is separate from the other

how do they think they know
where they are

they place themselves some place

that place advancing somehow

i see no evidence of anything
advancing

i see the same thing each day
like echos from a hand that clapped

i do not know where i am



***