a complicated situation

at the heart of it is the fool
you know, how you have to speak truth
that no one else dares
but make the king laugh? cuz you're
a poet, you sing for your supper
and scraps from the royal table
are better than what you get dumpster diving.
and if you're a good poet, then you're a fool
and if you're a good fool, you own the folly.
i make the king laugh with my tears, painted
with mercury and swan feathers. impulsively
i grab his crown, place it on my head.
fall down writhing with the weight of such power.
he laughs and longs to leave it on my head.




we pass a lake off the side of an interstate.
you want to know about gators. my dad says
they're more afraid of us than we of them.
except what about the collective consciousness
of the gator species, maybe they figured us out?
you nod. some truth to that evolution.
anyway they like little dogs mostly. suddenly, as if

i'd just smoked some weed, the powerful's vision
of my antitude comes to me. how i know
i'm even less. not ant, not even clay. maybe a molecule
of clay, or maybe a constituent of that molecule.

but i'm so big in my eyes. snout just above the waterline
peering. jaws, claws, tail the iceberg underneath.

you point to the book in my lap, it lays where
my long legs disappear , at a critical juncture .
'the uses of truth'? i can imagine politicos reading
that book. for spin.

you move in those circles daily.
i just want a ride to a distant city. netbased
hitchhiker seizing an opportunity .you offer to take me
shopping. i say you know, i've never done that
with a date. tempting, but i don't really need anything.

not even thongs? are you wearing panties?
yes, thanks. cotton bikinis. and this skirt you like?
not skirt. skorts. combination skirt and shorts
a trompe l'oeil the look
on your face says
there will be no fucking me
in that. i like it that way.


*




but you know, work
no matter how easy it may seem
can be an obstacle to a fool's mission.
especially if she can't quit the dayjob
cuz the king, tho he likes the entertainment
can get it for free so why pay me?
i take the pragmatic, wad it into three balls
which i throw up in the air. i wait.
they don't come back down. i think of gods, belching.








*








still i drive to work this morning. well, this afternoon.
had to see the doc cuz i'm sick. spring finally got me
with an official winter cold. my lungs are sponges made of rock.



sick and alone? yeah, i been there. inside of a marriage
taking care of kids and going to work. no one else cared then
just like now. stop at this walgreen's i need
to get some mucinex. thins out the mucus. you want to kiss me
but are afraid of disease. you think you need something
from the drugstore too. you think you feel electricity.
but i feel static. i guess that's one flavor.




















*


o woe o woe. the way i'm going i'm goin
to be your victim. but come on heidigger
put away the photon beam and come out to play.
no one's a victim here but time. sun's doing
what it's done for your whole life.
if you fall victim to light
well, they used to call that a blessing.
so stop my whining. let me get a dramatic
change on the line.
















*



so dominion. it has its uses of course.
spells, enchantments, the money things buy.
sit on your coinage throne and count the number of heads
at nuremberg or find the spiritual in a blender of faith
with a cherry on top. strong will , and spiritual truth
inside crumbs of a church disentigrating in ascent ,
these are the hymns of enlightenment,
power and pacification the foundation of the fool.







so, here's our rural, we grow strawberries
every year i try to bring my kids
out here to pick them. it's something my mom and gramma did.
i like to think it'll show them how hard that work is.
make them not want to do it. you say
yeah, i grew up migrant. six months in north carolina
six in new york. it was good to learn
that there were differences in places, in ways
we were treated. so when did they stop jim crow where
you lived? oh, a couple years before they integrated the schools.
the law may have changed, but convention took longer.
i nod my head. there's lost birds skewing across the sky,
clouds with heartbeat looking for a lake's lap. no rain
no rain, they cry, under the grey wet sky,
no rain, written in flaps and dips and brown dry grasses. below
are rows and rows of heavy duty black plastic fields spaced by a man's
stride. green topknots strangling out of the oily stuff .
men an women bend over the birdless land, picking fruit
the color of blood brushed lips. so kissable. retailable.
















*











strength is a passing influence.
the shaman bridging the sky to the earth
is not for fools such as you.
let it go. and in that you have released
the snake. green scales and red underbelly
a strawberry writhing to a gator hula



why are you telling me to let go of the snake?
the ability to give love why
would you tell me to let go of that?
well if you love something....


after all you've been saying you don't trust her
she's betrayed you, or you've betrayed her
you don't know what she wants you don't believe a word she's said
in forever. she's so fickle she's a butterfly you picked up
already dead with bejeweled and bedecked wings
some flitting appearance of life and
you pin her to the wall
where the fan rustles her dress occasionally.
tres retro hippie
so hey, if you feel that way, then just let her go.
she was a passing influence. a pissing away of the gold.
a saturday afternoon sunset heading into sunday morning old.

oh my oh my
what ho the victimhood. sleep would be good.
i let love go, what ho! i drive her to the woods
and let her see who is fairest in the land.

i release the snake so she may love again.....

wait wait. that's one interpretation. but the stories don't jive.
yes you have to have strength to give love. from whence it would flow
without the inner font. but release it


huh, i wonder what's god doing cuz the next thing i know
here's the king of wants, with magic wands , partriarchal
and stuffy. give him a kiss, it's you he's missed. but the priest
takes me by the hand and shows me the backroom where brahma's
got his four arms stirring the fire, milk and lemon juice
the creator/destroyer seeking something airy and light to feast upon.
come join the rites.


i speak to you of god in the hinterlands of disneyworld.
faith and its meanings. earlier in the bookstore
i persue philosophy and its twisting truths.
still i envy the fortitude it gives you.
this can be seen in the measured way you embrace a saganist
philosophy. not ecstatic in the least. a puzzled smile
plays over your mouth. you would buy the book for me if i ask.
i do not ask. i spend my own gift card. wait for you to offer.
you do not offer.










but there's still more.
it's a complicated situation.
i found my cigs. nicotine to help me along.




















*













i am the devil. i'm offering rebirth and vision.
this is my role, it is written. taboo on the color
line playing in your head. you don't understand
yet that fantasy falls once you possess it. you've
never been to disney land. but whatever. we discuss
the candidate and hope. politix and meaning. jaded
and seeming. the state rolls by in fits and starts.
you point to a huge cowfield and ask the going price.
i have no idea but understand the nature of seize.
wonder what wild action would open avenues
in the dark underbelly of the palmettos where i built
my playhouses. i have to explore these spaces.
this is what my lines say. the whip comes down.
the directors hand is strong. god has his reasons.


















*


and all around me are the ones who
love me. these sere fields, the asphalt
breeding distance and closure. telephone
lines, redundant as school paper
roll alongside the red vehicle in which
we travel. your hand moves to my knee
when i discuss things of a sexual nature.
your breath wants to be minnows swimming
but i am detached and matter of fact.
i tell you about the abortion last week.
you don't want to be in the same place
so you chose your words carefully. i laugh
and let you in on my secret. "don't forget my name".
even tho it's false. only the ones who truly
love me know my real name. i have yet to learn it.
i do not want to know if yours is true

i only want to know how your grandmother is alive
at one hundred and six. whose laundry she did
what secrets were pressed into whose starched collars.
but your lips are sealed. you keep them for her.
i might write them down, empty her of treasure.
but the goddess is full of justice and love.
the ratio? 2:1. so, plenty to go around.
but she might not appreciate the set of my jib.
so, sail on mother. sail on.















*









()9

ah wands. the nine of. and strange how it appears there
serendipitously guided by the god of my hand. the gnosticism
begins to fade out at this late hour. sleep becomes my muse.
threes and multiplicities thereof. the power of nature, life's
persistence in the face of it all. you know. that big space
out there that holds nothing, room for us all. this is my hope
arrogant fool that i am. life and how it springs. the feel
of a skin evolved in absolute zero. how that translates to human
of another species. if the end of the world is coming
then i want to feed these bones to the now. a burst of energy
to finish off the race.


































()_*90
















you know we really do tend to need to a reason.
religious structure has been known to transform
more than one lemming. i mean keep going on this path
traveller and you might just find a lucky rabbit's foot.
or a purpose. either one is good to keep on chain,
dangling over your hip. the one you slide next to mine
in the private booth where the bamboo shade gets lowered
after they bring the sushi and sake, and harmony
begins in the pit of our stomachs at last.