primal law

primal law feeds


(12/27/09 22:03:29)





we eat
we shit
we fuck
we kill and
we die

--marquis de sade, quills

i do not know if de sade said it, but as a philosophy it feels true. no, philosphy
is of the mind
these are axioms of the flesh.



that's a pretty cynical outlook,
glad i gots my weed to keep me warm.

i mean sure, if there were truths to be found
i'd place a T in the box next to these.
maybe no others. for we all do these
but do we not also all think and reason
in our own ways? each whorl in the fabric
each rna precursor in the cell. how many times
do we have to penetrate the fractal
to see mathematics taking a dump?

saw a german film tonight, about friends.
one: i think german would be an easy language to learn
the syntax is saxon, right? like english? k,
two: best film presentation of the proof for 1+1=1
three. the boy got the girl.

four: please come wash the dishes
i have several days of angst to spill
and the deadline is seven a.m.







you come to me disembodied
one thread in chicago, one in cocoa beach
one in the mountains of politix, a faint
and faded plumb line also
cast to the west, anchor me home
with a large L and small w
both stand ins for woman. i have been meaning
to write you for the longest time
about how your poison traces thru the loci
making seeds curl in upon themselves, foetuses
dissolve back into the womb , shred themselves
from uterine walls. the joy of spring
was writ large in eden, but eden was a legend ago.
the tip of your arrow tinged with regret
makes savory the dish you harvest.

winter is the coldest season. i am traveling ahead
to send reports back home, the ice has forty two names
the fourth dozen shy by two, that's me and who
was it you? let go of the hunt for a kalpa
and enjoy your media noche. curl up with me
under the blanket i brought and wait for
the sun's warmth to come in the runes.
or better, yes, just read these missives,
n dismiss em. i have the runes, and the pipe
a good set of snowshoes
and it looks like the heart is a bear.
























()***






listen it was a weird thing
to have the rebound and resonance
resisted so strongly a discordant only
brought by wrongly timing reaction
to atomic refraction. i still can't see how
it is you don't love me but whatever.

i guess we were not an equation
that had a rational solution so the irrational
opening had predictable catastrophic results.

or some witch got her hard on and you will love me again
only when it's too late. kinda weary myself of gods and vectors
fuckin with my chemistry.


i've been writing the same damn poem to you
for ages now. aren't you sick of it yet?
the siren falls from the rock, the hard place behind you
the hook, set. the line runs out then you reel
me back in. when willl you pull me ashore
or cut this plastic filament entirely?
this cannot be fun
no song i could sing
would be as good as the sherrels
set me free. it's not you so much
as me but i can see their point.



payback's a bitch but it gets me thinking
on how i love. i mean seriously, you guys jump
from one heartache to the next so easily.
most women i know are not that free.
did you know some butterflies have ears?
they're night flyers. anyway, each woman
you jump to believes you will stay
and you want to believe it too,
flapping wings, following desire's fading scent
is tiresome. so you settle in for a while
but something changes you say it's me
or her or them or us you do not know love
is not the wind or the way you want to hold
water with a fork, or how ideal is a thing
only pursued, never caught
and held in your arms

enormous stillness

enormous stillness





i have spent all day looking
for a substitute for the weird
cold red thing at the heart of white

anemia is my snowman
a cardinal on his breast

i do not think the finch and i
are ready for flight. the wordless
release of gravity.

i am almost out
of cigarettes
and i would like beef
for dinner. the sun has
hidden her pretty face all day
behind blind clouds
and the beating hands of a skewed clock.

i was given several swords for christmas
but no directions on their use. the sun
was not helpful . language i could not translate.


it grows cold for paradise. i have relinquished
heat for a few burning phrases. a novena for silence.
more words , mere words, the unyielding music
forgiveness sings to guilt. put it in a carmine balloon
let it sing two hundred thousand feet beyond
our last greeting, so it will not sully the first
borne in the dark matter between us.


























&*%^




matins

the old priest rose when the sun
was already making pasty faces
behind clouds. the bread needs to rise
the blood to be washed from the lamb
the floors swept. where you swell
is where you dwell, bombed from a black
dream, the seeds of other universes.

she empties the alms box first
scatters the offerings like dates
under palms which the gods
may take in an act of compassion. there are
less and less, novelty and silence
make a home of ennui in the rows
of sea and sand . she forgot where to stand
but welcomes the rattle of vertiginous
and the openings ripped thru cirrus
high in the atmosphere.

she has forgotten the language of the priests
but she cannot admit herself into the quotidian
ah , there's a bit of magic left still
she sings as lights the pipe.

she would not go into the wilderness
so the wilderness comes to her.
desert is what mountains long to become.

briefly, she thinks of putting on the soup pot.
lentils and carrots. an onion. there are dried
pomegranate seeds, merlot from austrailia
and unleavened hosts in the cupboard.

but there's time for that. the palms
sway so she puts you in your younger suit
jumping from tassle to tassel, one way
will be spelled correctly and one will lead
you directly to the drone of a tibetan prayer bowl
beats against time which was defeated in the trivia battle
next month, two years to countdown, when the face
drops off. hello eye, hello mighty photosynthesis and clay.

she just like the way it rings
against the upright bass the particular
dramamine of pulse and ting.



the priest walks with censure smoking , sandalwood
yeast/rain on the heliotrope.
a supplicant is at the gates, which she locks
because they get so non plussed
when she didn't. the last one
who just left a kalpa or so ago
had tried to crawl thru the wormhole
on the dais. the priest forgets how dangerous
the esoteric can be to the novitiate. even then
she did not lock the gates, it took a cat the color
of the sun, topaz eyes and a penchant for boxes
to find the keys she'd placed somewhere for safe
keeping, now she can't recall where , almost begins
her ritual crawl , bending her knees to look for them ,
jangles, tinkling , the music of metal
stops her oh
there they are she says to the back
of her mouth, giggles,
places the most intricately
carved handle into the teeth of it
turns

lets in the wind.

everybody sheds

really, honestly, seriously
everybody sheds--razzberry chaos



maybe it was the red
hair or brown eyes, maybe the swan's
neck, that buxom profile but i always wanted susan
to play me in the movie jack would
cast of the sandbox while in the throes of irrational
exuberance-
considering the rank of these particular
players in the overall movie worthy pantheon, maybe
it was the twelve years between susan
and tim or the graceful way she washed her arms
with lemons in the movie about atlantic city.
her characters are sexy and smart, thelma & louising
thru a maze of modern woman
history, broken love
stories, making love stories, steamy and cool and beast
as my son would say so it's kinda heartbreaking
to hear that her and tim have split, looks like
permanently they waited since
summer
to announce it so it's the first xmz in decades she
will be without her man, astrology dot com
prolly sending her the same email i got
have you been dumped for good
n i think yeah we prolly have grrl, we prolly have n even if
mutual, even if agreed upon, even if it was for the best god
i hate that platitude lonely
is something that creeps up between the green lights
and hits you with a neon blackjack in the evening sky
like the one you stood under with him
thinking you knew what, forever

page 54 dynamic, riffin on crow

yeah. you know what i noticed about not playing the clown?
they got me in a suit and painted my face n everything
so they don't know the difference. i don't know if i'm lucky
or not, since i seem to be able to.

last nite i was invited to write a wish on a scrap of paper.
there was twine to tie it with, or you could crumple it up
and stick it in the crevices of the log to be burnt at the night's close.
i didn't see what phase the moon was in. the woman next to me
made spells with her hands. i was taken back to your sliding glass
door where i did the same, my back to you, engaged in the motion
not feeling pain or desire or wishing for anything. conduit.
this is the sweet spot jack talks about, the way your piano rolls
under your fingers and for a moment you and the music
are the lovers you wanted to be born into. maybe you smile.
i don't know. i wasn't there. maybe you grimace in concentration
not trying to control, only trying to hear what's being played thru you.

i dunno. i was there with the drums or a voice of a time
you remember? we had sex without bodies? or was that
just me because i'm still stuck in the flesh metaphor and until i can kick it
i won't reach nirvana. see, how i look at it is god keeps dressing up
in these bodies cuz no matter which, pain or pleasure, it's not the void
and god has had enough of that for a while.

the spent goodbye poem

wherein the heroine gives love to the fire.

it didn't take long for ideal to perish
a decade of disappointments, expectations
beyond rational limits.

once she got into the real world, isolated
from a cozy boudoir and capturing oubliette
the dark passions becoming at once the mirror's

and her own, see me, love me for
me ness. heh ness. choke on it,


you say she loves me but that is just
the slide of the needle, the pierce of the fang.

and when he says he loves her, she believes
he means he loves the only way she knows how
but he loves the only way he knows how.


belief is a phantom riding a river, her veins are boats.


*


last nite i sat at the flames
while you danced with the woman
you brought, while you drank yourself
into stupor, while you slept in a room
next to your son, aching for normality
while you paced the rooms that haven't
changed since you left.

your stories swirled around me, the witness
to your dive, look ma, look at me i'm falling
i watch the water swallow you, calculate
the number which will satisfy , pronounce
the score when you surface, always closer
than i expect, but further than i can reach.

the flame eats, she feeds her tears
to the night. the next day he calls
and she says no, she writes him no, he calls
she says no. please. no. he does not call
he doesn't write. he moves in with another
woman or with her and she becomes

the one that's lied to instead of ignored.
he does both he does neither she asks how
can you think of me that way what makes
you think i am so cold. your fingers are freezing
he says. you have your own life. you mean

you wanted me to share it, i just want
to go sailing, see my girl in every
young face that goes by
those hot bods
that promiscuous leer i jettisoned
for children i want
to use it
for me
now

she says go. yeah oh.

what's the matter
he asks.
what could you possibly mean , she implies.

the girl at the party, the girl
on the street, the girl
you swept off of feet. why did you
become a drunk, an addict, suicidal, stop
sleeping with your wife? because
i wanted
someone else
and in that moment
the truth of it comes bearing
down on him, he leans back
curves his arm over
his eyes, it was not

her doing
it was the way orion
is coded in his genes, it was him
but what can he do about it? should he be
unhappy
because of a vow?

the trap is sprung, she realizes
too late. she cannot help that she wants
a man to be hers but she had that once
so why whine now she left him?

if she wanted romance, this is the stuff of it.

quietly, she takes out a knife, she's hungry
for her heart. he is both relieved
and excited. perhaps the hunt
is not over yet. he sees a flicker coming

from the edge of the yard, a glow stick swamp light
beckons to him. it's a dog with a collar, the dog's
name is boss. he follows it into the trees.
she watches him step into the darkness

and nibbles the tasty morsel on her fingers.
from the east, the geminids burn up the sky

meditation # 657 from romania

so i dunno



did my morning prayers
in tears and renunciation
the hum of ac in my head.

wherever you sail,
that's where you land
and me, a ship you pass

without hailing. sometimes
gordon pym's world is too much
to survive. look thru the spyglass
me hearty and think on yesteryears

you wanted to have all your pasts
at your fingertips. you don't understand
they are closer than that. if you were actually god

you'd be here. in my head. the evidence
points to other coincidences. how the ideal
wants to be daphne and laurel bushes-
how apollonian, the dream. lit candle
in a crystal lotus. the sad fact of 4D.

time.
if you escape it, could you come back
here and let me know? just, well,
as a favor to yourself.

my being is not large enough to take me all in.

i am animal, where love comes to taste mortality

i am ego, digesting the meal

i am spirit, seeking one essence in yous.

i wish you wanted

to make me believe, again.

scales like pyrenees

transitional. on the way from there
to here. the mountains
not mountains, but more.


it's not like my floors aren't full of ash.
potential reaching in for the last draught.
age reveals itself in cold water bedsheets.

i thought of the places
you wanted to keep
sacred and gave you
lyricism and scalpel.

i thought of blue and couldn't recall
your eyes.hidden behind my closed lids.

i thought of a metaphor
for stretch, a wooden floor
the limber curve of linoleum

tired of thought i let yours
be mine. how puny
slavery's desires.

undone for the last time
relative third strike.
without even booze for excuse
just the twisted mote
from which i yearned

birds eye

do you know that feeling
of being in a comfortable place
and pretty much ok with that
then someone comes along, mentions
that it looks like your gutter
could use a little cleaning
and all the sudden it dawns
on you that heavens
are so disparate
?

yeh?


you make me feel that way

maybe you'll be home by xmas

maybe you'll be home by xmas

you call to tell me how you're doing
it this time, irrevocable damage
of long term use, you say, destruction of the liver
and kidneys thru the miracles of modern
medicine. what a cliche.

you're in your father's house, the home
you never had, the obligation at last
where it belongs. he of course is due
some suffering soon. the hospital waiting
room, plugs and decisions. i wonder
what your dreams will be like then.
maybe he will accept this offer
from you, at last. his holiday won't be
affected. he's jewish now, morphed
into his body and you, his issac, his little
lamb, god's intentions. no disembodied
hand to stay the knife he could have melted
with acceptance of who you are
if only you ever knew~
verlaine, rimbaud, the eyes of ghalib.