Becoming City
What we recognize in the
other… that search. Active
mirroring. But not under
pressure of success. Get
away from philosophy. New
mind of empty forms that
need nothing. Love was
here, love will be here,
I am useful. I tripped
once and fell. Bruised
my ego. The world sighed.
The story never ends.
The ocean ends and the
land begins. The moon
rises. The city dies.
Could I say less?
5 places at once would be
enough. Can it happen
and the money flows?
Fighting uphill, having
nothing but grit. Impressing
no one but the children,
they see me. Until, until.
Until until. No more
children, they’ve grown up.
Without words by our side.
Just pictures, the media
flowers, the endless
dreaming and flying
at night. What did
we deserve? The gifts.
The movies. Popcorn.
Traditions of bright light.
Single sentences fall
into longer ones. Blank
verse is over. Swimming
pools, sand, glare,
hanging onto my toothbrush
I drove off for morning
coffee at Wawa.
Everybody said hello
in that atmosphere.
But I could barely.
Not the war again.
Paying for coffee,
staring into space,
the Virgin Mary
over my shoulder.
A slow and old jazz
song like Autumn Leaves.
My father said I revealed
his secret at the Quaker
meeting. It took awhile.
I said I’d never learned
to speak in meeting.
Change 'learned' to ‘learning’.
Always learning, sometimes
glimpsing the light,
a brief flash in
the pan, the world
sideways. My neck
pain recedes, you’ve
got such karma
always. Got such karma,
dribbled jeans. The circle.
Fix the circle, win the
war, turn off the light,
I’ll leave the light on
for you. Looking for
my Grandfather I fell
into a black hole,
spun like a washing
machine, only my
friends saw me so
I went back to
Philadelphia. Not
a connector, a builder,
a repairman, a blank.
Which is to say
less than a man,
a man is never
complete when it
sounds like thunder
and its an airplane.
Peter Pan knew what
blue is. A certain
torture of the gut,
someone who says why
to their family while
listening to concertos,
and humming along.
Does it all happen
at once, if one has
the time for it?
Put a kettle on it.
Making postmodern art
out of lemons, it
feels good. With
you by my side.
That’s love and co-
commitment. Going
down the long hall.
