The world as it is

The world as it is,
just as it is,
without embellishment,
without ornament superfluous,
is already mind-fuckingly 

If you don't think so,
then you must 
see the night sky 
from a mountain top
at 10,000 feet
on a bitter cold
and wind-scoured
spring night.

The Milky Way
will rip your 
mind open.

You can see
the lines of 
your own hand
in that light

and you will know
what they mean.

Levity of Mind

the way of the mind is levity
getting always lighter and lighter
for all these hundreds of thousands 
of years and now so far away 

it thinks
its self 
a part 

it thinks itself to pieces
and pieces its self apart

it has thought itself into
other planets, other orbits
around other suns of thought
other sources of seeing itself
its pieces
its self pulls 
it apart

don't participate
but dangle
in odd angles
of mobile meaning

our sense of tense is 
tenuousness at rest while
our tense itself is senseless

tensile strength is useless
for holding all this together

Moon Bones


There is a fall in
to dark, felt in the bone, a 
loss of heat, a slow 

tilting away and 
cyclical spin into space,
a shy, unnoticed 

turning of blue and 
green to grey.  They say that the 
light goes out of it 

as if the light leaves 
of its own accord, a wan 
A-chord in the wood.

There is a word in the dark
where no moon is heard...


There I read of the spoon-fed dead, how their 
zen amounted to zed, surmounted by 
spires built to go higher until their fires 

flew in the sky and spied and tried twisting 
their wrists in the bonds they had become so 
fond of, that they loved even though reviled 

and shoved away and held sway over the 
fray and stayed none the less where their sun-born 
lies could not see through the tresses but blessed 

the butcher and the barber none the more let 
them near with their knives and their shears while tears 
came and the rending of garments began

the beating of chests and the mustering 
bluster and pounding of hearts into dust


...and you looked at me 
with your moon-bone eyes and I 
saw to the hearts of 

the stars felt solar 
wind in the spars and lines of 
age on my primal 

face knew the breeze with 
the skein of seven seas knees 
climbing millennia 

to the crow’s nest and
finally resting raced to 
the crest of the day

and rubbed galaxies 
from the corners of my eyes. 

Two haiku sonnets and a...pseudo-sonnet?