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Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Duncan's Falcon In Flight



Duncan's Falcon In Flight

a shrouded falcon waits to fly with a disciplined anticipation
every muscle and tendon taught as suspension wires
that hold the golden gate aloft above the entrance to the bay
the falcon sees no perspective from its cloaked darkness
it plays out turns in the sky as it closes on the prey
to seek the acceptance of its master
trained for this in daily regimen
given praising rewards for its prowess
it gathers strength from each motion
it holds its head up, alert and waiting
for ultimate perspective to be revealed
birds of the sky flee in fear of its talons
sharpened black pointed differences
admonished for overzealous maneuvers
against the master's arm that holds it high
tethered to a master's hold on the falconer's rest
a beautiful bird of prey waiting to behold its own magnificence
turning circles and dives and aerial twists in its minds keen eye
free falling in dives as it moves and glides and soars after its mark
the sparrow the lark the pigeon the canary the crow the starling
all know that the falcon's shadow is a fearful sight on any day of flight
they may even have unsettled dreams of its menace as shivering chicks
set upon by the fatal talons in its last moment before jarring awake
stirring into the reality that the falcon that is trained to satiate
for the reward of pride and nourishment is the most deadly ending
to the simple traces of a birds life of worm and seed fed neutrality
the falcon soars above the admonishments of birds against it
the falcon relishes opportunity to prove itself in any manner
dressed in hood and tether it stretches its gilded shiny wings
as the hood is removed it preens in a new love before it sets
for a new attack with the heart beating in the chest so fast so heavy
this is the chance that it has been hatched from desire for so long ago
this eternal falcon that has always wanted to please its mother
that has always wanted to protect its lands from skies to low valleys
that has always sought to end the admonishment of father and siblings
wanting to rightfully fly its mission on sharpened turns of valiant wings
it flies forth out of darkness into light that it has never known until now
a light it has only seen in dreams of days it hoped for above green fields
spiraling through the skies for freedom to serve its holy master, love

Sunday, September 11, 2011

How To Bury A Lost City In A Decade Right In Front Of You





How To Bury A Lost City In A Decade Right In Front Of You

bombs killed the anarchist fishmongers
who wanted to organize something
under the colonial paving stones
that were europa too young
to walk on their own legs
in immigrant clothes
naked in the cold

in a hundred years or more
undocumented workers would smoke blunts
in the bathroom for the top o the world
while the world traded possibilities
under the towering gaze of twin
free market standing sentinels
as if it was impervious to its own
limited liability denial
that looked down
on all the mobs
of impetuous
trump hopefuls
trolling in and out
of all the subway platforms
at the clay feet of a commercial high rising upward

so many ghosts hit the skids that day
running away from the zeroed out ground
as fast as the wind could blow them out
running through Chinatown and SoHo
all the way up to the alphabets of Loisaida
the old park is a walk from gershwin's stoop
up around the corner from the 2nd ave deli
past st. marks where corso slips a dollar in
pulls it out past the square for fair on the L
going back to brooklyn in the morning
     o gregorio     o gregorio 
o we see so clearly now, only too late
the bomb came for us as we were warned
by the cloak of poems that gave us cover
only for so long as those words could
everyone gazed upward
toward the morning sun
with national camera eyesight
as we all looked on in unexplainable surprise  

still life with an ash tray in a diner that no longer smokes
roll past graham through ghosts that have become hipster bubble gum flavor assortments giving away all potential to the dive that overcharges and artistically under performs, still, everyone is a critic when the world is less critical when the mass is less critical when it is less complicated when it is all just a puzzle with an easy piece missing in action so the chatter goes all night long in a clinky clank of cocktail glasses that must be avoided at all costs after the latest rent increase
     catch the car service to bushwick and metropolitan into the lost world of thievery gone co-op
make a get away to flatbush all the way up to church and breath deep the jerk sauce aroma
where dutch became dutchie in a reformed church cemetary blowing sound blowing minds blowing blowing blowing
make a get away to the coney island that is no longer a dream or a nightmare just the last refuge of goons, gumbahs and mermaids on the lost boardwalk running like a comet with a splintered tail where the ghosts of your first tattooed ladies ride horses off of diving boards into the pooled tear drops of elephant palace memories that once held cheers for bums dodging trolley cars out into far rockaway and back on a lonesome plane ride off into sunshine away from home plate sliding fantasy leagues where the dust of fallen towers never touches the empty graves of lost friends who didn't leave enough of a concern for anyone to stop a war for as they were too busy starting wars for someone else who had more friends and was better thought of than the bike messengers, panhandlers, undocumented workers that left no discernible DNA rubbed into molten metal skeleton structural remains of a lost day in time
missed flight on the 9th means nothing 2 days later or even 10 smoky years afterward
walking it off in a haze that has left many for dead who had no choice since then only
it was not the first time death took innocence for granted on the lay away plan it would
make the whole repertoire more chic than ever as texas finally cried for yankees like never
before seen footage of popular mechanics tragedy lessons learned stateside as if uncle sam
were an islamic bee keeper with guantanamo bee hive unleashing istani drone attacks all over
the god damn fields of inglorious vengeance against the internal apartheid of soulless decisions
that kiss hot ashen limbs all over battery park as the soot of a lost mosque goes undetected on
the wailing walls scored by roman swords and spears an unfashionable empire ago
these words were just a bloodletting for those that never saw it coming in so many places
in so many ways in so many times in so many lands
most people wanna be left alone unless you are gonna make them famous
no one wants to pay the price for fame as long as fame is paying the price
we make bombs as if it were potlatch for children to return it to our unborn
unconceived unadulterated generations yet to come
the blood all mixes in on the sidewalk but it can't be demarcated
from the scorched earth that buries ideals and convictions
in graves now trampled and left unmarked

Friday, September 9, 2011

Sitting Down for a Moment as Gary Snyder walks Away

Sitting Down for a Moment as Gary Snyder walks Away

so early becomes so late becomes so early again
like a spiral staircase of dreams and trials
each one dissolves into the next
no angels with trumpets
to herald us forward
no vacant being
of existence
leaving us
for dead
or
alone
here now
the wisest is
the young daughter
of the craftspeople's church
where the family beckons all
to come back into the fold of the town
located on the outskirts of the great city
that is part of a like-minded country of folks
who have all built something here together as one
where they say in all places blessed I may still find loneliness
there is no despair in it for me as I know you will always be waiting
to welcome me back into something akin to a home in the dusk lit by the last magic
beholding failing beams of translucent glory overwhelming all these considerations of
philosopher's words in the last moment of breath of heartquake of shiver of death of peace





Thursday, September 8, 2011

...Fixer...

Fixer
(Photograph Chosen By Eden)   


she took pictures of me while we were in love
she took pictures of us while we were in love
pictures that she developed herself, in a lab
   off of telegraph ave. where she rented time
      & chemicals to do so
    she took pictures of me staring off into space
worried about final out comes & doom
was looming overhead in the shadows
     she took pictures of me drunken &
fighting with the neighbors in the street
knuckles all bloody with teeth all bared
      she took pictures of me attending public
demonstrations that I would turn into riots
that would turn into photographs of cops
    in riot gear guarding a fallen comrade
    she took pictures of me tying off &
injecting what I took to be sanity into
my waiting bloodsteam that recoiled
    from the pulsating madness of my torn up
      reality that dropped into frame like confetti
thrown into the universe from another world
      & another time when someone would take
photographs of me now as I look out a window
     wondering  what ever happened to all those
 old pictures of insanity & does it really matter
     now that I have someone shooting pics
of me while we are in love & doom is just
       a memory as she takes pictures of me
while she sits cross-legged & naked to let me
      know I am safer now than I ever was or
would be as long as she is holding the camera
     & all I have to do is look out the window
so I can remember to forget about all the photos
     that are lost in the past  that no longer matters
washed away in fixer & blood & tear drops
     flooding away a black & white world so long ago