Dawn

And then I remembered the moon! The earth has a satellite. I mean, it’s not the type of thing you have around in your consciousness. I knew it, of course, they way you know that your heart is beating right now. Or know how to say “Hey can you make me some coffee please with cream and a little sugar?” without thinking on syllables or how to use your tongue and lips and throat to make those sounds that make up the words that make up the phrase “Hey, can you make coffee please?”

I saw the moon up at first light in a thinnest crescent as if the Muslims had taken over the city. Half and hour later it was gone, too dim and too close to the rising fireball in the orange and purple morning. But it was there! Our little moon, so big though in reality though so small again, a breadcrumb in relative realities.

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categories Dawn

28 And The Day After Christmas

Trickster cum Diego

The world is such an inside joke!
A leaf falling from tippy top
Sorrento Valley sycamore
fluttering, fluming on little convection currents
aerodynamic calculations coming quick
as it tossy turns,
studyable, modelable, I suppose
this final fall of the leaf –
All the way down to a Manzanita where
leaf sticks, just three feet from the ground
for the remainder of the winter –

Overhead it’s a hawk soaring
only no, it’s actually
a seagull! Maybe copycat,
maybe learned from old man hawk?

Back at my place a kitty walking past
and I beller to him; Ma-Row!
He looks up, bellers back, starts purring,
I’m on third floor balcony drinking
wine mewing to a cat.

I always thought that getting older
meant getting it necessarily –
The world handed over with a ribbon
and a bow tied on top. Pretty!
Then I learned that it takes work
real ditch digging in the mineral clays
shoveling rocks and stones
And even then,
after all that work,
it’s either you get it,
or you don’t –

Poetry Scrap

At the rummage sale 2

While he lumbered desultory amid the tool piles
Looking to bolster his arsenal
And his wife greedy-fingered the jewelry
Trying to find a relic or a steal
And his son replayed car chase scenes
Noisy movies with plastic police cars and beat up sedans;
His daughter looked through the old telescope, quiet,
Studious redhead seeing her worlds in that scratched glass;
I’ll want to meet her someday
When she’s my age and I’m
An old lecher looking for a girl
With a brain –

Poetry Scrap

God is in our arbitrary measurements
A year is given via natura;
The month is holy mechanism,
Mechanical artifice, artificial in all its
Dirty-handed connotations.

Poetry Scrap

Christmas Party

I’ll be the boy in the corner.
Glowing.
Reformed know-it all
Knows more now
Than nothing at all as before
But shuts up about it.
Radiates joy, climbs inside hearts
Like Jean Valjean to Cosette –
Wine drinker, casual smoker,
Tea-head of time and parties –
Festive lights, boats, moons
Starlight constellations in the outdoors night –
While they guzzle and giggle and gather
And entreat and misspeak inside
He and I will share
A cigarette on the dock,
Unspeaking
Embers and ashes
Listening to the wooden clonk
Of boats, docks, old wood and sea.

Poetry Scrap

December 8 or 9

These are the end days, last days, dying days as the year goes
ump ump,
ump ump.
Pits and pats and like when you’re stressed
as shit
and feel your heart go bang-bang in your chest
and you realize that this
this muscle
it’s all that keeps you, You
wonderful you;
This year after my midsummer drives up California
so much turmoil and triumph
and how many days worrying about how it would last?
Now though, as late as it is
I’m content, at last, to let it peter out –
I’ll need mead : wine, and good beer –
a steady intravenous drip.
Let the year fade –
It’s warm inside,
windows are fogged,
I wish it would snow.

Poetry Scrap

Is there something to the prey that the predator chooses?
Given two birds, which will the cat attack? and how will that Tom select?
size? plumpness? cuteness? Is there something to
the cuteness of a baby that also makes bambino
super succulent to the playful hunting pussy?
Maybe cute equals yum-yum to the tigress –
And if so, wouldn’t that say a lot
about human sexual relations?