//
The origins of water.
First a sound, even
Before the light
A sound in the dark
Then one enormous drip
And everything was born.
//
I just want to sneak off
Back to Vermont or those kettle ponds on Nan Tucket
Or her body that day slowly sinking into gold light…
Or Albuquerque during hatch season
Or Jerusalem on any roof at sunset
I just want to sneak off
To Flannery OConnor peacock farm
To Carl Jung estate in Switzerland
Or to a bare cabin the alps
Or to any of their bodies exposed
In their particular glories
To stone star skin again Jemez Hot Springs
At night with just bodies silence and crouching wolves unseen
Or elks stampeded above
Or angels wings which kept touching us
I just want to sneak off back into myself
Back when I could say life well by merely being
Me, a great idea of God to see through
Me wearing a suit of chimes in my dreams
And just walking in slight breeze
Just enough to be a good sound in other’s hearts.
Me living in parks and under bridges
In women’s homes around the world
In churches, and synagogues and whoever would shelter
A sound which sneaks off just after you hear it fully.
//
I wrote on everything
Receipts, gum wrappers
Even underwear, whatever
Was bare
A tabula rosa all around me everywhere
And each time I wrote again
I felt eternity. That is near myself.
So, I wrote on everything.
//
I was in films
Back before everything
Was seen.
I was writing novels
When they became obsolete.
I was taking photos in my sleep.
And every day was performance art
A cinema to see
When I could barely walk
When I could still be me.
//
Take three from,
The editing rooms

There are no more takes today
That’s a wrap. So let’s survey, edit
Redact and cut where necessary.
Life was a short comedy animation, and
No scene was as I saw it
But some still shone some light
Like an endless hall of keyholes
Behind which are only rooms made of light.
For the end is the beginning of the eternal editing process.
And the projection room is where it all goes down.
//
And I ended like a Muse
In the meantime
I was an amusement park-en-styled as,
An electric carousel in Paris in the 40s
With children and beautiful women
Going up and down all night.
Where I stop on a bridge on the way home
To help a man not jump. Instead I invite him
To the park to watch with me
The circular delights of carnival life
As they pump like an excited heart in the dark.
//
You have a lot of pressure
To do something remarkable
Important, with impact.
The pressure keeps you
From doing so, but also
Forces you not to.
//
Everything is about what you do
While in the waiting room.
It’s never about seeing the Doctor
But being healed while you wait.
//

What is the one thing you can’t not do?
And don’t tell me it’s women or smoking.
Tell me something true.
What is the one thing you can’t not do?
Don’t tell me its travel
Cause that’s just what you do.
What is the one thing you can’t not do?
To Express is closest without further adieu
//