earth day 2021

what a writer ought to
write about
are the things
they don’t want to know, I got this
from reading deborah levy’s
pt i of her living autobiography
the other day, which i read
in one frankly glorious
afternoon. the things i don’t
want to know could be listed
by me at the cost of feeling
vulnerable, but fortunately
as a cancerean i am both
emotional and strong, so if i have to
deal with something
even if i don’t want to
deal with it i will
deal with it. in the past
i would complain, but now
that i am older (craw! craw!)
and having survived
certain hardships at large
i can do it – or i can at least try. i still
stare at trees sensing (the unseen) the love undulating
from them more so than
most animals or even people. but i don’t
want to be untrustworthy
of people anymore
just because they can be
petty or
messy or
worship drama, i want to be a living
breathing brave person
who loves life. because i  
do. and if i am
cautious, it is not because i fear life
but because i love it. i also love
the words that i can distill
the whole of my existence
at this point
in time into words. and i love
the fact that someone
somewhere who i do not know
might even read them. such assurances
assuage me. as i complete this
in the café i am writing
in the distance a crow
is crowing in a tree
because another crow is trying
to sit in the same
tree the former crow
is sitting in. but it isn’t
anyone’s tree

sense (the unseen)

you were touched by beauty
like a saluki
it is evident

sky slit and it seemed unruly
but it was truly
not unprovident

I cannot see you
but I can feel you
from a distance

when I am distracted
and this is protracted
your return, in an instant:

my inner saboteur wants me lonely
wants me homely
fuck him

we are connected
we are electric
we are poetic

in our worlds
within, and without

nb I ushered all my selves (see katherine mansfield) to write this

Ego is a prism, you need to step outside of it if you wish to experience the sacred

and inner worlds
meet at the courtesy of your lips
You inhale
and exhale
the synchronicity

So which is which
when the bare pomegranate tree
has bloomed leaves
it seems
and the swallows have returned?

Is it
early April
in both worlds? When

in the other
the drama of it
is much more
set against the

 of an epic production?

In outer world
you reach out your hand to the tree
to pick the pomegranate
and in the inner world
you walk away from the demon
you have just spent years
maybe even centuries
to destroy
a victory spread over
a multitude
of lives:

Beings of time
luminous and sacred
It takes time for the light to gather
In blue rooms you lather
your body
and subsequently
in white rooms
where you start
and complete
your compositions
bestowed to you
by the arrow holy
and from a great distance:

We need, we agree, a new word
for patience
Here it is: life

peach poetree

as when you
choose a peach
from a fruit bowl
and you lift it
to your teeth
but it slips
your hand
and goes
the floor:

poems tend to
tumble from me
as though I am not
a poet
but a peach tree:
I consult the scriptures

I consult the scriptures
I put up walls
Because I wish to keep
the blossoms safe

with each blessing
the erection
of an obstacle
never one
the other:

this is fate

watch my wind-whipped

against the panes
of glass
until they

and dozens
of peaches
maybe in the
From my twigs

you may collect
each one
or let them
in the sun

there will always be some
one –

there will always be some

What to do when there is a pitchfork in the road

There are sacred spaces
Some holier than others
We discover them together

On a high-rise balcony
Opposite the setting sun
We experience our halos

In every given moment
Two options
Between (what Nietzsche called) good and evil

Evil is more instant
Evil is more seductive
As much as it is fatal

You should not listen to anyone except you
As it is, it is your life
But surely: the wise choice

This is ecstasy
This is freedom
This is a response, to the voice