The Berries I Never Picked
Believe not words they say, lowly gods'
Pens power strikes lightning quick cross page
But you stand callused hands, you soften sod
Live bushes rise amongst sweet summer's sage
Labor long, sweat'n'wet words perfectly
Your dart like tongue such bends, bushes break
Blood red like Picasso's woman worldly
Fall flower, hair jet black, retards our slake
Amused muse music planted, dreams in-jest
Dynamic faith it takes, loving lines
Refuting fiend. I dreamt of you; dark quest
We trod until sweet death, never in time
To find that child from past had writ he knew
Secrets of berries found in mountain snow.
Guard The Heart
for Simon Vinegoog
I pour the wine
it makes no sense to stop --
everybody talks about dying
instead of dandelions
blooming between sidewalks
& awkward green grass.
Will em DeKooning
grave day. I
waste of casket. Are we not as waste-
ful? The racoon lay sound, rumpled by
dog's teeth, untouched by our pity. An'
you my love wanted a wooden cross. I
want not to be a woman titted and spiked
spun it in-
to the fresh
With a splash
It is now that I go to sleep.
The bunny is in his coop with a carrot.
I feel sorry that he is caged but at least
he has a bunny-ramp and gets fed fresh fruit
and bread. My son is learning about the holocaust
He wants my opinion. I don't know enough.
I am Euro-American, specifically German.
We go to the library for more information.
We take out books and read them to each other.
I have never been fond of the human race or our
claims of humanness to others, animals or how we treat
the environment. As it turns out our beastliness
has been unleashed over and over again through history.
It is my son that asks why? A fear of another's prawns
smelted by fear based on greed and hatred. Will it happen
again, my son asks. I say if you sense it is happening
fight like hell, believe your heart and if you die know
that I am there on the other side holding your hand
both of us framed in morning light soft, to begin again.