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Friday, May 16, 2014


 Ramon's old camp


A wandering of the spirit
Clothed like an idiot
In the worst weather, issuing
Sounds that take the heart
Away slowly so one can watch
It leaving through the filtered
Light of the jungle,
Past a small clearing then
Disappearing for a lifetime.

One becomes attached to 
Living this way only because
There is little else one can call
Life but the high cries
From the canopy of night.
A Rustling of wings, some beast
Coughing into an even darker
Front where everything must
Be carried away by strangers.

We call loudly for our family,
Our brothers and sisters and the dark
Answers with measured howls and shrieking
They move the soul away from the body,

Expand everything we know toward
A false dawn or a golden moment late
In the day, evening in the mouth
Like rust, teeth clenched trying
To wake the moon to see
If it makes any sense at all;

Elemental traveling such as this,

The things we never get used to doing.

Sunday, May 11, 2014



When we are not there is the only
Time it will arouse attention.
Three spinning balls larger than 
Questions work themselves into
A frenzy of needing someone to see
Them, but it is never us.  No matter

How hard our prayers become there
Is no way we can see them, even looking 
At mirrors does not serve us well.

I’ve been going through this dilemma
For years now, mostly after dark when
Without reason I become obsessed
With this idea as if it were a void
In my life.  I try to observe the scene
To no avail.  I am fervent even when 
It ceases to matter.   It seems as if 
I could win this one without a problem.

I’ve finally made the decision in advance;
To know how beautiful they are without having
To see them spinning there, throwing off
colors and sparks, dream-like mists,
A music never before heard.  It is 

Truly beautiful.  I will lead my life knowing this.