untitled

by Ryokan

My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;

Every year the green ivy grows longer.

No news of the affairs of men,

Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.

The sun shines and I mend my robe.

When the moon comes out, I read Buddhist poems.

I have nothing to report my friends.

If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after so many things.

laundromat series

live a simple life

put quarters in the machine

watch white suds spin round

stare out the window

unburdened, no student loans

read auto trader

cycle number three

my reflection in round glass

tired and pretty

alone in this place

where did the simple life go?

time makes things too hard

sunday, store's open

sweet ladies in plain tee shirts

measure, fold and weigh

rent an apartment

eat french fries and watch tv

aldi on sunday

fifteen minutes flat

hot spinning quarter eating

box of detergent

comfort in the smell

quiet calm clothes turn circles

clean place of refuge

sailing circles

leaf spattered raft

bobs on neon green mud water

a pink plastic halo

to sail in slow motion

over the murky unknown

to circle over the fearful dark

like the lightest

seashell hued bubbles

that might carry a good witch.

canoe conversations tingle along

cool water over wrists and ankles

'it's deep and good here'

and it finally feels like home,

the ancient water smell is in my bones,

and I fall asleep,

eyes heavy as moons.

two weddings

Learn to love

those white silk shackles

which lash your legs

to the floor.

Then the floor

slides out from under you.

Now you dangle

where nothing is certain

and certainly not guaranteed.

He knows

that half a smile

can't get him as far

as it used to do

or used to did.

Now the dogs are yelping,

your stomach's swimming,

the only food in the house

a solitary chicken nugget.

Suitcases are scattered,

packed, unpacked and repacked again

right there on the Thanksgiving table

right there where you folded his clothes.

So here comes the truth

with its painful shards of light.

Where could you ever find a shield

to ward off this kind of attack?

It stabs into your eyes and hands

and deepest layers.

You take it up

stab yourself with it

over

and over

until your love

has bled out

all around

those shackles soaking

slip out your tired feet

and fall through.

zero circle

"zero circle" by Rumi

Be helpless, dumbfounded,
Unable to say yes or no.
Then a stretcher will come from grace
to gather us up.

We are too dull-eyed to see that beauty.
If we say we can, we’re lying.
If we say No, we don’t see it,
That No will behead us
And shut tight our window onto spirit.

So let us rather not be sure of anything,
Beside ourselves, and only that, so
Miraculous beings come running to help.
Crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute,
We shall be saying finally,
With tremendous eloquence, Lead us.
When we have totally surrendered to that beauty,
We shall be a mighty kindness.

Rumi

to run

ride ragged breath, a bucking bronco
until it smooths out, high tide
three and a half miles in
brain floods body
with endorphins to shut off
this incessant thinking,
which is a real blessing.

neural switch flips when
brain stops imagining
body is trying to kill it,
grasping onto that
primal cord of surviving
body becomes a perpetual motion
meat and bone machine.

scalp tingles with electric
pulls tight to skull,
the brain breathing after
the long assault by smoke,
bludgeoned by wine and whiskey
feel it fighting in there?

just like the sensation of speed
without that artificial edge,
that sharp cliff of comedown.
just pound and fly along
motivated by
the shape of a cloud
the smell of the ground
the promise of cool water.

bluebird

"bluebird" by Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?