Wild World

wildworld
whilewewhirled
fro and to
believe me––we flew!!
“checklist please,”
I checked but he's
floundering
aroundweswing

the dashboard lit up in red

wildworld
whileweswirled
fly—oh, it unfurled—
downanddown
sungtothesound
of “air-a-shoot!”
buttherewasmoot
(the point was moot)
dancetothewind
tastingthespin

the tail fishtailed

wildworld
criedandcurled
viscer-rolled
natal-fatal
––must we still pay, though?––
“air-a-shoot!”
“tear-through’t”
andthesunspun
andtheairflung

the blades caught a foreign fire

wildworld
"high load"
“air-a-shoot!”
Iwishheflewit
’twixtblueandblue(it)
water-bound
sungtothesound
ofpride
––but what a ride––
that
aside
lookslike––
bulls-eye
blue-hurled
viscer-rolled
criedandcurled
whileweswirled
whilewewhirled
––and still it unfurled––

a wild world.

En Passant

A youth stares down

On a barren ground

And makes a comment most uncouth;

A plain stares up

At a foreign sound
And remarks upon a vulgar youth.

(lines from an airplain window)

Returning

Unfurling––returning
In seablown wind––the windblown sand
Sans water. Returning
To gritty, weathered in-
dolence wrapped about that ethe-
real one. Widening
to catch the wind––a windmonger;
tightening to catch the
heart, fluttering foul
under the beacon
of sunken knots
of light. Here––
or somewhere 'twixt here and the-
re, sunken dreams a'bubble into foux
skies, tainted azure sighs, pearls of a canner
-y row row rowing gently to no more. Petty things
to sell, fall
into part-
ly the
wrong hands, partly sent
so bubblin' into no hands at all, retur-
ned, sans water, towards kin,
then-maiden knots.
Hold
Me.
Or
better yet––now hold my innar-
ds, kiss
them as a lover would. And lose
me not––unfurled upon
the
cypress wood.





In the end, what is returning but the second coming? From the grave, from the Great Flood, from togetherness, from the one. Unfurl the tale––upon the grave, the glittering shovel take.

Colores (Dolores) (Dólares)

Un arco iris
        de colores (dolores) (dólares)
Después de una tormenta
        de vientos (lo sientos)
Lloviendo frutas
        distantes
                lejanas
Sinfín de frutas
        el fin de frutas
                de rutas
Cuando venga el águila
        Que guarda el tesoro
        ¡Qué ardua un toro!
        Muerto, sin oro
La araña tejiendo su tela
        ––rediciendo la red––
        ––informática sin información––
Ahogando, con su hogar,
        bajo un arco iris





[un poema sobre California, inspirado por Diego Rivera y John Steinbeck]