Can't Stop the Feeling

The head is full is such devices. Backward glances are more soothing than what ever was. This child never stood as he does now. Dazed in his own memories.

It happens still. That desolating falling shudder inside and the our neighborhood seems only sprawling loops... like the patterns eaten on driftwood

-Peter Campion

Burying Feelings

There are no remains, just memories. Fickle haunts evoked by age and act. A thousand frames placed on display. Over lit and colored in, they are not real, they do not mean a thing.

I've other pills

to tramp on grief,

estrange pain,

and hatch the part of waking that

is dreams,

double one dose to un-depress

and to write less and less

-Sandra McPherson

TThe MMost LLike

The book never discusses the causes of love.

It claims confusion is a necessary good.

It never explains. It only reveals.

-Mark Strand

With emptiness

There is clarity

In what always was

Accepting Life as it Comes

You know that desire leads only to sorrow, that sorrow

leads to achievement which leads to emptiness.

You know that this is different, that this

is the celebration, the only celebration,

that by giving yourself over to nothing,

you shall be healed.

-Mark Strand

Our skin once stood firm against the sky

A canvas of sun and sweat and blood,

We died with the seasons splintering shift

Lying amongst the trees.

If this isn't it

Its pretty damn close

Forget About It

Look over me. Oh I feel dead,

Folded

Away in blankets for good, and

Forgotten.

My room is clammy and cold,

Moonhandled

And weird. The shivers

Wash over

Me, shaking my bones, my loose ends

Loosen,

And I lie with one eye open,

Hoping

That nothing, nothing will happen.

-Mark Strand

when alone simply

gaze into paint

the ceiling has

galaxies carved into

plaster gleaming

smudges of spirit

consistency cannot

hold spite

for the sky

Stolen/Lost////guilt.

That quality of the great boxers

to be able to stand there

and take shots,

gargle with firewater,

encounter intoxication

at sub- and supra-atomic levels,

to leave one's sandals at the

crater's lip

like Empedocles, and descend,

not say: I'll be back,

not think: fifty-fifty

to vacate molehills

when dwarves want space to grow,

to dine alone,

indivisible,

and able to renounce your victory

-

a hymn to that man

-- Gottfried Benn

--Translated Michael Hofmann

When everything is over,

there will still be sound.

I am done with

those paradoxes about

trees falling in the forest

and the ego.

I have accepted indifference.

There will still be sound;

the rattle of the table,

the buzz of old words,

the fairgrounds,

abandoned horse races,

lingering sound.

All these things get louder

buzzing quickly

forming mass.