These are largely improvisational poems, not lingered upon for too long in the making,
from both speech and writing, and jotted down one way or another.
They are responses, naturally, to-with a given moment, moments, preoccupations.

BIVOUAC _ Poetry


July 2019 - What are these

What are these — ?
What are these that ring when struck?
What are these that stand end to end?
or shoot out of the ground?
What are these that blow in the wind?
What are these that call each other darling
What are these that fasten their seatbelts ?
What are these that wait patiently for ——
What are these that turn yellow in Autumn
What are these that blow out the candles
that map out root systems --

Mushrooms grow happily in the moisture
and can be a sign of a healthy ecosystem.

Behind these eyes and these
questions, the observer recalls a time.
and they are these — just
These.

July 2019 - The Desert of Seeing

The Desert of Seeing
lies in naming
and understanding, or seeming
to understand.
That each thing individuated
is such a thing itself, only.

In this desert, there is no finding
This : the confluence - of all things -
which makes this place - just as it is.


There is an oasis in the desert —
where a thing alone exists
not regardless of all. There,
the magic of everything
lies in Any Thing.

13 July 2018

Here you are, twenty-four years
later,
anybody.

Could be: the asshole next door!

This is anybody's dream,
their floating world,
bivouac

——   ————

That I am
anybody and I am
me

(and that's what I look like)
(and that's what I concern myself with)

(For lovers:

That I am
anybody and you love
me

[Who are you, you ask?]
You are
you Only
You

and that all that's a miracle)

13 July 2018 (Finland)

--- These little movements,
precious

The things themselves, yes
Not to "capture this moment" or
translate it—coldly—into symbols,
shapes, an odd metal box . . .
No, 
the grass grows in this hillside,
just as it does, some wildflowers . .

and you
notice it,
that is all

14 April 2018


This is where I'm home

 

 

The confluence

that makes this place, now,

is not

presumed.

 

 

All these changes,


incomplete.


31 March 2018

To begin: a failure

In the expenditures towards "creative Output," they find:
      Stagnancy, sterility, is:
          an answer, desired,
          before you have even begun.

You see, there's no ROOM here


To begin: a query

       of who? about what? with what WORDS?


To begin: moment

Here-in
There-by
As yet


You will never succeed in telling everybody everything
You will never succeed in telling everybody anything
You will never succeed in telling anybody everything
You will never succeed in telling anybody any thing


The pursuit (joy, magic, strange mathematics)
        is just
               here.

. . . Here and now,
          within me and I,
             and you, them, theirs


9 July 2017

at-tention
in-tension

intention
in tension


1 July 2017

A music to save the world by
is not  ——  (this)
is not  ——  (that).

It is (here).
       Can we be beyond possession anyway?
       Beyond (this) sacred place, and
       (that)   ?

This is music for here, for now. It is
enough, for one only to lean in a little.
A sympathetic listener. VALUE is only
in the perceived; what does it take for (art)
to be worth sympathy?

A poem I thought would change the world
closes; closed upon.


(Time in the tropics, after winter)
29 June 2017

To live without distraction (lived-in, as tentacles, reaching)
—  ah! as in the movies, flirting with the waitress,
     love in bunches! — to live,
     Live, alive in you, or
     me, and me alone. Ah!
.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
Having thought that winter (snow, bitter), was
necessary to the "proper" experience of time,
Passage, I find amidst the blooms:
            Ha! Keep telling yourself THAT!
           .       .       .       .       .       .       .
Where would you ever find yourself, any-way?
Cactus flowers in the Mid-West? Northern Europe?
Mad wish, cactus flower, lost, amidst snowfall

They brown in the cold, wither, expire,
and green in spring — what a way to live!
                              (tell yourself THAT!)
           .       .       .       .       .       .       .
Cactus flower,
sweet company amidst corkage
(if I recall the terminology —)
you, here, or not,
whither and thither (wither, with-her!)
Whether, or ——

Fair weather indeed:
Bring on the snow!


20 February 2017

All relics are sacred
and all relics are imperfect.
They are all vestiges
of something by-gone and
be-gat

They are, also, vessels and
means, for attempting to feel closer to that
original something.

It is a lock, or the hair of Christ;
a great obsidian square or the Kaaba
But they don't let you know they thoughts
and love of Christ, or -