Poetry Archives Index


Starting mid September, 1990




                     HE HAS PUT HIS WORD UPON MY LIPS


                     Wind blows out of my mouth.

                     A River flows out of my mouth.

                     A Lamb springs forth from my mouth.

                     A Lion leaps out of my mouth.

                     Fire falls from my mouth.

                     Seven Swords piece my mouth.

                     A Lover bends and kisses my mouth

                     and ten thousand stars fall into

                     a still, lucid pool of light.

                     The pool blazes!

                     All the creatures of God

                     spring up out of that pool

                     singing forth their animal voices

                     like starlight.





                     THINK OF THE CAT


                     Sensitivities for the daylight

                     are developed in the dark of the night.

                     Think of the cat!

                     Be nocturnal with God.

                     Develop big eyes,

                     and when the day comes

                     light will ring upon nerves

                     like silver bells.

                     Ah! the musical ecstasy

                     of God's pattering light!







                     Were we conceived in laughter

                     by Divine joy

                     down in the belly of God?

                     Is it God's holy laughter

                     which shakes out beings

                     in a discharge of clear light

                     --which act we call birth

                     and origin?





          LIFE DEFINED


          When we pour out ourselves as a blessing,

          we are poured into ourselves as the blessed.






                                MANNA I


                   Last week's glory is already full of worms

                   and death-thoughts of knowledge.


                                MANNA II


                   How the worms hunger for the heavenly food.

                   No-eyed, their suction cupped mouths

                   cover little snapping beaks

                   which tear at the lacy white waffers.

                   They bore their bodies inside by devouring,

                   and wriggle, hidden in the food of angels.





                       UPON ART IN THIS WORLD


                       The blind singer sat dumb

                       and thirsting in the araba

                       until he ground dry bread into his eyes

                       and his mouth gaped upon the wind.

                       Then clear, honeyed water seeped out of stone.

                       Sucking water, he sang.

                       The dying drew near

                       and found the rock.

                       They drank and named it

                       the singing stone.

                       Spurning the dry bread

                       and the wind

                       they sucked upon the stone...

                       and soon died.




                     TO BE WITH EYES LIKE FLAMES OF FIRE


                     Make me to remember!

                     The smallest mouse of a meek soul

                     brown and plain, unassuming

                     not flashing in the eye its sinuous flesh;

                     but fat, pimply, unsure,

                     unable to meet gaze with gaze,

                     darting the eyes down--

                     this one is longed for by God!

                     This one is the greatest treasure of His graces.

                     This one is the very one He envisions everlastingly

                     bursting forth like a white sun;

                     clothed with silver moonlight;

                     with hair like falling fire;

                     with eyes like the bells of the Pleiades;

                     with nose like lilac blossoms;

                     with neck like Greek alabaster;

                     with breasts like bounding lambs;

                     with belly like thistledown;

                     with thighs like summer winds;

                     with feet like leopards.




                     UPON THE HIGHEST ASSURANCE


                     I am not like God.

                     I am not so secure in my own loving being

                     that I can withstand all rejection,

                     all evil blasts

                     until my beloved comes

                     to love me in return.

                     I am a wounded creature

                     who needs to be upheld

                     in the graces of love.

                     I need to be loved....


                     Yet I am loved!

                     Beyond all telling,

                     I am loved!

                     And as I face my deepest fears,

                     and as I face my greatest pain,

                     I know more fully

                     --into all freedoms--

                     that unfailingly, 

                     I am loved!


                     Though my parents should forsake me,

                     God will bear me up.

                     Though a mother should forget her nursing child,

                     God shall not cast me from Her breast.

                     Though a man, out of hardness or pain,

                     should turn from a woman,

                     God shall never turn from me, His bride,

                     until I am healed and holy,

                     courageous and wild

                     in the disciplined beauties

                     of His free Kingdom.






                     WELCOME TO THE INNER CIRCLE


                     A starry sound

                     blows through the King's countenance:

                     every facial line, light etched,

                     every demeanor, demure.

                     This King rules

                     royal beings:

                     His ancient Kings

                     and young, ancient Queens

                     who have forgotten his face.

                     But he shall recall them...

                     through images, and shadowy illusions,

                     and unexpected flights of fancy,

                     and the numinous.

                     Therefore, the fun and frolic

                     of galloping bliss

                     is reserved for times

                     of stories and rhymes

                     with his princely child,

                     or that woman wild,

                     who can steal his heart

                     with a kiss.




                             CONCERNING COMPASSION


               The turquoise sea flows up foaming to my feet.

               Day after day, while it is today, it calls to me

               to cease the island that has been my home

               and wade into the warm waters

               --that clear bath! All sea creatures

               who are awake swim knowingly,

               unbound in the limitless blanket of the sea

               that is in all directions stitched unbrokenly.


               These are the free creatures:

               The red lobster dances out of his hole;

               the blue and gold tropical fish

               joyfully interweave in miraculous water patterns;

               a small brown shark nuzzles the sand and is comforted;

               the white dolphins are always laughing!

               I must ease down into these waters!


               Dark eyed natives on the beach scream out to me.

               They are afraid I shall not return to them again.


               The white foam caresses my ankles.

               The light blue waters lap my loins.

               The wet, warm embrace about my belly stuns me with peace.

               As the flashing waters flood over my chest to cover my hair

               I sense limitless music moving in wild currents.

               It is the sea, the sea, the unbreakable sea!









                     Maria lies in squalor,

                     big with child, panting;

                     sweat glistening upon her face and lips,

                     her muscles quivering, eyes huge.

                     Should a child be born into a cardboard house?

                     This one should!

                     Her cervix opens like the moon,

                     like the sun - and the killing child descends.

                     Water bursts out of the crevasse of her loins

                     into the arroyo of the world.

                     Flames lick in the water

                     and burn her whole house down!

                     Her flaming roof falls away

                     and the stars rush down upon her

                     to suckle at her large white breasts.

                     Her whole body tenses now like a hunting cat.

                     She arches up to look upon her loins

                     and shakes with pain and joy.

                     Her swelling opens like a bud.

                     She falls back upon the wet stones

                     and rests forever.

                     Her child breaks through singing.

                     The whole creation is in his voice.

                     The world dies!









          There is a revolution of Spirit needed!

          Forgiveness! Grace! Justice! Order! Compassion!

          Make your heart as clean as sea breeze.

          Make your mind as clear as polished glass.

          How? To the Holy things--lifewise!


          This is a whole life's journey,

          from the twisted gray labyrinth

          to the mirror of the Sun.

          But the juice, the red juice,

          the warm red juice of God

          pours into your mouth

          and runs down your throat.

          And you are fresh as a child

          to leap through this journey!


          The blood of God's Word

          flowed through Christ's veins

          and bled out in our world

          to hover 'neath our brains.


          Drink rivulets of cleansing blood

          and find the royal son.

          Drink deeply the sweet red blood

          and be the radiant One,

          the woman-child bride whose soul must sing

          as her heart senses the King.







          "The whole creation labors together -

          waiting, waiting, travailing in childbirth

          groaning for the manifestation of the sons of God."

                                         Paul of Tarsus



          We are not envisioned as we are!

          There are living ideas

          inviolate in God's mind!

          This God who sees dense, gray stones

          to be as luculent as stars.

          This God who sees that apple tree to be all afire

          with the immanence of an inexplicable beauty.

          Yet the tree is dying in time

          for lack of some pure woven gold connection

          to link it unbreakably to that clarity

          which is deathless and older than the world.


          See that man. He is a car salesman.

          Yet God has made him to be a noble and just prince.

          He has committed to him the golden threads.

          The man weaves God's threads tenderly

          into his children's hearts.

          And he weaves to reunite an old dying woman

          to the timeless girl she is.

          Watch as he labors to weave gold into the stone mind

          of a homeless man.


          Let us who know her, dress in snowy ermine

          that little sister who checks out groceries

          for she is of royal blood!

          She is already making some small connections,

          newly being made a gold weaver and a mender.

          She smiles openly into your eyes

          for she has come to drink

          the sweet, red juice of God.

          It is the wine of Christ's blood.

          She can drink it out of the light of her dog's eye

          for she sees that dog is all love!

          See, he laps up life from her eyes and becomes!

          as she mirrors his mirror

          in the mirror of the Sun.





                       THE HUMBLE WINDOW CLEANER


                       Polish and shine.

                       Spit and polish and shine;

                       upon the scaffolds of faith he stands

                       (polish and shine)

                       and sings his joy!

                       Polish and shine,

                       polish and shine

                       until an inwrought radiance

                       shimmers through the glass.

                       And its reflection is seen

                       as a diamond-like dawn

                       rising in every leaf,

                       in every eye.






                     SAY YES!


                     Say yes,

                     sinking down to the deep door.

                     At the slow rapping

                     of silence,

                     say open.


                     Say thank you

                     and I love you

                     and listen to the eternal echo

                     say, "Thank you",

                     and, "I love you."

                     Then know that you too have been

                     a wondrous echo in time

                     of that eternal voice.


                     Say yes to your own back door,

                     --that place of hidden sunrise--

                     and flashes of eternal day will be in your eyes.


                     Say yes to night

                     and rest in starlight,

                     content in faint starlight,

                     loving pale starlight,

                     because, though it is dim,                     

                     it is ancient light.

                     And a light older than stars

                     shall rise.








                    There is a musical way to the truth

                    for truth is musical.

                    As musical as God is.

                    Whose being harmonizes?

                    Who connects all things in wonder?

                    What spotless mirror

                    shimmers unbrokenly everywhere?


                    Light is silent music.

                    When light sings silently

                    through our loving eyes

                    all creatures join the song,

                    for every cell of every body

                    is made for the music of the light.


                    See the dancing dog

                    being loved into eternity!

                    See the swallow sing as it sails the melodious breeze.

                    See the leaping dolphin always laughing in its love.

                    Hear the whale's intelligent song--it is a lullaby!


                    The prayer that does not beg

                    but believes God courageously,

                    starts the prancing horse

                    dancing down trails of starlight.


                    Can you love a pig into heaven?


                    The Kingdom is here!

                    The Kingdom is here!

                    The music of God is singing clearly!


                    Where love burns in a tree:

                    that tree's leaves heal.

                    Where love flows within a river:

                    that water makes bind eyes see.

                    Where a farmer loves his little lamb:

                    that lamb saves him.

                    Were a lion is beheld in the fear of awe:

                    the King of Creation is revealed.


                    Oh Lord, Thy Kingdom Come On Earth

                    As It Is In Your Heaven!

                    Where God is all in all in all!


                    Oh hie dee-do dee fiddle dee dee,

                    the creatures of God are in love with me.

                    Oh hie dee-do dee fiddle dee gin,

                    creation is loved--Let The Music Begin!





                     THIN BROWN WOMAN WALK WITH ME


                     Thin brown woman

                     walk with me.

                     and sing your ancient earth song.

                     And listen to the wild geese in me,

                     tell you sky cries

                     and what is in the wind.

                     (Your warm brown eyes, they nurture me.)

                     I wish to slowly walk with you

                     that we might together tell

                     what things must happen

                     for high sky fire to seep into earth

                     and mingle with the deep fire

                     I see smoldering underneath

                     the thin skin of your eyes.








                     Wake up Grandfather

                     that we might think in starlight,

                     and in that soft, silver-light

                     talk of He whose flock is the stars.

                     We shall ask nothing of Him

                     but the beauty of His eyes

                     and that soft, feminine glory

                     of dark, moist skies.







               Down in the depths of all things

               is the Word,

               that seamless eternal miracle

               which is the yearning,

               the creative longing

               of God to be enfleshed,

               to be loved, known

               and liberated freely

               by his free creatures

               into His own creation.

               Dive down deep.


               We must create time

               for diving.

               The sin of man

               is the negation of the deep

               and its luminous language.

               Diving is God's way,

               to find God's Christ

               and to liberate Him

               for the world.

               For we are faith creators:

               meant to liberate him into sky,

               into the core of a tree,

               into the eyes of a cow,

               into the face of a lion,

               and the heart of a child....

               But we are a frenzied race,  

               water bugs skittering about

               upon the surface of things,

               enamored by shiny reflections

               on the tension of the surface.

               And so, we do not dive.


               Down then together

               to where the Spirit is surging up

               freely through the depths

               into the high pure longings

               of the luminous Word.


               Down deep, below forbidding icy currents,

               divers know that waters turn warm and luminous.

               There are soft, kind eyes watching there

               when the ebony depths burst their bottoms out

               swiftly into translucent skies;

               when water currents become wind

               and bright fish transfigure into birds.


               We are a strange race,

               so squared against our own good.

               We are a bent race,

               undone safety pins no longer holding up

               the diapers of our minds.

               We spill our mental load on the ground

               and make the air feculent      

               with the waste of our lives.

               To not think luminous thoughts

               is to leave luminous deeds undone;

               to silence light-born words

               is bent!


               Down to where the pearls are then!

               Let us be pearl divers!

               Breathe your breath and dive deep.

               The priceless pearl is clear and silvery

               in the throat of a yawning shell.

               Believe in diving and dive

               down to where turquoise waters break out into wind.

               Can you hear bright fish singing?


               We must dive down to save the one who saves

               and liberate the one who sets us free.

               He waits for us to venture down

               to where He is manacled at the bottom of our sea.

               We have bound him there

               with the irons of our beliefs

               for we have dreamt the wrong world!

               Down then, come let us go together

               to where the Spirit-tide is surging!


               We will break His chains

               and His ancient gleaming tides of light will

               burst out into the world 

               and fragrant fountains will burble out each eye.         


               Then full tides will coarse

               to uncrinkle every withered body,

               and tides will surge through every crimped mind

               unwrinkling crumpled souls

               suddenly flushing secret spirit pains away.


               And bright birds will burst out praising everywhere,

               loosened in God's watery winds,

               on drumming wings they will descend with sudden singing,

               beating down into our throats!


               Down then, let us go together

               to where the Spirit is surging

               from the depths

               with the high pure longings

               of God's luminous Word!  





                               TOUCH ME


                               Touch me

                               and you will touch a miraculous

                               mask of flesh.

                               Love me

                               and you will uncover flashes and shadows

                               of my soul.

                               Love God through me

                               and I shall become

                               a momentary mirror of the sun.







             A rooster strutted on a rickety fence.

             Gray hush was on the fields,

             broken occasionally by the dark voice of a bird.

             The rooster opened his yellow beak, panting for the dawn,

             and rolled his red eyes up to the dim morning sky.

             Suddenly his crow zigzagged like lightning across the yard

             and struck the ears of a young carpenter

             whose eyes quietly rolled inside their lids

             as his mind shifted from dreams to reveries.

             Light was fluttering through his mind like pale birds.

             He opened his eyes from that light

             to the slow growing light of day.

             "Ah, God again,"

             he spoke, and the still air shuttered.

             He arose, wrapped linen around his waist

             and poured water from a pitcher

             into a clay basin.


             Rivulets ran from his hair as he walked out

             into the first burst of sunlight

             which painted the courtyard gold.

             He stared briefly into the low streams of light,

             water beads glistening in his beard.

             Mary came from the house with his robe.

             Her almond eyes were soft, still murky with sleep.

             She touched his wet hair and smiled.


             He took his robe and smiled at her,

             then walked out into the gray mists

             laying upon the fields of Nazareth.


             "Hear, Oh Israel, the Lord our God is one!"


             The Words leapt out of the dawn like golden lions!

             He flung his arms to the sky as his knees sank into the furrows..


             "And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,

             and all your soul, and all your might..."


             The great, golden lions were upon him, devouring him with light.


             And throughout the town, which stirred awake behind him,

             shadows of the words skittered about like gazelles. 


             "And you shall love your neighbors as you love yourself..."

             the shadows quietly cried.


             There, upon his knees, with his face upraised,

             bathed in light, he outstretched his arms like wings

             and let the lion's voices tear upon him, roaring louder, louder,

             while the soft voices of the shadows

             kept on calling,        calling...







              When the towers fall and idols crumble

              and all the haters of truth

              shrink in the small dry shells of their illusions;

              when the devouring beast is revealed to be the beast

              as its surface beauty plunges away;

              when the light of the sun shines seven times as bright

              and the light of the moon blazes into the eyes--

              then shall a still small voice shout

              and thunder forth in absoluteness,

              and the word spoken shall be real!

              and turn the world upside down.


              When the quiet King comes forth

              in His full majesty beyond the shadows,

              and the shadow land melts

              in the fires of His Being,

              and the dark spirit-masters of deceit

              are blasted like billiard balls scattering

              --swarming like mindless gnats

              flung down an abyss of flames--

              then shall children

              sing to the sound of an angel's voice,

              and it shall be of such pure beauty

              that all souls will be recreated in the hearing.

              Then shall eyes open like windows open

              to the fresh wind and light of the golden rising.

              And faces shall began their endless shining.

              And bodies shall glow with the light of God's love.

              And Holy light shall feast in colors,

              and the colors shall weave into living garments

              to bedeck royal children with King's splendors.


              Then shall spiritual rivers flood down from the sky

              and the peoples shall drown in joy

              and die to death in the fullness of life

              as the shadows of delusion are extinguished.

              Then shall the merry Kingdom commence

              in the presence of the Universal King, our Maker!


              He who was crucified has fulfilled God's Word:

              the humbled are set free in a disciplined wind,

              and the pride of all evil is gone from the mind.





                        UPON GOD'S PRESENCE


                        Comfortable in flesh or out

                        the flame sits silently.

                        A wind blows over rocks and sea;

                        the child plays carelessly

                        as the spirit banters about.








                    Thought must partake of that shimmering fountain

                    beyond all thought.

                    The naked bride simply

                    dips into the sacred stream.

                    Limpid waters flow over the thighs and breasts

                    of her mind--

                    and she is clean.




                    A SONG AT THE EPOCH OF AGES


                    Sing the holy peasant

                    and the place of his work.

                    Sing the board and bed

                    and those who prayed a radiant book.

                    Sing those alive, though dead,

                    and what they've found and what they seek.

                    Sing of ages gone,

                    (and the common sin in which they floundered),

                    make your song lean

                    with truth and beautiful things remembered.

                    Recover where we must be going

                    from a dim, yet luminous past...

                    the values we must be

                    for our world to last.



                 DAY SLIDES IN


                 Day slides in as a smooth blue beauty

                 amidst the silent sound of a final star.

                 Cattle resonate the air with nasal noises.

                 An audible weaving is observed:

                 the burping of a bird;

                 the sharp rap, rap of a dog;

                 the creaking of duck wings in the cool yellow distance;

                 a coughing, black, "Caw, caw",

                 and then... God's alarm clock crows!


                 By creation's magic

                 the heart unfolds into a natural worship

                 as God designed.

                 I observe it in deepening sensitivities.


                 Yet, what is this? But how can this be?

                 Is this my own heart that is being poured out

                 as a smooth blue beauty

                 amidst the silent roar of a star?







                         IT ONLY TAKES LIFE AND DEATH


                         It's so simple

                         and so profound -

                         It only takes the fully unleashed working

                         of life and death:

                         God in my thinking;

                         God's order in my logic;

                         God's purposes in my reasoning;

                         God's wings in my imaginings;

                         God's truth in my speaking;

                         God's self in my longings;

                         God's care in my feelings;

                         God's works in my memories;

                         God's dreams in my hopes;

                         God as water in me cleansing;

                         God as rest in me refreshing;

                         God as fire in me burning;

                         God in my choosing;

                         God in my yielding;

                         God in my responding;

                         God in my doings;

                         God's glory in my creating;

                         God as my breath;

                         God's blood in my veins--

                         God as my life!






                        A WIND SONG


               The wind blows out of the gates of the heart

               and into the gates of the day

               and the lonely heart is blown apart

               and the sad heart withers away.

               For this wind laughs and this wind sings

               with all the good things that it brings,

               as bursting over the country side

               it pours through gates that open wide

               to take it back from where it starts,

               this wind that blows through the place of the heart.

               So back it flies through secret places

               where heart gates open to wind-blown graces.

               Then the wind blows out of the gates of the heart

               and into the gates of the day,

               and the lonely heart is blown apart

               and the sad heart withers away.







               These are meditations and are prayers,

               hot to hew slick stone

               in the places of the heart;

               to crease earth like the crooked plough

               and furrow deeper into the dark.

               These are meditations and are prayers

               with an inaudible roar, like a slight sea shell roar,

               yet sounding somewhere like blood frenzied bull rings.

               This is a bellowing below to the brilliance

               of He who broods above

               the terrible blinding sapphire of a flashing firmament:

               He whose fire-filled face has flooded

               out full-blooded creatures through the laughter

               of his lips; He whose being burns as burnished copper:

               for in his loins, and above his loins fumes a fire,

               and below his loins, flames fragrant fire!

               These are meditations to the mysteries there,

               where a crowd of inconceivable creatures fly full-flung

               like bolts of lightning in white oil.

               Six winged they are, and bizarre in meditations.

               The full force of a light-breathed wind bursts from their faces

               and exalts their piercing pinions heavenward.

               Ox-faced, they patiently plow the human heart.

               Eagle-faced, winds erupt up limitlessly

               under their wings to fling them unfurled

               through the radiant back-diamond-doors of wind-blown souls.

               Lion-faced, they pounce upon the sleep of us

               to devour our savory flesh and bones

               until light leaps up like a wounded tiger torn from the carcass.

               Man-faced, they graciously gather us in the quiet Kirk

               of kitchen gardens

               to tell us tales of momentous mundaneness

               which serves to steady the meticulous movements of stars.

               They speak, and their words are simple wheat and butter,

               silver needles slipping thread through garments,

               the cut of carpentry tools,

               the slice of a scythe through grass.

               They appear in the earth fume and fragrances of a barn.

               Hands from under their fabulous feathers

               clasp the quiet cow's udder, then stroke the blue ears

               and touch the matted muzzle of a mealy dog

               as they turn their sunshine gaze

               slowly up upon the cacophonous cries of the love-crazed children

               hilarious and high in the hay.


               All this constant, Yes! while the world spins on

               aching sick and aweless

               in a sloven slue...


               These are meditations and are prayers,

               to hew stone and turn the succulent soil

               with words hidden in the hot, fleshly

               flame of a human heart.



               sloven: untidy, dirty

               slue: to turn around a fixed point






                           I--BUT LIKE HAY


                           To start--the hay:

                           high blown--wind sought--

                           and born to climb cloud high.

                           I--but like hay--day gold

                           and yearning

                           of sun burning growth

                           to the green stalk--

                           till the dry

                           click of a sudden stick

                           of hollow hay

                           is wind torn


                           to the blue smear

                           of a sudden,







                         LUST IS A CHEAP EXCUSE FOR NOT LOVING


                         Ice bright,

                         the bellowing eyes

                         blow beauty out,

                         as the honey-filled breasts

                         rest in a milky gown.


                         Yet oil from the eyes

                         makes goose wing winds

                         whip over buttery yellow coals

                         until, blown white hot,

                         a virgin bird springs singing

                         out of fire into ears.

                         Then, hearing collapses

                         cold, checkered floors

                         and ice walls drop

                         down into deepening fires.





                        IN LOVE FRESH ZEALS

                        (On Spiritual War)


                        We stood on cold, glass mountains

                        and cracked ebony angels

                        with innocent fire

                        and shouts of Hosanna!

                        Sleigh-bell winds

                        shivered us with joys.

                        When fire falls silently

                        through frosted glass,

                        it booms out word-wise

                        to mollify

                        till the child is fresh.

                        When big eyes sing of huge worlds

                        and hot miracle making

                        above the chilled, silent walls of glass,

                        golden balls break leathery skulls

                        to let harmless children pass.








                           The seven sailing spirits

                           like silent candles stand

                           burning in the sweet mood

                           of God's good.


                           And in the uproarious light

                           of these sacred seven

                           God births beings

                           into bright Heaven.





                           TO THE RAPID RIVER 'ROUND US


                           Out from a quiet sea

                           flows the rapid river:

                           the motion of time’s change—

                           though now the secret, sacred center,

                           out of which God’s angels saunter,

                           to most of us seems strange—

                           still the rapid river runs

                           to merge with the quiet sea:

                           the source of all the Love to be.





                     MAN SHALL NOT LIVE BY BREAD ALONE


                     Can you smell the hot bread

                     of God's name?

                     Then let some warm, golden honey

                     flow from your heart

                     over His name.

                     Now eat the Name of God.







               A soft, consuming fire

               dreamt away the wood

               until all that remained

               were ashes, and the thought of wood.

               And the thought of wood itself

               was heat and light

               and had always dreamt of fire

               until the soft consuming flame

               came to burn away the wood and find itself.


               There grows upon high, distant mountains of glass,

               a radiant forest.





                        I AM A BUSY SPIDER


                        I am a busy spider

                        constantly weaving the web

                        of my own bondage:

                        a silken thread coming from my bowels

                        made of knowledge, accomplishment,

                        the identities men would give me,

                        the ones I greedily snatch:

                        ambitions, pride!

                        I creep around in the dark,

                        ugly, six legged,

                        a fat and frightening spider

                        climbing bent grass and crooked branches,

                        catching flies.

                        And yet, even while I busily attach

                        new strands of sticky web

                        to sticks and stones,

                        I gaze up to the skies

                        and watch beautiful birds soaring.

                        I can hear their singing,

                        and I think,

                        "If only a bird would swoop down and eat me.

                        Then I would be happy."

                        But, I fear the birds!




                         AS SHE SANG GERSHWIN


                         She sang

                         and God took her apart,

                         flesh from bone before my eyes.

                         I saw her sinews,

                         hair, breasts,

                         the inner chambers of her chest

                         moving out visually in the stream

                         of her song.

                         I journeyed into the house of her body,

                         on the emanation of her soul

                         which was like a beam

                         of brown and golden light

                         slowly rushing into my eyes.

                         God was wholly loving her body

                         --and she didn't know it!

                         This was all I was shown,

                         there, inside the song house

                         of her soul.



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