Monthly Archives: March 2017

Origami Legend

The surrealist painters often took portions of each others paintings they liked and expanded on them, rearranged things, took ideas and ran with them. Basically, they riffed off of each other. My friend Alan, whose fine literary blog is here, took my Catacombs poem and did something similar. I love it as a response to the original, especially his use of much of the original language:

Origami legend!
Matador,
take cape in hand,
sweep the dirt.
Bull horn,
Moon horn.
No jumping out of the way.
Filled with turpentine
and salt brine …
We are the skeletons in our closets.

Catacombs

entering into legend
like an origami bull
is much different
than entering into life

****

to leave a light behind
begin by sipping
little bits of moon brine

****

ham and oysters
and turpentine words
in a crayon miasma–
a matador makes a mistake

****

most house skeletons
become bone slides
in time

Glasses For the Middle Eye

Once I found grizzly bear scat
in the middle of a trail I was hiking alone
two days and a boat ride from anywhere

wading flooded creeks,
climbing through chest-high devil’s club
wet clothes for days
it all made sense at the time

I wasn’t the first lonesome word miner
in those mountains though
Jack Kerouac’s fire lookout cabin
was a few ridges over

decades later the original
Dharma bum and I still
talk across the pressure ridges
the years have folded up between us

hey Jack, if the world had wheels, would you ride or push?

the sea speaketh, remember why’m a wave?

written any poems on your side of the Dharma wheel?

no time for poetry, but exactly what is…work from the pithy middle eye out

no, I think of poetry as a merchant ship, not a luxury liner

accept loss forever, man

I reach over and turn off the internal reading lamp
of visionary tics shivering in the chest
I am planning a trip to the Dharma bum’s fire lookout
I’ll let you know what my pithy middle eye
can see from there…promise