A Couple of Poems for the Night’s Fading Light

Thanksgiving the Day After

Thank you for liberty as license
in excess to
make us fat and stupid

like turkeys portrayed
as what they are not
but they taste sweet
like the memory of
what we lost

God Bless us for being a nation of assholes
in every country where
they don’t celebrate
what we have
lied ourselves into believing
was representative of our gratitude

irony is
the cranberry sauce
and the gravy lines the arteries
of our super highways
in the portable mashed potatoes
of wide load bodies
yearning to be free

where our children are pierced with
navel rings
and tongue studs
the one hidden in folds of flesh
and the other hardening Daddy’s
fat cock
while mom cruises the aisles of the
open 24 hours Giant supermarket
in a Valium haze


I been searching

I been searching every day

and generating vipers
like The Bible in hiphop
done by Snoop Dog and
dressed by Diddy
and available in Spanish
and Braille for those who
need to touch what they can’t feel and

joined at the hip to
the country we fought to achieve
independence from
who never stopped running the show
and who joins us now
in another nation where
death is the technicolor
dream coat

and we like it better from behind
with a reach around than
we do on our backs and looking
into the face of the rapist
who made sure that the only people
walking on the sea of Gallilee are
Palestinians running too fast to sink

Yeah, I got your
gratitude swinging
I got your illuminated text
and the bloated bodies that
Rumi might have mentioned
if he had been Nostradamus instead

or Nosferatu
in the White House where
they don’t get mentioned

We hold these truths to be

we hold these dark woods and
serial killer drop zones in the
ice plants along the sides
of California freeways to be

I wish I had a country to love
I wish I hadn’t died in the loading zone
I wish I had not
shit in one hand and
wished in the other

I wish

I wish

I wish

we thank you lord for these blessings we
are about to conceive
with no kind of fucking justice
in thrall
to the Homeland Security pigs
in the hall.

(there was another Thanksgiving
that wasn’t on Thanksgiving where my
Mom made me hotdogs because the chili
the family was having for dinner on the
night I got back from the hospital
was too spicy for my 12 year old stomach ulcer

that I got because
someone was so angry and cruel
that I
burned my insides out

I lost it-

for awhile before
I even knew it was there

my health
my life
my heart broken inside

I cried

I wept

I died

My father called me a
special privileged character
he whipped me
like a dog

that’s what I got for Thanksgiving

that’s what I got

that’s what I got
for Thanksgiving every day
and he was a soldier for life
in the army that protected
the land of
fat blessings
for which Thanksgiving is the
day before shopping is celebrated
and the day after the two day wait to shop)

and succotash
cartoons and life
animated characters poping up out of the sidewalk and one of these days

one of these days

“ba ba bada ba bada ‘bing’ that’s all folks.”

cartoon spiral sucked back into the real spiral
“buddha budda budda” said the machinegun scream

“Down on your knees!”

“Good grief, it’s Daddy!”

For these gifts we are about to receive
from a god that looks like John Wayne Gacy in a clown suit
on a bed of clouds with handcuffs

we thank you god for the rain of fire that
we richly deserve
more for the fundies and missionaries than
we do for the porn

What does it take to paint sugar water under the
eyes of starving black children for
photo-ops in a Banana Republic Safari Suit?

the same thing it takes to be in charge of
exploited children
the same kind of photo-op
of men congratulating themselves for
killing half a million people
so that
their buddies in supply and demand can
make enough weapons to defend the bottom line

I am thankful
on Thanksgiving that
I am not you
and grief sticken too that
you are a part of me
Here in the pumpkin pie wilderness of
the land of the free.

Patrick Willis narrates:
Thanksgiving The Day After

In Dreams of Appetite

fast asleep
coiled at the base of life
the love of self and its reflection-

the dreams of appetite…

twined one about the other
one and the same
endless longing for expression
to be reabsorbed and born again

like Nicodemus
the mind asks stupid questions
the unknown
is just that


and the reality of things always
more simple than we can understand
amidst the clamoring of-

the dreams of appetite

oh…for what a length of time…
with nothing to measure itself against
except itself
and emptiness
the grand empyrean arched
and bottomless
from which falls
the fiery rain

there in the cauldron of confused
and ever changing shape
came forth whatever was wrought
by fear and delight

fantastic beasts
and languorous Venusian witch
to dance
amidst the purity and squalor of-

the dreams of appetite

where is the solid ground?
swallowing sands swell the invisible winds
and serpentine funnels race
through the carnival ruins of
the wreckage left
from the battle for survival in-

dreams of appetite

how we mourn the passing of the patterns
in the kaleidoscopes twist
what special meaning has any one-
among all the rest?

when the colors go
only the backing screen remains
that…is the sum of it….
…across the face of which
parade the wizards and fools who
pursue the mist.

a temporary focus
and uneasy sleep

In dreams of appetite

nowhere to stop
to stop is to forget
beyond galaxies and
beyond that…

homeward past bright angels
whose work is to refine
all circumstance and substance…

guardians of the soul
at that fearsome banquet-
the featureless night
the black table upon which are served-

the dreams of appetite

bardot upon bardo
from Paris to Tibet

elusive spirals
the upward swing into illuminated rooms
where imagination serves us best
but cannot prepare us for
the splendorous rites
performed by those abstaining from-

The dreams of appetite…

far in the unremembered past
there is a music like coursing blood
a shine without shadow
a milk of self forgetting
a rising, rushing wind of living song

it is the provocation of all longing
the unknown source of every want
to be achieved in silence
under lustrous love-hewn stars
silence has
prevailed upon the world
with all its might

whatever world there may have been-

in dreams of appetite…

Patrick Willis narrates:
In Dreams of Appetite

There is No Injustice

There is no injustice

There is often the extreme nearsightedness

of selfish intent

for as long as i stand here
and you stand there

the appearance of difference
is the God divided

and worshiped from a bloody altar
that man has built to his own dark needs

everything moves
toward a unity
gone missing

time and time again

until pain has brought forth the blossom
of loves symmetry
there is no injustice anywhere
there are no innocent bystanders
there are no accidents
and being sorry doesn’t help

its not your fault
it may not even be wrong

who knows…?

whose view is vast enough
that passing time does not soon compromise
their line of sight?
who sees well enough

to leave well enough

beautiful bubbles break inside the oceans foam
the water leaks into the sand
then swims away unseen

the wind stirs the leaves
the grass grows
the bees make honey
the fish laugh beneath the surface
and the horses gallop forever beneath the waves
that will never free them

it is only longing
and there is no injustice anywhere

clouds float by like dreams in a peaceful sleep
and the sky is blue
and the sun is brimming with life
and the moon is pregnant with form

and the coyote howls
and the eagle screams
and longing and hunger will never end

desire is the agent of Gods will

and there is no injustice anywhere

the light changes
and gridlock comes
and the car horns honk in Hells unfinished symphony

where the smoke from hidden fires
rises from the manholes and grates
as Jesus blows on his hands in a broken stairwell

with Bethlehem two thousand years away

its going to be a long night

but there is no injustice anywhere

the heat blisters the streets in these cities of wanting
the mad fire dance
the insane dervish in a suit

it fries the palate
all sense of taste is gone

it burns the bowels

and turns the earth an alkaline white
devoid of life

here in the pushing crowd
where loneliness is king
where no one makes love
but are only ashamed

and cannot speak

eyes do not meet

the money changes hands
but never the heart
nor the mind

a place
is what takes place

if you want something else
then go somewhere else
love will only be a problem for you here

It is incredible
and it is insane
it will not get better
it is supposed to be this way

a million years ahead
or a million years behind
t’was ever thus
the city is the same

the drama does not change
the cataclysm comes
and the fiery rain
vaporizes the stage
so that it might all begin again

and there is no injustice anywhere.

Patrick Willis narrates:
There is No Injustice

The Big One

You want it don’t you…?

You sit so still and quiet

But I can see the squirm

The raw need

The need to do something

The need to be somebody…

You know there’s a price right?

I suppose you have something to offer…

I mean… that’s why right?

And you’ll be good to people when you get there

Won’t you?

Just like all the people that came before you.

You’ll be a decent human being won’t you?

You want it don’t you…?

Don’t grab….

That’s not nice….

Didn’t your mother teach you not to grab

You know, for a moment there you looked like…

Raw need isn’t a pretty sight.

But it will do

Were you told you were a special child?

You were weren’t you?

It is a real drag when they lie to children.

Worse for the rest of us when that child grows up.


In the world of essential MLM

In the world of smoke and mirrors

In the place of money and power

In the place of finalizing dominating sex

You know you got to be a bottom…

If you want to be on top.

You don’t have to feel bad about what’s gonna be asked of you

It’s an acquired taste

And you will acquire it

Easiest thing in the world

And you don’t have to worry about what it looks like to the angels

Angels don’t come into it

You’ll be dealing with a different sort here

We like you that way

This realm

This plane

You want to play here?


There is a fundamental reality

And a necessary stripping away

Of certain components that would interfere with

Your ability to play here

Certain notions you have to give up

Certain ideas about the right thing to do

This kind of thing can confuse you to the point

Where you will fail in this world


Miss out on the other…

Now I know you don’t care about the other

Or you wouldn’t be talking to me

After all, you are in this world aren’t you?

Well then baby

This is all the world you need

So we need to just lighten up on the things

You don’t need in this world

The things that will hinder you and

Hold you back

The fact is

You’re either all the way this way

Or all the way that way

In between comes the thresher with the big teeth

Many many have come before you

And many more will come again.

It’s always the same thing

The system is solid

Either way.

You know when you have sex

It becomes a dining area?

Well, that’s not important for the moment

What you need is

That Chase advantage

You got to get

That Chase advantage

Got to

Sign up and let the big one suck you off

Sign on

Donors get in line

Let the big one suck you off this time

Plasma for the war…

Oh yea

I’m gonna let the big one suck me off this time

I’m gonna let the big one suck me off this time

Get that Chase advantage

Get ahead of the pack

Get the smell of the hunt

I’m getting hard in the pocket

Hey son, let me connect that socket and…ooooeeeee!!!

Let the big one suck you off this time

Let the big one suck you off this time

All the buyers and sellers

Of stuff and of self

Along with the bankers and brokers

And interceding priests,

All the consumers and the consumed

All the press and the products

All of everything that comes into form

All of the manifest that was ever born


The except

But you’ll see the disclaimer at the bottom

And be sure and read the terms of use

All gonna suck a big one this time

All of them waiting at the front of the line



That really big one

They’re gonna suck it all this time


Gonna suck a big one this time

Get that Chase advantage

Get that Rockefeller edge

Get the big one behind you

To push you off of the ledge

David’s got a cup of hot widows’ soup

Gonna foreclose on a few lifetimes

And get the big one to suck him off this time

One day when the kingdom is blazing

With that great big Fourth of July

And everyone understands just what they are celebrating

Maybe we could get the black hole in space

To give us a little real deep lung time

And there’s another in Calcutta that will

Work just fine

Ah, what the fuck-

And never mind

We’re gonna let the big one suck us off this time

Suck us off to notness

Suck us off with no forgiveness

And fuck us up the ass at the same time

Celebrities and wannabees

Get in line

Cause when the big one sucks you off

You have no regrets

Man, everyone forgets

When the big one sucks them off

When the big one blows Stardust on their horn

There’s only one selection on the jukebox

You can’t hear the breaking glass

Or feel the impact of the windshield

At the moment of the crash

Did I mention?

The big ones got your attention…

You are moving through the line

The Game Boy is your mind

Plugged into the action

You lost your taste for Campari

When you found out that Tinker Bell was a man

But you’re waiting in the darkness

With your pants around your ankles

With your passion in your hand

Dreaming of a kinder gentler land

With the big one hard at work

Yea! Oh yea baby!!!

HARD at work

Good and HARD

For this portion of this lifetime

Waiting on the big one

To blow you right the fuck out of childhood

And every tricycle it rode in on

Get that Chase advantage

Mr. Rockefeller gonna treat you just fine

No memory

No tomorrow

No highway left behind

The way they came is gone

They’ve formatted the mind

(At the prompt type Y. Warning, you are about to remove all data from your system. Do you wish to proceed? Oh yes, oh yes!!! Oh God Yes!!!)

Maybe just one cigarette

A few bobby pins

A lighter and

A subway token

No heart will be left unbroken

One hallway full of shadows

Wet concrete and the chittering of rats

Gunfire and weeping in the distance-

too great to define

There may be some disappointment


The big one sucks you off

Just turn your head and cough

And get that Chase Advantage

Get 0 percent Interest

No payments till the end

This offer will be repeated

Act today

Do it now

Felators are standing by

They’ll be kneeling in a minute

Everything includes everything

No waiting

No waiting

No waiting

No waiting


So, you’re okay with that?

And you know about the quid pro quo?

You know once you get rid of those items

Nothing you do will have any further effect on you.

The reason we called you in

You look like you know

What’s going on

And you don’t mind


Most people

We don’t even have to talk to them

They get right on board and

Don’t even ask where the train is going

They think the smoke trails are coming from the engine

But you’ve got management potential and

We think you can help us with the boarding

Make sure there are no empty seats

And every now and then you get to step in and be

The Big One

At the cosmic glory hole

And remember

You’re draining into your own bank account

And the financial apparatus that

Makes the whole thing move

And shake

And bake

And that makes all of us here

(I know I can speak for all of us when I say this)

That makes all of us here just

A little more motivated

A little more ‘into’ it

We’re all about satisfaction here

Some of our biggest customers are

Some of our biggest customers


In the end

Either way you go

Whichever side of the helix

You got to get down on your knees

Either way

On the one hand

It’s just all about longing

On the other hand it’s all about getting to it


And keep in mind


I’ll be turning into an angel

At the given moment

Be not deceived

Patrick Willis narrates:

The Big One

The Big One from samwise on Vimeo.

911 Dreaming of a World of Flesh


in a world of flesh

sees flesh only

the heart and the mind may suspect
but still too often
flesh only

back of the flesh in the world of gears
manipulated triggers pull at the limbs
that dance in the world of flesh

and the high art of fraud
are an easy task
in the world of flesh

and the tumbling bodies hit
and the dust rolls in clouds from the streets
but another dust comes
from the smoke machines
and the mirror exchange of the press

some say the Arabs were angry that day
some say there’s more to the ruse
beneath the veils are a number of things
has put to good use

other intentions have come through the fire
and now they would burn the world

the convenient timing

the fabulous deaths

the great down winding
diminished regrets

in the unseeing world of flesh

now comes
the junk and the tedious songs
on and on
ad nauseum

the Twin Towers Watch
the speeches and banners

“on Comet and Cupid”

and Tiny Dancer

the peacocks are fanning

the demagogues struttin’

the survivors are jostlin’

through cables and grips

very important envelopes of flesh will
inflate their gills
with the shimmering scales of eminence

and gravitas

and their importance as flesh



and… remind you… of that

it goes on forever

it lasts for an age


for the flesh

that encompasses space in a world of flesh

forget Rwanda,
Sierra Leone

the Congo?

where that’s at?

I lost my cell phone

where’s my goddamn latte?

is this lettuce fresh?

it’s so hard for me
in this world of flesh

no one understands what it’s like
for ME!

no one understands!

I don’t understand

“why can’t we all just get along?”

in the world of flesh

in the world of flesh

flesh expands and presses out over the clothing
and all restraint

flesh billows with the fruit of appetite

the soft melting encapsulated lard
of chewy TV goodies

and somebody


blew up the church of the flesh

the goalposts of the empire of flesh
came down

the towers of flesh motivating upwards

the upwardly mobile flesh


the lightening struck tower



now walk with me…
take a walk with me…

behind the world of flesh

back into the gears

back behind the tech’s

behind the bankers

behind the money

behind the images

behind the ideas

behind the numbers

and behind the initial divide

far from the world of flesh you have

the uninvited guest

the forgotten lover

the fruit of desirous quest

someone forgot


a lot of fragmented flesh puppets forgot

a whole lot of somebody
seriously forgot

to invite God into the world of flesh

and God showed up anyway

like the sword

as the spirit-
informing matter of it’s presence

but it will never do to look for truth in the rubble

it will never do to think in terms
that flesh cannot accept

it will never do to consider
the absolute precision of the act

the fluid grace

that caught everyone flat footed
with a stupid look on their face

things can only be a certain way in the world of flesh

the impermanent flesh demands it

the vanishing melting vulnerable flesh is trumpeting

and cannot hear beyond it’s own noise

the flesh is God unto itself

in the land of stuff

where stuff is God

there is never enough
there is NEVER enough…

just the wanting of the flesh
in a landscape of desired things

the temporary paradise on disappearing wings

rage on flesh


wrap yourself in the colored images of dream

wrap yourself in the vain exhortation

wrap yourself in the clamoring

clanging detuned symbols
of the empire of flesh

and laugh

and weep
and carry on

it is never a moment too soon
in a world that is too soon gone

one should never disturb the dangerous dreams
of the lords of the kingdoms of flesh

the heart and the mind may suspect

but they can’t get there yet

the tiny voice in the silence may speak

but cannot be heard

not in the world of flesh

sometimes a greater noise is needed

from the lover you have forgotten

the lover
has not forgotten

I know you’re in there….





I know you’re in there…

hidden in a world of flesh.

Buried in a world of flesh

Patrick Willis narrates:
9/11 Dreaming of a World of Flesh

His Rachel Corrie Moment (In Memory of Asma al-Mughayr)

the cross-hairs fix
across the rooftops

wind from the south-
….five knots

and leading
across the space where birds
have flown

but now
in the cold Ashka-Nazi eye

the young girls form
moves in laughing dance

arms gathering the laundry
she dreams
and surely she must hope
of a world and a life beyond today

as finger tightens
upon trigger…

when it came
the explosion was

of such a force that…

he came too

like Romeo’s ghost upon
the imagination’s palanquin of night

the bearers of the darkness
they toiled
underneath the thrust

of bullet and finger touching
the silenced heart

blood like a fountain
sprayed upon the sheets…

….some secret code
that she read as
she fell dying to the roof


his Rachel Corrie moment come
round at last.


Patrick Willis narrates:
His Rachel Corrie Moment –
(In Memory of Asma al-Mughayr)


Should the Japanese Apologize for Pearl Harbor?

[I wrote this a few days after I saw that Congress was trying to pass a resolution on the fiftieth anniversary to request that Japan apologize for Pearl Harbor.]

“Should the Japanese Apologize for Pearl Harbor?”

the Japanese were not the first
to bomb Pearl Harbor
we were

so i think the Japanese should apologize for Pearl Harbor

just as soon as we apologize to the Hawaiians
for bringing the mosquito and yellow fever
killing thousands

for bringing venereal disease

for the horror of sugar cane

and purple mountains travesties
above the looted plains

for sabotaging the beaches with kiawe thorn trees
to force the natives to drape their bodies
from the hot gaze

of their twisted
christian missionary eyes

i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as America
apologizes to the Japanese Americans
for interning them in concentration camps

and as soon as Richard Nixon’s Quakers apologize
for stealing their properties

(which were left to them in trust to be returned upon their release
which they were not)

I think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as we apologize for Hiroshima and Nagasaki

(still simulated every year at a Texas airfield)

i will always remember how the blast fused their shadows
into the building walls


i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as we apologize to the Native Americans
for the ruin of their culture

the theft of their lands

the whiskey and infected blankets

the destruction of their hunting grounds

and for stripping them of all humanity and dignity


i think the Japanese should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as America apologizes
to the African Americans

for slavery




hobblings and brandings

pretended emancipations




the slandering
and murder of their heroes

i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
just as soon as America
apologizes to Cambodia

for 3640 B-52 bombing raids
and 110,000 bombs dropped
during a war that never took place

and for backing Pol Pot
as the legitimate representative of the people

(i remember to this day
the pyramid mountain of skulls outside Pnom Phen)


i think Japan should apologize for Pearl Harbor
as soon as Attila apologizes to Rome

Salome apologizes to John the Baptist

on the day that politicians become honest
bankers become generous

no fault applies to love

and the Pope shits in the woods

and should be delivered to the White House

by a woman on ice skates

ten minutes after Hell freezes over

Visible and The Critical List: La Vierge Sperme Danceur by Les Visible and The Critical List♫ Frogman ♫
‘Frogman’ is track no. 2 of 8 on Visible and The Critical List’s 1987 album
‘La Vierge Sperme Danceur’

About this song (pops up)

La Vierge Sperme Danceur by Les Visible and The Critical List

If I were Inside You

I could form a garden from the wind
Make it stay for your enjoyment
Then turn it back again
If I were inside you

If I were inside you
I would not move
It seems so slow
But you would move
I know

Heaven and Earth

You would be the gate
And they would be the same

Flaming letters would write your name
Upon every living thing

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
I would expand
Till you could not contain

Thunder would break the sky
And lightening would flash

There would be rain

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
The door of everything
Would open
And we would rock upon the water
Till the sea gave up the dead

The fire in my heart
Would be the sunlight in my head

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
Every pore upon your skin
Would open into rainbows
That would tremble and dissolve

Over and over again

If I were inside you

If I were inside you
Because you let me in
I would fold my tent forever

Hell would curl up at your feet
And go to sleep

And I would never leave again

If I were inside you

Patrick Willis narrates:
If I Were Inside You


i have known love
and tasted both delight and sorrow
there on the dark altar of the night

and in the end it did not matter to me
no more than the promise of fortune or revenge
i remained a pauper,

poorer from this multitude of desires
and i am no more wise nor more skilled
by that to which i never gave more than half my heart
because my attention was Elsewhere
always Elsewhere…..

In some Jamaica of the mind,
peering like a dream miniature over a gulls wing
drinking in the sun drenched waters
of another endless ocean

the summer cliffs of Big Sur
wandering in deserts
hitching the nowhere highway
like Quixote in Spain
dreaming of Elsewhere

tracking the Elsewhere
a place i can barely visualize
barely trace the outline
like some blurred face on an old coin

yet it never leaves me for a moment
it penetrates my every thought
until nothing is more important
than to be Elsewhere
to be
where it is

like Marcellus
who won the robe
and was burned to the soul when he put it on
they say the love of God is like a consuming fire
and he could not rest
until it had consumed him

there has been laughter and tears
and visions
and descents into the dark splendor
more than a few times
to educate the serpent in the spine
who is neither good nor bad
but both


i have observed

is consistently anything

nothing but the truth
which cannot be observed

everything in time
turns to its opposite

day to night
hot to cold
the hope of youth into the resignation of age
and the hell of a compromised life

the loyalty of anything
leads ultimately to betrayal
where does one stand…?
on what?
And for what?
we let such little things destroy us
we do not see the Elsewhere
i have never held anything completely

there is a place…
i know it without question
it is the highest note above the keening of the wind
it is beauty and despair
it is the suffering spirit in the house of the rich
it is Lazarus at the palace gates

it is
and i am
and one of us is displaced

nothing is harder than to get there

i write these words because i am in love with it
somehow i am marked by it
too much has happened in this life
too much that can not be explained

of course
it could be only the arrogant mind
that imagines for itself
a high destiny

but my dreams are not of golden plunder
ten thousand horsemen
or a high throned kingdom
though real fame does intrigue me more than the rest
to be anonymous is best
i have seen his name attached to many things

i dream of freedom and
bright sunlit rooms
beautiful faces that speak to me in music
who are they?
i have been here before
but not in this world
this world is only a shadow of it
quite simply shit
brushed with rainbows
that glow in the ghost light of a neon nightmare

can love be accomplished here?
the wind whistles through dead trees
and that is all the answer that this world gives me
and I,
like every other fool
have asked it more than once
out of boredom
to be enchanted and bewildered

lost at birth
abandoned in the great hall of mirrors
slowly borne down the continuum

in these mirrors i have seen my thoughts
the good and the bad
they are the moment
and what the moment says
is like the wind that whistles through dead trees

too many mirrors breed a carnival of despair

after a time
love becomes the supreme effort
it works in every small way
diligent to seal the cracks
through which devotion leaks
into complacency and death

such a love does not sleep
its power is from that Elsewhere place

there is a highway
and it is not separate from life
they are the same
each filled with exits and entrances
lined with attraction
and circumstance
that lead into every possibility of the imagination
none of them lead Elsewhere…

the wind that whistles through dead trees
and it is Elsewhere
at last
that brings us everyone to our knees

every stop on the highway
is another death
disguised as justified delay

it is so lonely on the highway
for on every side the only sound one hears
is the wind
as it whistles through dead trees

in the distance are the lights of town
there are warm seductive rooms
crowded with all the postures of approaching death
but in time
taking on the very appearance of life

time blurs the critical eye
and we see what pleases our reasons to stay
and we must stay
out of the fear of the meaning that comes
to one who listens overlong
and understands…

…that voice
like some great and solitary raven
perched atop a gutted skull
that is the face of the wind
as it whistles through dead trees

there is no forgetting after that
no drink nor drug can erase it
i have tried
believe me i have tried

in the end
there is some truth
to the mutterings
of those robed and cowled merchants of word magic

after a fashion there is some truth
to these phrases
“be here now”
“we are all one”
“let it flow”
“do what thou wilt”
along with all the others
do not believe them
they work for the bank

the truth is Elsewhere
has always been
and their words are the origin of the wind
that whistles through dead trees

so many imposters
they have taken us all
perhaps they believed what they said
perhaps they did not
they spoke of somewhere
but not of Elsewhere


i do not know
what I am about…

Elsewhere waits Elsewhere
and i wait here for Elsewhere
and i believe that Elsewhere will come to me

why else has it filled my every dream?
why else has it caused me-
consistently to fail,
from having given so little of myself
to every effort in this world?
from having found no ambition to be strong enough to fill me
from having loved nothing enough to forget how much
i wanted to be Elsewhere

there remain those small duties of life to attend to
those efforts i have overlooked
in my desire to be Elsewhere

not seeing that Elsewhere
forever retreats before desire

that Elsewhere
is just that place where desire ends

there are matters to attend to
and time to attend to them
and that is good
and very much like being Elsewhere
and in all of this

the sweetest of musics

the warning and the witness

and the heart of patience itself

is the whistling of the wind
through dead trees

in memory of Elsewhere

What is not Under Discussion

in your wet
jungle regions

in the undiscovered mystery of your skin
in the beckoning
in the squalor
in the given heart of everything

in your dark parlour

lies the mystery of becoming

a thing activated by and for
the endless expressions of itself.

sinuous and langorous
unique and

incestuously congressing with

the infinite permutations of itself

Saying hello

Waving goodbye

running its hand up your thigh


for the perpetuating image making
congregating pressure to become


to expand

to live in temporary splendor or

in the pursuit of one thing after another
as a veil upon the truth..


and generations of imaged beings overlay

and overlay

the white hot starlight at

the sweet silent center that keeps the kitchen warm
and puts the heat into your jeans at alternating locations.

Can you feel it?


Yes… it’s a mystery.

It parts its legs and the world appears.

The dynamics insist that the attractive impulse should be for the thing


apart from… and then…
into communion with elements and compounds
cooking up fiery chaos…

but rather does wisdom suggest
you keep your hand close to your chest
and your heart single
when division is death

Massive impetus…

incalculable pushing out and sucking in
that web of sunlight can grow sticky
and dense..

denser yet….

down into carbon oil and diamonds…

Wow! Look!

It comes out the other side again.

How comes the fire to be fiery hot?
What is the sensation of burning?
What makes water wet?
What is the nature of pain?
There are as many kinds of fire and
motivations …as definitions of gain

Yes it is a mystery

Things fall and things change

Things hurt and heal

Buddhas shimmer where the sun hits the water
Jesus glimmers in the virgin mind
Mohammed makes a tapestry
and all of it divine and moving on

sense and nonsense
thinking and feeling
pleasure and pain



It’s a lily pad
It’s a lotus
It’s all hocus pocus
Its a lie that depends on the I
see for yourself.

Sticky… sticky taffy…. sweet incandescent morsels of murk
flypaper… amber…

screams frozen in Time
Laughter, screams, laughter, screams
You pay for what you get
You get what you pay for…

You are the currency
the moment looking at itself
devoid of understanding the thing on which it rests
it seeks security against the inevitable

instead of shelter
the incomprehensible

Herein is the wicket and the key
and you’re on a Busman’s Holiday.

All of this
so simple and so intricate
hiding in plain sight
with or without light
does hinge on one thing…

one question…

is it conscious?

Are you?

Well then…

Nothing more need be added or done
Either it is or it is not

If not… then from where comes the capacity to question?


uh huh…

precious, precious jewels draped in cobwebs
tracked by ghost spiders

blind groping round the corners of the mind
while the buffeting distractions go on
without end
where? where?

slippery as a fish
monumentally present
overarching and




There where your treasures be
is each personal conclusion
at that point where the teapot
pours out the paisley and
makes a Persian rug or a dungeon keep.

Real Love

Love opens things
So love would hurt as much as heal
It would hurt first

Real love-
It would confuse, disarm, weaken and destroy
Everything in its way
Everything that was, in fact,
A part of you
That would conceal
Real love

Real love lasts forever
We do not last as long
until we become
real love

Real love has come to town
Six gun blazing in a town full of lies
Now is the showdown
The duel in the street
Real love is the only thing standing

Real love rides alone
Squints out of one good eye
Nails the coffin shut
Nothing got out alive
But real love

Real love is going to make you cry
Make it worse before it gets better
Tear you up inside

Real love-
Who would want such a thing?
It takes the atmosphere away
Breaks all your toys
Burns down your house
And steals your car
But you’re not going very far

Real love has got its hands on you
Burns from the inside out
Nothing left

Nothing but wide prairie
And huge commanding stars

You’ve never been so alone
You’ve never been so complete

Outside this golden ring
The cities burn forever

And you can never fall asleep

real love