Echolalia

1) RED RIDING HOOD WITH AN AXE

One day Mother sent little Red Riding Hood off
to Grandma’s house with a basket of goodies, and
some medicine for Grandma’s herpes. To reach
Grandma Red had to go through the deep dark woods

and so she went, taking her axe with her. She did
this because no one with half a brain would go into
the forest without some protection of some kind,
and since she didn’t have any mace or tasers she

took her axe with her. So off she went until she
met a wolf, and the wolf said “Where are you going
little girl?” And Red said “I must be off my meds
again because that wolf just talked to me.”

“Yes I talked to you little girl,” the wolf replied,
“so where are you going?” “Well as you are
obviously an hallucination I see no problem
telling you I’m going to Grandma’s, though usually

my hallucinations aren’t this polite.” “And where
does Grandma live?” The wolf asked, because being
a wolf he didn’t know. “Oh, along this path here,”
Red said, and continued on her way, wondering

why her anti-psychotics weren’t kicking in as they
usually did at this time. So the wolf took a different
quicker path because Red didn’t like her Grandma
enough to rush over every time her Grandma called

and when the wolf got there he scratched at the door
and spoke to the Grandma saying he was Little Red
Riding Hood. And because Grandma didn’t remember
her own grandchild’s voice that well because she

didn’t like Red any more than Red liked her the wolf
got in and ate up the haggard old crone. Then he dressed
up in Grandma’s clothes because he was a transvestite
and took a nap comfortably while waiting for Red to

arrive. And when Red arrived and entered in she saw
the same wolf she saw on the forest path, only dressed
in Grandma’s clothes. “Damn,” she said, “I hate
hallucinations of Grandma as a wolf. Every time

I come here it’s the same mess, Grandma as a wolf
or Grandma as Satan, or Grandma as that creepy
woodcutter who watches me undress. Well I’ve had
enough.” And so saying she lifted the axe over her

head and smashed the wolf’s skull in two. And
when she came home she told her mother about sharp
teeth and big eyes and that Grandma was a wolf who
tried to eat her. Which was about as true

as Red could comfortably imagine considering her
schizophrenia and the fact that this was the fourth
time she had accused her Grandma of transforming
into something and trying to eat her.

Her mother just patted her on the head and didn’t
even care when she saw blood on the axe’s blade. It
wasn’t like she hadn’t seen blood on the blade before. April 7/09.

2) HOW JACK GOT HIS GROOVE BACK

Jack was going to market with a cow when a girl
stepped out the woods carrying an axe. “Howdy.”
He said. “Hey,” she said and waved and then for
absolutely no reason followed him.

He met a man who promised him magic beans
for the cow, and because the cow had mad cow
disease and shook like an epileptic badger he felt
getting beans was better than getting

nothing, and besides if the guy complained to the
cops Jack had the benefit of pointing out the guy
bought the cow for beans. So he took the beans
and the red hooded girl kept following

him, and when he came home and explained the
whole deal his mother seemed mildly sympathetic.
“But I just got one question.” “Yeah mom.”
“Why is this girl in my home?”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Red replied. “Well, my
mother got upset when I killed Grandma so she
kicked me out. Started walking and came here.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect.” Jack’s mother

said. “Stay here for now and we’ll call the
police in the morning.” “Sounds like a plan.”
Red said, and fell asleep in Jack’s bed, with Jack
sleeping comfortably beside her.

The next day Red decided to see if magic beans
did squat so she buried a few, but not all of them
beneath Jack’s window. A big beanstalk grew
up, and after Jack and Red had a shower

together they climbed up the beanstalk. At the
top was a land of clouds which violated several
laws of physics because they could actually walk
on those clouds. They came to a big castle

and thanks to Red’s axe they busted a nice hole in
the door and went in. Inside was a giant sleeping
and Red, crazy but not being stupid, climbed
up the giant’s leg to his inner thigh

and slashed a major artery causing him to bleed
out in less than a minute. Covered in blood she
came out and they searched the castle, finding
a goose that laid golden eggs,

a magic harp and the burial place of Jimmy Hoffa,
a man whose final resting place had become such
a mystery even finding his remains didn’t
answer the question of what the hell he was

doing in a fairy tale. After they were done Jack
and Red climbed down the beanstalk with enough
money to live comfortably well on for the next
century, and when Jack’s mother found out

she didn’t call the cops after all. As for the
remaining beans they were a great aphrodisiac
if ingested. Red and Jack ate them and didn’t get
out of bed for a week. After that they didn’t know

what next to do, but with a minor fortune they
thought it was time to see a little bit more of the
bigger world beyond their bedroom doors. April 7/09.

3) RAPUNZEL DON’T GET NO LOVING NO MORE

Rapunzel was sitting in her tower which she did
everyday, not having a door to let her out. The
old crone which kept her here explained how she
got Rapunzel after her father stole some plants

from the old woman. And so she was named
Rapunzel, which was the German word for heroin
because the plants he stole were opium poppies to
shut up his pregnant wife who kept complaining

about swelling in her ankles. At any rate along
came two people, a man carrying a sack and a
woman in a red hood carrying an axe. “Oh
perhaps my rescue has arrived.” Rapunzel said

to herself because after fourteen years in a tower
talking to herself was about all she knew how to
do. “Hello down there!” She cried, and the two
people looked up and waved at her. “Howdy!”

The red hooded woman said, “what the hell are
you doing up there?” “I’ve been locked in this
tower because of an old woman. Please get me
out!” “Yeah sure,” Red said, as much to herself

as to Rapunzel and looked around the place to
see how to get in. “Hmm, hey lover look at this.”
Red was pointing to all the briars and thorns
about the tower’s base. “Wow, someone really

doesn’t want to let her out.” Jack scratched his
chin and looked up at the window where the
very pale and only moderately attractive woman
was sitting. “Hey, how do you eat?” He asked.

“Everyday the witch who imprisoned me flies
on a broomstick and brings me food.” “Huh,
that’s a new one.” Jack got down on the grass
and motioned Red to sit beside him. “I don’t
like this,” he whispered to Red. “Why?”

He stuck out his teeth slightly and glared up at
Rapunzel again. “Well, I know what’s it like
not eating, and she doesn’t look starved to me.
You only eat once a day you’re going to look

get pretty damned hungry, and she don’t look hungry
at all.” “Yeah, and I noticed some blood on those
briars and thorns too.” Red said, hiding her face
under her hood when she spoke so Rapunzel

couldn’t see what she was saying. “I got a plan.
Follow my lead.” Jack got up and Red followed
and then Jack said as loudly and as proudly as he
could “I am the Prince of South-West Arabia

(Red rolled her eyes slightly at that remark)
and I am on a quest to find and marry a beautiful
princess from a neighboring land! Are you a
princess my dear woman?” “Oh course I am,”

she lied. “I am the Princess of South-East Arabia!”
“At last! My long quest is over! But how shall I
rescue you my dear woman?” “My hair. It’s grown
so long from never being cut that it must be as long

as the tower I’m trapped in. Here, I’ll roll it out
for you so you can climb up and rescue me.” And
down came a waterfall of golden hair, so golden
and luxurious Jack nodded knowingly at Red.

“Alright, I’m grabbing hold of the hair right now.”
And Rapunzel felt a tug on her hair, and she pulled
with all of her might to get the nice young man up
into her tower so that she could eat him, because

that was how she kept herself well fed when the
witch was away on her errands. But the more she
tugged the harder it was to pull the man up, and
the harder it was to pull the man up the more

painful it was to pull. “What’s going on?!” She
cried, and finally looked down out the window to
see what was going on. And there was all her hair
tangled in the briars about the tower, tangled and

tangled so badly that no one would ever untangle
them again. “What have you done!?” She screamed
and the venom in her voice told them both all they
needed to know. “Where are they?” Jack asked.

“Where’s what?” Rapunzel sputtered out. “The bodies
of course.” She looked stunned. “You aren’t a prince
are you?” she asked. “Nope. The bodies. Where are
they?” “Under the briars,” she said sullenly, and

downcast her eyes. It took Jack and Red two hours to
dig around the thorns to find the bodies of fifteen princes,
all of them little more than skeletons covered with all
manner of bite marks. “I was hungry,” she whimpered

after they were done excavating. “I know,” Jack said,
and nodded to Red who climbed up the tower using
Rapunzel’s hair. There was the sound of metal biting
into stone, and a scream. Then, a few minutes

later Red climbed down Rapunzel’s hair, and Rapunzel
followed her. “Why didn’t you kill me?” She asked.
“We’ve all done bad things,” Jack said, and looked up
into the sky a moment. “Want to come along? We’re

going to a castle for a ball.” “I’ve never been to a ball
before.” Rapunzel said. “First time for everything,” Red
said, but she looked forlorn. “The witch should be coming
soon,” Rapunzel said, looking up at the sky. “Okay, okay

Red.” She looked at Jack and smiled. “We’ll leave in
a few minutes. Oh, I’m Jack, this is Red, and what’s your
name?” “Heroine,” Rapunzel said, because that’s what
the witch always called her. “Heroine. I like it.”

And so the two went into the forest a moment while
Red climbed up Rapunzels’ hair, axe in hand, and
when the witch arrived there was the sound of metal
biting into stone, and a scream. Red climbed

down Rapunzel’s hair and no one followed her
down. And then the heroes went on their way again. April 12/09.

4) THE FROG PRINCE CAN’T CATCH A BREAK

Along the way to the castle the three heroes
spotted a frog in a pond, singing out loud,
lamenting his sad fate, because he was a frog.
However, he was also speaking in French

so no one had any idea what he was saying.
Finally Red hit him with a rock and said
“What the hell are you saying!? Either speak
frog or English, something I can understand!”

“She speaks frog?” Rapunzel asked. “It’s best
not to question some things.” Jack said. “Okay,
sorry, I’ll talk English. Better?” “Yeah, yeah
that works.” Red nodded in agreement as Jack

spoke. “Now what’s wrong?” Jack continued,
“Why the sad song?” “Once I was a prince,”
“Oh no, not another one.” Red moaned. “Quiet
Red.” Rapunzel replied. “Go on Mr. Frog.”

“Oh come on. This is the fifth magically
enchanted prince we’ve come across today
Heroine. First it was the magically enchanted
stork, then the magically enchanted beaver,

then the magically enchanted pussy, and after
that the magically enchanted cat. You two deal
with this one and I’m continuing to the castle,
okay? Damn, all those years thinking I was

schizophrenic and it turned out everything in this
god awful place is magical. All those anti-psychotic
pills for nothing.” And so saying Red continued
on her way, leaving Rapunzel and Jack with

the frog prince. “Now go on Mr. Frog,” Rapunzel
said, and the frog continued his story. “Once I was
a prince, but a witch transformed me into a frog
just because I kicked her accidentally, down a

flight of stairs, into my pit of ravenous wolves,
and wild boars, and one pissed off lion. For just
this minor mistake she made me into a frog and I
will remain a frog til a princess takes me home

and makes me her husband.” “Well, that can
be arranged.” And so saying Jack scooped the
frog into his sack and the two went on their way,
bypassing the troop of royal guards and a princess

playing with a ball, and further bypassing several
other princesses in a variety of bizarre situations,
each situation more bizarre than the last. One
princess they encountered had been covered

in fur because her father the king wanted to fuck
her as she was the most beautiful woman in all
of his kingdom. That princess Jack and Rapunzel
avoided, not only because of her daddy issues

but also because she covered herself in fur to avoid
being seen as a woman to anyone, even though
she worked in a brothel in the woods where most
men would have sex with anything walking on two

legs. Then there was the princess trapped in a coma
surrounded by seven short men, who were also short
eyes and had a fixation on young children. Jack
decided it would be considered rape if the frog

prince tried to marry her and so they left the brood
just as some handsome prince arrived, kissed the
woman and left because the cops did consider it
rape and this was the third princess that prince had

tried to “marry” that week. Finally there was a
princess who was herself a frog, and here Jack and
Rapunzel dropped the frog prince off. “Okay, if
you two marry both curses are broken. How’s that?”

Jack asked. “You jack ass,” both frogs said in unison.
“I won’t marry a creature as ugly as a frog!” “Red was
right, wasn’t she?” Rapunzel asked. “Yeah, she
usually is. But don’t tell her I said so.” And so

saying Jack stomped the two vain little frogs into
mush and he and Rapunzel went on their way to the
ball, where Red had found some trouble all on her own. April 12/09.

5) CINDERELLA NEEDS A GOOD KICK IN THE ASS

I. While Jack and Rapunzel were looking to turn a
prince into a man Red was at the ball, surrounded
by all manner of attractive princes, lords and ladies,
showing off her axe to all those gathered round.

“And then, just when the dragon came close enough
I could feel his hot breath on me I swung my axe
upward, right through the beast’s jaws. Down came
the dragon and ever after salamanders and turtles

have looked at me funny. But it was still worth it,
saving that poor tailor who almost gotten himself
killed fighting some giant. Took care of that one
too actually.” She paused a moment in deep

thought. “Never did get my money from that guy,
but he also had to marry some princess. I was
tempted a bit, but nah, not my thing. So, what
interesting happened in this kingdom?”

“Why, what do you mean?” The prince asked,
looking a little perplexed. “Oh come on, everywhere
I go I find damsels in distress, princes turned into
all kinds of animals, women on broomsticks, lawyers,

it never stops. So what catastrophic problem exists
here?” “There isn’t any problem here.” A nobleman
said. “Our kingdom has been quite peaceful for
many years.” “Wow. I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true great warrior.” A baron said. “Our land
has known peace for many years.” “How many years?”
Red asked. “Why, at least twenty great warrior.”
“Mmm, twenty years huh. I’ll make you a bet

prince,” Red said. “A bet great warrior?” “Yes,
and stop calling me great warrior. It’s annoying. The
bet is this: I bet there is some problem, probably a
woman who needs some kind of really serious help.

If I bring her to you will you give me a sack of gold?”
“If there is indeed anyone in my kingdom whose life
is unhappy and you show her to me than yes I
will give you a sack of gold. Should I also ask

for your hand in marriage?” “Nah, I’m in a good
place relationship-wise. But I got this friend named
Heroine. If you don’t mind unusual eating habits
you might like her for a roll in the hay. Anyhow

I’m outta here. I’ll be back tomorrow night for the
next ball. Oh, and when my friends get here don’t
mention my bet. They’ll just worry.” And so saying
not so little Red Riding Hood left the building.

II. Red scoured the countryside, then she scoured
the towns, and then she scoured the individual huts
til she came across a poor looking girl sitting in
the cinders all alone. She was crying and two

other girls were in the room, both looking haughty
but also very familiar. “Hey, those two sluts from
last night, the ones who almost gave the prince
a blowjob they were bowing to him so much.”

Red was on the roof of the hut, looking through
an open window and even though the other girls
should have considered Red’s bet they didn’t seem
concerned, or intelligent. Meanwhile the one in

the cinders was crying and moaning, looking
downcast and utterly pathetic. “Wow, I won my
bet way too easily.” Red said to herself. “I show
this sorry kid to the prince I get a sack of gold.

But this goes way beyond someone needing help.
This girl needs some balls. I can’t believe I just
said that.” And so Red waited til the two
arrogant but none too bright girls had left

and slid into the room headfirst, only to land at
the last second on her feet. “Who are you?” The
poor girl asked. “Are you a fairy of some kind?”
“No, you’re thinking about the wolf.”
“I beg your pardon?” She asked. “Sorry,

old joke, you wouldn’t get it. Anyway my name
is Red, and I’m here because I made a bet with the
prince of this land.” “A bet?” The girl asked,
looking more bewildered, if that was possible.

“Yeah, I said that if I could find a person needing
help then I’d get a sack of gold from him. Let me
guess, you’re twenty aren’t you?” “Why yes,
how did you know?” “I had a feeling.” Red said,

then continued. “Anyway, I was going to present
you to the prince, but as you are it’s just too easy.
I mean you don’t just need help, you need a
whole army of helpers to make your life

suck less.” “Well, I do have my animal friends.”
She said. “Animal friends?” At this the room was
filled with bunnies and mice and a few stray kittens.
“Where did they come from?” Red asked.

“They just show up whenever I say animal friends.”
All of a sudden two dogs appeared out of nowhere
and started licking the cinder girl’s face.
“Ooo-kay. That’s weird. Anyway, rather

than present you to the prince as is, I’ve decided
to help you out myself. I’m going to give you the
tools to make your life better.” “But what about
your bet?” She asked. “Ah that’s okay. I’ve

already got enough gold to last a lifetime. This
is more important.” And with that Red Riding
Hood began to teach Cinderella the art of war.

III. That night when Jack and Rapunzel arrived
for the ball Red was done teaching Cinderella
all she needed to know. And when the two met
up with her there was a broad smile on Red’s

face. “Oh no.” Jack looked down and grimaced.
“What did you do?” He asked. “Oh, I lost a bet.”
Red said. “What kind of bet?” Jack asked,
and when Red explained the whole thing he

groaned. “Well I think it’s kind of sweet what
she did.” Rapunzel replied, until Red mentioned
the prince and a roll in the hay. Rapunzel didn’t
know what to say, until she saw the prince.
“That’s him?” She asked. “Yep.” “Bye.”

And like a flash Rapunzel met her match, and
the two were dancing a few seconds later. “Think
it’ll work out for her?” Red asked. “Yeah, she’s
a good kid, deserves a break. Give her a month

and she’ll probably forget what human flesh tastes
like.” “Good. Oh, I forget to mention what happened
to Cinderella.” “She’s actually called Cinderella?”
“No Jack, of course not. Her real name is Beatrice.

But what with the cinders and all Cinderella is
what her stepsisters taunt her with. Anyway she’s
going to make an appearance around midnight
when everyone’s drunk and asleep.” “Why?”

Jack asked, but he already knew the answer why.
“I taught her how to use an axe. She’s going to
cut off her stepsister’s feet, and her stepmother’s
too.” “Won’t someone notice her doing that?”

“Nope.” “You drugged the wine didn’t you Red.”
“Yep.” “How long til everyone’s out cold?” “Oh,
thirty seconds tops.” At that Jack grabbed a glass
of wine and drunk as deeply as he could.

“I need a nap anyway,” he said. Red grabbed
another glass of wine and drunk deeply too. “Me
too,” she said. “Hey wait a second. What is your
real name anyway. I mean you call yourself

Red but that’s just because of the hood. I don’t
know what your real name is.” “Just leave it as
Red. It’d spoil the mystery if I had an ordinary
name.” “Well what about Cinderella then?”

“Beatrice was ordinary enough before I showed
up Jack. But after tonight people will only remember
her as Cinderella from now on.” “Night Red.” Jack
said, and stooped to the ground. “Night Prince
Charming.” Red said, and followed him in slumber. April 12/09.

I FEEL THE NEED

I feel the need sometimes to cleanse the world
of things. I imagine myself become godlike,
given some unnatural strength or strange design

and move between the continents, content only
after the world conforms to the intentions of my
mind. First I stand upon some Afric shore

and touch my hands against a road made crude
by the lack of finer things, but still a human
achievement all the same. And in my touch

the road dissolves, shatters to a trillion shards
and storm like rolls backward upon itself,
transforming all human things, including flesh

itself, into dust as well, which rolls backward
on itself til the continent is cleansed of the
human disease. Then Europe with its false

civility, all Asia and the steppes of Russia in
its perpetual winter’s death, by the foot-falls of
the Ganges river in December when the floods

fall forward like drunken men, til all these lands
leave neither trace nor memory of a human step
save my steps upon the sand. Then home

to the continent of my birth, but not before all
islands are done the same as the continents were,
as Australia too is purified in the screams of

dust and human ashes on the wind, til only
a few cities are left somewhere on the edges of
the northern continent, and those few left I leave

a dream, a simple dream to full their nightmares
with a sleep. In the dream I leave with them there
is a war, or perhaps a plague, and they descend to

bunkers beneath the world. Here they sleep a second
time, petrified, and when they awaken they discover
a thousand years have passed them by. Then they

rebuild exactly what they had before, and at this
moment I let them become awake into the lives they
know. And they all believe the world is emptied

which it is, and they all believe they cannot make
the same mistakes again. They try to live in more
balanced ways, try to throw out the debris of

wasted seconds, and there I am in a café drinking
a coffee and reading my newspaper, idly talking to
some children about the ways things used to be.

I’m sure they’ll all think kindly of the time when
wars were real, when disease was rampart and the
threats of narcotics or gangs or some other sin

crippled the lives of men. Now that such things
are gone never to come again let them listen to the
better histories of what once was. And if they go

astray I can always start again, erase a few
unfortunate souls so no one ever remembers
them. But for now I’ll sip my coffee and

pretend a thousand years have passed as people
pray to unknown gods while I am in their midst.
Not that I am God. I’m just a poet
with a need to control what things I can. April 7/09.

WHEN SOMEONE DIES

When someone dies we should forget them,
if we are unkind. If each person could be snipped
and cut away at death,
every memory of them
snapt from living minds it would be

easier somehow then, but more cruel.
What would be graves but riddles empty
of all meaning
and grave-diggers uncertain
even of their work of their hands? April 1/09.

THE ANATOMY OF HELL

What is the point of hell, her anatomy?
All is suffering in her flesh but none are
spent learning the source of her suffering.

We are left with the impressions of demons,
a hierarchy, with humanity at the lowest tier.
But hell is ours to carve with myth and

dream. Medusa of lost women remember
your fathers and your mothers and be kind,
even to those who deserve no kindness in

their hatred of your birth. The geography
of hell flattens herself to a slip of paper
and a list of names, all sent before the

firing line that each lost soul has made.
Suicide and murder, they are the same. April 1/09.

INSECT PROVERB

Insects are an evolutionary backdoor on
society itself. Gaze into the intricacy, the
tapestry of beetles crawling over corpses
or ants warring upon the dust,

and somewhere you are there looking
upward at yourself, looming gigantic
as a god crucified in your days, as you
bury yourself in the flesh

of the gods that have not died, never
to return again as anything except
beetles, wasps or flies. April 1-7/09.

FLESH FOR THE NEW MACHINES

Flesh for the new machines and the
new disease, skin for the bio-weave
of sinews black with oil

or tendons sharpened of cancer til
man is an afterthought for children
of mankind as these. April 1/09.

A SERIAL KILLER AMONG INSECTS

A serial killer among insects is but
an insect. All are killers, all know
that they are killers. Only Man

is naive enough to assume he never
kills just because he has never killed
so far. Give him time. Give him

an excuse. Give him a god and he
will kill enough to put ten trillion
insects to shame in the devastation
of a single, guilt ridden man. April 1/09.

ALONG A MUTANT ROAD

Along a mutant road twisted til death
defeats itself there becomes a spider’s
conceit, the spider’s pocket of flies’
wings
held tightly in the fist of a man
stranded in cities of glass that shatter
at the slightest touch, til death at last
loses to death again. April 1/09.

NEURAL-AMPLIFIER

The brain has a trillion paths leading to itself.
A neural-amplifier is simply the way to make
a trillion paths a trillion more, til the brain has

traveled a billion years of time in the space
of an hour or two. How sad that the heart
remains the same, jealous through rage and

its unaccounted-for restraints. A single virus
has no such needs to think how best to harm
the universe. By existing it but harms all

the same. Man is no less and no more
in whatever shape or thought he claims. April 1/09.

THE DROWNED MOON

The drowned moon rose again from the
moors and all the beasts of the darkness
fled away, as the moon like any woman

would ran to the sun and the sun’s feathers
and wings to proudly declare that she had

not died this day. And the sun, sullen as
any child rushed downward to the moor
but all the world just burned, grass and

trees to embers and all the beasts of the
darkness charred to dust, and all mankind
with them. Nor could I turn away. April 1/09.

GOLDI-INDIO (The title is my father’s.)

Goldi-Indio has a silver toe
and a golden throat and a scarf of
indigo all because she used

to throw out what didn’t suit
her, like a throat or a toe or a heart,
and this I know because she hurt

me so much that I divorced
her. But where is my heart now?
I dare not curse her should she

find my lost heart and
make it her own, like a silver
toe or a golden throat or the

scarf I used to own when into
marriage I forced her half heartedly
to be mine and mine alone. April 2/09.

THE INCIDENT AT CUULUS-N’LYATH

I imagine myself dissolving all the time, drowning
in the moments as the war rages on, as chitinous
claws breach armour too fragile to stand the talons
of other worlds’ children, born neath blacker suns.

The generals all say “You have to trust yourself
enough to know who you really are,” but on the
firing line only brute instinct takes over, to survive
today (what irony in that word for days here last

years longer than a day under our mother sun,) we
fight in the wastes of Cuulus-N’lyath, pushing back
the cold pressing dominion of strange unknowing
and unknowable insect things. Tomorrow, years

after the fact of our first arrival here we may go to
Malijora, an almost lush world with its tinges of
grey the cities of mankind. And the preachers all
say “We must turn again to that vast and ordered

Eden of the mind, imperilled only by its own sins
and vices,” but to be human is our sins, it is in
failure that humanity proves itself. Someone who
never makes a mistake isn’t human I tell myself.

That’s why morale is slipping, that’s why so many
think the insect things will win. But of course our
first mistake was simply this; trying to exterminate
at our own pleasure cockroaches with the cunning

and the souls of more than men. And so when I am
dead I will be left here for the enemy to scrape even
my bones into their maws, to strengthen them in
their vengeance against us all. April 2-7/09.

A ROAD TO THE RIVER BEND
(The first two lines are my father’s.)

Like a steam engine, five days ahead
and going nowhere, broken down

til I find that road
to the river’s bend

and plunge headlong
in, reborn like
another man would

have been, but I’m stuck
living my life in my thoughts
five days ahead

while all that’s left is
the river bend and the road leading
where my thoughts have led. April 6/09.

THE APE’S SHADOW

Cast in the ape’s shadow
there becomes at once
but the skull-monument
of groping fingers toward
some hollow upward path
leading to the man whose skull
is no more than the echo of an ape’s,
as the ape,
screaming wildly in the jungle
for his lost dominion becomes

but the mild businessman groping for a sort
of heaven neither beast would understand. April 6/09.

A BURGESS SHALE EVENT

It started with a worm that had a spine.
That sounds foolish of course, some poor
attempt at a failed rhyme or some sad lack
of profundity. But truth to tell we all

started from a worm that had a spine,
found at the Burgess Shale in a country of
stones older than the hills they were cast
upon. And if some accident had called

herself to that spot, if some haphazard
spark or wayward god had shrugged at the
very worst moment or wrong time that little
worm and all her kin would have died, and so

we’d have never been. Not merely men but
all animals with bones, all fish, and out of their
lack of abundance trees and fields would differ,
oceans change, the very air breathe differently

with the hissing of dragonfly wings rather
than the feathers or the leathern call of bats
feasting way in the middle of the night. And
of course it means so much more than this.

Imagine any thought, any feeling you might have
had, imagine any book, film, story you might have
heard. Imagine more than this, consider every
speck of you, every dream, word, cut or bruise,

indeed everything you think you are and know
to be completely true. And now imagine anything
you know to vanish without a trace, a single speck
of thought, a book you’ve read no wiser than a fly’s

crumpled brain upon a man’s absent palm, and
with that single absence the world is altered as it
never was before. Anything taken from the world
that was alters the world forever. And so

anything added to the world that never was before
must create realities unheard of in the mind of God.
The universe becomes more interesting the
smaller and the larger our lives become. April 7/09.

YOU ARE WHAT YOUR SPEECH IS
(The title is my father’s, April 9/09.)

You are what your speech is,
you seekers of another path unknown,
but you are not alone in the universe
of God, no you are not alone.

The sun has a tear in her eye
for cynicism begets contempt
for everything, til of joy there
is nothing left.

We all have our limits imposed
on us, some from within where heart’s
logic begins, and some from without
when bullets give way

to bone, and there is but
the sound of another lost
boy in No Man’s Land
who couldn’t outrun
a bullet, for no one can.

In the end you seekers of another
path unknown can only ever
understand that you are not alone
in the universe of a God that has
no honour in His soul. April 11/09.

SOME GOT TENTS, SOME GOT NOTHING
(The title is my father’s, April 10/09.)

Some got tents, some got nothing,
some got only the holes of their shoes
walking blind in the alleys of Langston
Hughs, strumming the hymns that can’t
be sung til Judgement Day is through,
and out the other side no heaven,
no hell, no tent, no nothing and
nothing left to do, left to prove. April 11/09.

THE SAGES DREAMING

The sages dreaming in far towers
of the moon remember askance,
slant-wise the lost tribes of men
and a black door that doesn’t have
a key to it, leading to the far towers
where sages wait for someone to
unlock them from their sleep and
free them from their imprisonment.
But no one ever dares challenge
the logic of their dreams. April 11/09.

THE MIMICRIST

I’m not the man I used to be,
I’m a woman now. You see
I wondered what a woman’s
life revealed and left my

other skin in some other
place, but now I can’t find the
man I feel I was in previous
days, and can’t go back to

find my old familiar face.
So this is what age brings
to men and women all the
same; the alienation of who

they were hidden in the
illusions of who they really
wanted to be, when some
sort of youth was theirs to
own but not to claim. April 11/09.

SAVOURING THE LAST
THINGS IN THE UNIVERSE

Savouring the last things in the universe
I eat a final apple, recite a fragment of
a prayer some priest wrote down

a billion years ago, listen to my
favourite opera before all the stars slip
away smooth as a wintry sea of glass, and

feel the darkness of the universe crouch
down and become small as a whimpering
child obliterated in the glare
of an even greater final night. April 11/09.

SHE IS BEAUTIFUL

She is beautiful and she is perfect
and sitting like a queen or like a god
her strengths are magnified and all
her flaws obscured.

There is no finer woman I have
seen but I cannot love a woman
such as she, for she needs no lover
in her company.

My wife is bland as dust but I love
her because she is soft and still and
compassionate and all her flaws
are laid bare

and she herself is laid bare before
me. But more than this, I have laid
myself before her. To the woman
without flaws

what need have she a man
on any tarnished silver day? April 11/09.

VIOLETS ARE CONSUMED
(The poem was inspired by
lines made by Louise Delahay.)

Violets are consumed
of unassuming virtues,
mingled to the stately

simplicity of the humble
mind freed from the
winter’s sleep of night

to days without end, and the
unending births of delight. April 11/09.

THE BONES OF THE TRAINS

The bones of the trains whistling
along through the day reveal the
memoirs of fortunes’ past, the

titans dead of their largess, the
wasted tracks of skeletons riddled
with iron like chained men,

til all that’s left is the cry of a dying
train fading to fog on the wind. April 11/09.

TO HAVE WHAT ONE WANTS

To have what one wants is the same
as being dead, if one forgets that in each
act of having
there must be a further act,
act of loss, act of giving up the illusion
that what one has makes
any real difference at all. April 18/09.

FOLDING OF THE HANDS

A little folding of the hands to rest
and life unfolds better than for the
man on edge, the ever tense, ever
anxious man, which I am. April 18/09.

I FEEL THE GREAT WEIGHT

I feel the great weight of living upon me,
the sure dementia of knowing I slide toward
the balance of a sleep that has no end
and pressed against me the days linger
like shavings of thorns, but still I linger on.

Rhyme worthy the scars bleed inside my
mind and leave me with but the suffering
of another great thought to pierce the silence
of my dreams that have no thoughts, no
memories of pain, for pain leaves no memories.

And who is my audience, who my champions
who plead the cause of the poet condemned to
speak whatever his thoughts portend? I have
not the strength to find them, and they have
not the knowledge that one walks among them
condemned as I am condemned. April 18/09.

WHY MUST THE WORLD EVER END?

Why must the world ever end?
Why must there be a God to ruin it?
All mankind longs for a day of reckoning
when it can be said that some prevailed
but most of course did not.

All souls want to hope that others
fail more miserably than them, but only
if there is an end to all things can one
truly find out how miserable

life was for others, and how blessed
life must have been for them who stand
in heaven while so many stand in hell.
Damn them all, but sadly for all
there is no end of worlds my friends.
This circle of existence without purpose
goes on and on forever. April 18/09.

I AM ONE WHO CONTENDS WITH STONES

I am one who contends with stones,
with idols, for my words are idols

too. I am one who lays burdens
upon myself, the knowledge however

imperfectly obtained that man too
has died as God has died before him.

I am one who is alone, raging against
the stones, the idols of my words. April 18/09.

THE DELUSIONS OF GREATNESS

The delusions of greatness haunt even
the damned man, haunt even the king on
his throne of bones. The better, the

higher, the greater the hope the farther
the fall into despair, but only because we
have nothing left, only because, having

starved on all else nothing is left to
believe in, or care for except hope, sitting
contentedly on a throne-work of bones. April 18/09.

WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO DIE?

“What is the best way to die?”

“Unknowing that there is
nothing after death.”

“What is the second best?”

“Believing there is a reason
for an ignoble end.” April 18/09.

THE DAYS BURN DOWN

The days burn down
one by one and slip
away into the grey
city that has no name,
besides the city
of dead memories. April 1-18/09.

SEEKERS ON A PATH WITHOUT A NAME

We are all seekers on a path
without a name, we are all the
lost ones stumbling in the dark
chasms of our souls. If

there were light enough to
illuminate our lives it would
blind us so badly our eyes
would burn away. So we

are trapped in either case
to the destinies our own
hearts have sadly made. April 2-18/09.

I AM COMPELLED

I am compelled to lay
a burden on mankind,
unnatural as the stars

upon the water, in my
attempt to teach all men
that Man too is dead as

God once was before him.
In the end we are all but
myths to those blunt beasts

which follow after us, to
those unfinished creatures
who in their time too will

become as myth and legends
to whatever is regarded as
vermin in that age. April 6-18/09.

THE MEDIOCRITY OF GREATNESS

There is in the end the mediocrity
of greatness. For it is not enough to be the
best if one cannot
be who they truly are.

I can almost imagine late at night
great men of business huddled about their
defeats, clinging
to the memories

of lost actions because that alone
taught them the price of being great. To
lose all is not

the same as losing all you are.
Even great men are ashamed at the echoes
of the shadows on the walls. April 18/09.

THE DEATH OF THE AMBER STONES

There in the death of the amber stones,
there in the deaths of Martian tombs

I find the echo of gold waiting for me,
the frozen bodies petrified in amber,

the grim Martian gods peering down
at me weaving on my loam more gold

to clothe their ravaged bones, hidden
in the shadows of great scarlet cliffs.

And far away another weaves the living
threads of men and women to being once

again, but for whom they weave I do not
know as men and women pray only for death

to clothe their ravaged bones while amber
clothes the gods no one prays to anymore. April 2-7-18/09.

YOUR CHILD IS A REFLECTION
(The first sentence is my mother’s.)

Your child is a reflection
of who you are. And your
spouse is a reflection
of what you fear the most. April 11/09.

MURDER TRIAL

Everyone has a story to tell,
witnesses all arranged to give
their best opinions or indicate
what route an eye can take

when the mind is told to
consider one man a suspect
and another something less.
Each side plays their games

and the accused, whether
guilty or misplaced along
some path leading where
his actions have not led

alone knows the truth of
whether he deserves his
punishment. Everyone has
a reason to believe or not

believe, except the victim.
The victim never cares who
caused their death. The
victim is now but a number

and a name on a prosecutor’s
desk, and only if they had any
family at all is the trial more
than a procedural request

of a society afraid that if one
unknown and unimportant
person is killed and then
forgotten how long til those
who matter fall prey as well? April 18/09.

MASNAVI

Two men, too afraid to be accused of crimes
against women, enter into each other’s company,
as uncertain lovers would.

Two lovers, too afraid to ever be alone, enter into
the company of strangers, gazing at each other’s
eyes from across the starved room.

One poet, condemned to write forever, watches
all the world but cannot enter in amid the company
of those he watches over.

One God, blind, oblivious creature of Man’s dreaming,
slumbers on in oblivion as we curse Him for our being. April 18/09.

THE SINEWS BENEATH YOUR SKIN

I would love you for the sinews
beneath your skin, for the muscles
beneath your flesh,
I would love the
thought of your blood rushing beneath
your veins and imagine
lustily the image of your raw,

scarlet tinged muscles aching
beneath me. To say that I love
you for your face,
your eyes, your
hair is no wiser than
saying I love you for the sinews
beneath your skin.

Any beauty which you claim
to have means nothing to me my dear.
Only this has meaning to me: I love you.
Do you love me? April 18/09.

HAIKU

Stuck watching an empty page
be filled with words I write my
own epitaph by silences. April 18/09.

A killer knocks upon the door.
Do not answer him. He has no
other place to be. I envy him. April 18/09.

A cicada preaches that her death
is near. Crushed by my hand
her silence confirms the act. April 18/09.

I want the moon as a child
wants her bed, or a dog wants
straw in a barn at night. April 18/09.

The dog howls for meat and the
raving man for meat, and only the
sane man longs for a gun. April 18/09.

1) A little time is spent in the making
of a mountain, and an eternity in
the making of a deeply loving man.

2) A little time is spent in the making
of a mountain, and an eternity in
the making of a deep love. April 18/09.

The wolf is my brother and the
raven my brother. Man alone is the
crucifer of man. And God with him. April 18/09.