Pais los Enterradores

Link to Sketchbook update, May 30, 2009, 22 new drawings.

88

Jupiter is greatly mistaken if

it resigns this picnic in favor of all

the little fish.

In the name of all god's crumbs

what is this voice that refuses

dying instead of the already dead?

Here, now, life begins and with

eyes are how the never live

become the quick, the selfish.

One day evil learned language

and this eye turned to dust.

The Plight of the Flightless

Link to Website Sketchbook update, May 27, 2009, 20 new drawings

87

the drunken bloom in mourning stinks

of business and ruin

the air hangs in lumps

about lithe young men beginning to slide

into the morning.

the bloody crowd clatters across a Sunday

all rampaging in catastrophic name only

the blessed track which lifts joyously the fear of the

flightless.

Eyes waltz in heads

containing false profits

the disease is always worse than the cure

in early light stands an angry word

in the shape of a man on a darkened bridge.

Something sold drops into the depths below.

For Vic Haboush- 1924-2009

Hades

Link to Website sketchbook update, May 24, 2009, 29 new drawings

86

The vacant corpse

produces an opportunity

for thanks

as if it were dealing with

the cleaning woman.

the wash-job walking

is a fine old custom

seriously entering power through

the way of the head

un-covered as though unholy

we are all here now

we are asked then nailed

to the wheels of stars

some job it was to

wake to to the sound of stowing

hope ajar but now

a door slowly closing

Hornblower

link to website update, May 20, 2009, 24 new drawings

85

How to catch the eye:

walking on hands

reminds one of minarets

cheerful, now

cleanly passing over

a gate,

a stream,

like a heatwave

like a wheel

cracking a dark limb to celebrate the

coming of out of Egypt,

some must perish

that others may leave

In America,

Freedom is most often embezzled.

Wait

Link to website sketchbook update, May 16, 2009, 20 new drawings

84

Wait wants to see if we

will lose our hair

wait the hand that

tightens its grip on

the pleated pages

Wait til you say the word yellow

hello and wait

long the scalp rises in fever as

the eyes have it running

in tighter circles until

it arrives at a neat stopping place

and waits.

We Are Such Stuff

Link to Sketchbook update May 13, 2009, 13 new drawings

83

I turned my back
To the lasting skin of everything
Of dirt and perfume and everything
due these glum pleasures.
Lethargy poisons certainty like
cleverness lost in a lifetime of night.
An old queen steeped in a mountain of teeth
Delicate pity page after page
Looking up and waiting
For the philosophy of yes to move in and
Organize the funeral of thinking.

An Empty Morning Sky

Link to Sketchbook update, May 11, 2009, 12 new drawings

82

Discreetly blessed the past masses

the women the weeds the widows in mourning

covered in the lotion of theology

restrained and restraining god

this mixed witness this power this

moment farther before a spirit

dipped in holy water the tide

the rarely used fault behind

the quarter moon the wicked wander

the world in exaltation

of all that remained in answer

never excuse the time

the whole found hole untidy

but time is too heavy to stir.

southward to the funeral

southward to the empty morning sky.

Hill Dweller

Link to Sketchbook update May 9, 2009, 16 new drawings

81

Bloom the great weapon of punishment

glutton for penance shining music like light

the dropping of pins distracts us from the morning opera

about the destruction of kisses amongst the dying clockwork.

Still, the kneeling eunuch is made an example of

naked but for his rising hat

chanting for his empty phallus dead in

his long hand.

looking down on the excuse of cards

the shame of failure the fall from grace the

curious voice of the long-forgotten bone.

The gospel is art and the confession,

the sin.

Quis Est Homo?

Link to Sketchbook update May 6th, 2009, 30 new drawings

80

The flesh tells it all:
Bless the curious with a voice
That thrills priests in repentance hats.
Slightly immaculate mother , her spouse,
Ringing , chanting the bass thickening
Punish me with the gospel of ChaChaCha
Then bless my knees kneeling bent
Strong yet bitching
Keeping regular hours
Worry the quiet altar smoking
The priestess weapon catches the bone
And beats back the question:
Quis est homo?

Ecce Homo!

Buddha Stuka

Link to Sketchbook update May 2, 2009, 16 new drawings

79

There is a burning Buddha

who wonders in musical hats

the blurt the swallow the opiate

that fascinates

A sacred swingdoor

exposes a drop of the

blind masked corpse

still, our god is

lying sweating in a

latin museum nursing his matzoh and

committing unspeakable acts with

his crown of thorns.