Eirsteorairie ik
Etstand relinqwo stund
Matemeori sint
Baerparston urtona
Fuit
Laestae baernottu fint

I delight to imagine the sum of irrational numbers
𝛱 plus the square root of 2
To say nothing of their difference product or dividend
Unleashed uncontained within space or time
Even homely demure 7 plus 5
Explodes the narrow compass of our cosmos
And generates the fact of true infinity

Moral reasons are similarly generative
For in no world can bad be good
The quality of goodness unbound by extent or duration
Although we who are so bound must make judgments
As we estimate the digits of 𝜋

For a time in the past
Everything must be harsh and rough
Tough and rumble harsh and dangerous
Asphalt smoked with mixture of coquina’s grit
A fiery pennant arose clothed in flame
Hendrix’s guitar afire
Arimanes seated in a globe of flame
Sergio Leone made the sun
Broil over the bad and the ugly
And expose the good as not so good
Full-grown boys embraced
To show how tough they were
Grownup girls rumbled for kisses
Eyes filled with sand
The speaker towers swayed ominously
Awash in applause

All the persons we know are humans alas
Certain whales perhaps and great apes
Come damned close
And elephants uncannily intelligent
But entry into discourse
Oriented toward understanding
Has succeeded with none of them
While with persons
Reason is as mother’s milk
And as artistically realized gastronomy

Now space aliens
Like God Almighty
Should identify themselves
And stop playing
Nonconsensual hide and seek with us
And reach for consensus
As to who and what now
For technology can far outstrip moral development
As humanity has shown
And omnipotence gives no guarantee of goodwill

So do not fault us
If we require assurances
From those who wish to cross our threshold

Space with its monstrous curlicueiness
Long past the scholastics and their drudge
New confinement new binding forces
New transmigration with work to do

Can we afford this insistent mandate
Penned our miniscule farthing
Nor yet the negligible cowries concealed in silica
Can we expend the looming architectonics

Go off to another place
Peel back the layers of newness
Expose the ingredients of habitability
Ignore the staid pronouncements

Knowledge was utilized before it was known
Fabled metallurgical sorcery
Pharmacopious feminine lore
The exigency of strut and textile

Tensive membrane malleted
Junh ja junh
Columns of air bent and ratcheted
The bow string with its plaintive twang

Hollering hollers in such an ecstasy
Come the morning and night depart full soon
Apologies for the aimed-at prey
For the sacred oak immense recently felled

One of the Bushes announced that we or our government
Would henceforth be kinder and gentler than hitherto
History does not record the fruition of that declaration

Instead we hear testimony of invasions extortions crucifixions
Massacres sieges enslavements punishments bodily and mental
Threats assaults and ultimatums

Sometimes we suffer these indignities ourselves
Or perpetrate them
And sometimes an innovation enters the atrocious catalogue

As if natural pain and disease and inevitable death weren’t enough
Even when the schoolhouse shooter or deputized official
Becomes a force of thoughtless nature
Nobody gave birth to oneself to one’s own inclinations

A mother nurses her newborn daughter
While watching her son play Final Fantasy 7
She remembers how brave he was
When she took him to get his first haircut

All objects are composed of other objects
But can you cut an electron
We used the call the earth the world
In geocentric antiquity

Now it’s just a function in a system
And the house of the sun is on the block
With many other solar houses
Themselves just a splash from the breast of Juno

And other Milky Ways in large but countable numbers
And is our universe broad enough
To indicate the curvature of space
And what of the spacelessness outside

After Copernicus the universe was briefly infinite
With space for every thing and situation
Then the big bang defined the bubble’s skin
And now mayhap a frothy spumy foam

You can’t convince the virile youth that lust is wrong
Nor begrudge the maid her choosiness
Nor are inclinations of chastity or valiance
Apportioned in shelf-ready packages
The Klein bottle contains not nor overflows

The cosmic river has no banks
Nature not a coin with two sides
The philosopher’s book and oil lamp
No different from the soil turned by tectonic spade
Thus helium and hydrogen in star

Freddie Freeman’s in a batter’s slump
Inflation checks the money counter’s vanity
Youth and maid might well waste in desire
The poet never found the secret word
The traveler never reached the horizon

If he had any decency
He’d consign it to flame
Caesura in the middle of a foot

I could not stop myself from commenting
Though I had nothing new to add
Seized by a frenzy of appreciation

You have felt it too I think beloved
Felt resisted and rebelled
Rose up in indignation and rebelled
Sick of it all the indignity
Of mask posture and stilted performance
Let the world return to its first state
Let it reform resolve into rock fire and water

Never was it the case that rock does rock
Always was it that rock shows rock
As fire shows fire and water water
And we have known rock fire and water
For never was it the case that we have not known them
And yet when we have been apart I have said
My beloved does love me

We do not know you and I nor need to know
The rockiness of rock nor fiery fire watery water
But never have we not known that rock must have extent
That water must settle into currents
Though hidden in strata or in the wave-encrusted depths
That rock shows rock obviates commentary
The regularities of hiding and showing

Perhaps a world of being props the ornate grimace
A fire that shines within the flame
Perhaps all are doomed to suffer
The stern procedures of the will
Not least perhaps the will to dis-cover
To find a cadence lofty to express
The beloved loves

Supreme is not a word I would hasten in these bad days to use
But from Stevens’s superlative a small step back might clarify
For among fictions poetry is highly if not the most capacious

The question is not which among the fictions is supreme
But rather why is fiction so damned important
We don’t speak of the supreme pocket lint or oil change

The answer is our schemata
That set the stage for experiencing something new
So hear while you can the poetry of a saxophone
See the poetry in a lizard’s bobbing head

I admit it
I like Shakespeare and Keats
I also like marijuana
And cocaine
But that’s too dangerous for anybody to mess with
I gave up drinking
After forty years of snoring and puking
So what I like and what I approve of
Are two different things

On the whole however
My attitude toward Will and John
Is approbatory
Their personalities are part of it
To the limited extent we know them
Shakespeare the dramatic poet
Worked in an era long before the time
When Keats’s frenemy Byron
Made self-exposure fashionable

Keats worked around to freeing himself
From the hegemonic I
Even trying his hand at blank verse epic
He wrote maybe two hundred poems
In his short life
Of which only ten or so
Are world-historically significant
Which is a hell of a lot more
Than most poets can claim

Shakespeare’s plays require triage
A dozen of them are negligible
Comedies that must have had currency once
Ranters that confuse bloodbath for tragedy
Another dozen are as we say
Significant for the world
Though in one of the best Macbeth
The Bard had a helping hand
The middle third are interesting but unlovely

Weed I can go a year without
Cocaine and booze are gone for good I hope
The great thing about poetry
Is that you can carry it through secret passages
Especially now when
So shaken as we are so wan with care
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards
But on the viewless wings of poesy

I did not like the dog’s licking my face
When I was three
She’s kissing you the elders said
But I knew a kiss from a lick
And I wondered what other lies were current

It’s hard to count your blessings
When they’ve driven nails into your hands and feet

And that thief on the other cross
How does he make me feel any better

The song of the katydid does not suffice
To enlist it among the animals I love
I do not love hyenas warthogs or lampreys
Though I respect their existence

Magnificent tigers and tame-refusing zebras are okay
But I love the whales with their songs
The songs of red-wing’d blackbirds
A conversation with my cat Citrus

I do not love a cicada
Though the sculptural token of its emergence delights
I do not love shit bile or trailing or running phlegm
Inherent though they are in life

I do not love capable but unreasoning humans
And I myself lapse grievously from time to time
But I love the smell of baby’s scalp
Enhanced permissibly with shampoo

The radiating utility lines
The green branch of a red oak
Contrails the fresh and the dissipating
Amid the wisps of cirrus
A white moon greater than the half
The color of contrails
Serene and reassuring

I’m ready to die you say
To preserve my sacred right
To bear war’s indiscriminate scythe
Means more to you than life
Pure loving devotion to death
Pure loving loving devotion to death
Pure loving loving devotion to death
Pure loving devotion

Who else do you propose
To take the death trip with you
Everyone prepare to die for this man’s right
Every man every woman every child
Pure loving devotion &c

Your band of brothers sure
But also those you disapprove
The wrong complexion wrong hair texture
Outlandish clothes wrong shape of eyes
Pure loving devotion &c

Only you get to regulate
The death squad the militia
Put women in their place
The camps for all the rest
Pure loving devotion &c

Your bullshit cult religion
You don’t even understand
Animal totems wolf and coiled snake
Devouring the holy lamb
Pure loving devotion &c

You’re a liar and a hypocrite
A pervert and a bully
A coward behind regalia gang and gun
Too scared to put it where it matters
Pure loving devotion &c

A Nazi doesn’t need an ID card
A Klansman needs no sheet
Just need to be a true believer
Strength in numbers boys 40%
Pure loving devotion &c

You may say I’m a demon
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us

She jumped from the seventh story
Aimed well and hit the dumpster
She didn’t want to hurt anybody else with her fall
But she did hurt other people
She had two daughters
Just old enough to demand explanations
And an ex-husband who caused a lot of pain
Two years later he killed himself
Deliberately or not
Driving into the trees at a hundred and ten

What conclusions should we draw
What good are anger or blame
What should we say to those two little girls
Why do we even think that saying will help
We don’t have the strength to do the right thing
Not when we are most sorely tested
It’s like somebody else controls us
We know there must be alternatives
But we can’t bring ourselves to take them

A small monkey with a broken jaw
Pressed a turned-out hand to its eye

We who live today seem to lurch from crisis to crisis
Playing at one getting bored and switching
Or singing a roundelay with several verses
Guns racism sexual violence poverty public ill-health
International relations tyranny foreign and domestic

It’s not that our attention span is limited
Though that no doubt is true
It’s that the outrages never end did I mention environmental catastrophe
And we can’t pay attention to all of them all the time
The brain cannot accomplish such massive multitasking

Probably ‘twas ever thus
But we had neither the transportation nor the communication
To know about it
And anyway our hands are full and overfull
With the lives that we can barely hold on to

Mortality
Pleasure

That’s when you know you’ve got it bad
The entertainments the exaltations
The lewd low desires the gratification of which
Once gave pleasure
Have lost their savor
And in their place
The trudge of tedium
The drudge of menial details

The amusements of youth and childhood pall
Their mechanisms exposed
Cartoons for sugary breakfasts
The movies TV shows and pop songs
For the media conglomerates’ unheard-of wealth
The medium a business model
The artist a factory’s efficient supervisor

They’re signing up passengers
For pleasure cruises in high earth orbit
This is what passes for culture and society
This is not the aesthete’s comely decadence

Poetry costs almost nothing
Pen and paper
Or typescript in the cloud

Has art ever flourished only for its own sake
That’s the value of it
But not the source nor the destination
Interests other than the permanent and true
And the Temple of Delight an archeological dig
Beauty buried beneath the detritus of the campaign
The forgotten soldiers of Thermopylae

Surely they must have been wrong about suffering
Once or twice the old Masters
Surely a perfect batting average can’t be
The signal criterion for mastery
The year’s pageantry always awakens
Suffering a perennial feature of the scene
Failure bitter loss the harsh oblivion of unsignificance
The road always winds past the contagious hospital
The other side of the heroic stadium
The quiz show cheater always declaims
That he flew too high on borrowed wings
The swift runner tamer of horses
Might never come back from his ruptured Achilles
And if the tableau seems grand or stately
Or perfectly proportioned
Behind and out of sight in the tunnel or the bullpen
Shrewd Brueghel or arch-clever Daedalus
Devises builds and directs
The rough and fragile spectacle