I’m happy so I dreamed of a helicopter crash
Woah that was too close I shouted
As it zoomed just over our heads
And stretched the utility lines like rubber bands
Get back follow me I yelled
Nobody followed
Murmurs arose amid the cries of horror
It cut his head off it cut him off
I hoped that they referred to the pilot
I saw in the distance behind me
A young man who had wisely moved toward safety

Repress I guess the lust for commentary
For food for drink for sex
Starve the body and punish soul
Slow that manic thrill ride
On the Route 66 of the mind
Where you get your kicks

Why waste the glorious springtime in resentment
Rehearsing the explanations that would fill the speeches
That should have been delivered yesterday
Or a thousand years ago
The springs on the clothespins are weaker than they used to be
Manufacturers use half the metal and it still looks like a clothespin
But springy clothespins hadn’t been invented in the eleventh century
So let’s spread our damp laundry on the hedges to dry
But there are no hedges in these parts
Except the decorative ones useless to keep out a fox
But useful perhaps for concealing a security camera

A young woman received a prize
For her contribution to the panopticon
For how else would we have known
Of the police department’s belligerent disposition
Toward the members of the community
But it doesn’t take a smartphone to know
That the world is driven by survival of the vicious
To have their profit to have their prey
Not individual players mind you
Just the universal truth that living long means
Somebody else is dying soon
Living fat means somebody suffers
The murderer’s claim he had no choice
But to crush the life out of one who lived

And which of the sins is the unforgivable one
Keeping in mind that sin means
Not wrongdoing only but giving offense
Like all my neighbors I live in a palace
Which like all palaces traces its antecedents to fortress
Security the handmaiden of luxury
There’s a kind of gun equally useful in battle and at home
So why do I feel so insecure
Why not forget the past
And better yet forget the future
And hear the cardinal’s two-note pronouncement
And see the clover’s irrepressible carpet
Or should I mow it down

They weep as they enter this new world of death
As they cried aloud at birth
The passage being painful
From one form of being to the next

And they weep in their bewilderment
As an infant cries from the welter
Of sight and sound and unfamiliar feeling
After so long in warmth and murmuring darkness

And now a new darkness unknown before
The shade of shades
The dim twilight of forgetting
Of earthly motions just out of reach

And the half-light or less than half
Of dim recognition
Great Achilles is learning weakness
The true beloved is learning estrangement

Nature loves the spiral
Fibonacci sequence in snail and daisy’s eye
The swept-back arms of galaxies
Mary Pickford’s hair in casual ringlets

Things that double back while rising or falling
Both nature patterned but indifferent
And art interested and ornamented
Love to wind around the ghostly bobbin

They tread upon the rhizomes
Bare audacious unashamed
Handlers of fire
Twisters of bark
Successful mutilators
Successful because mutilators

Neither hedgehog nor panda
Beside or upon the motorway
That scoriates the landscape
For who invented landscape
Scarifier of face and arms
Featherless impaling shrike

Birds or rodents might have occupied this niche
Of frenzied artists who dismantle all niches
Who define to obliterate
Imperators of the fragile little planet
Contrivers of blades and plastic bags
Useful for hunting and for suicide

Today I dropped only one atom bomb

Nagg has fallen from the garbage can
Pushed out by particulate plastic
When the games began everything was not enough
Being coupled with nothingness
Shot through with emptiness
Lack of leg
No hole to stash the valuables in

Midgame now and light not at tunnel’s end
But just behind us where the father’s fathers
Lit fire the incendiary device
Eyes too many radiant flare too many
King’s horses king’s men king’s wild-eyed goons
Cameras now on the telegraph poles
Eyes behind the romantic arras

You can look it up
In any of the competing compendia
Behind the mask of the former capital
State your business
All rise for the superior cleaver
Grafting the daring new appendages
Onto the same old moist quivering bodies

Dream not ye dreamy dreamers
Of relief-providing apocalypse
Neither vainly wish for cleansing flames
Nor fateful resolution in harrowing revelation
Nor banal closure in furnished rooms
These sullen embers can chill indefinitely
And haply erupt in fury or croon themselves to sleep

Do I exaggerate myself
Very well then I exaggerate myself
I am complex and composed of fragments

Have to find the lost
Have to line up the bobbins
Have to clear out the drain gutter
The skaters have redoubled their figures

That kid has left his jacket on the swingset
Where once she embroidered fantails
No it’s just a patch with his name
Manufactured to look like embroidery

Folded up in the back of the station wagon
Like an old-fashioned carpenter’s rule
Emitting sounds
Of tormented celebration

Foursquare bannister
Oblique safety measures
Embedded in the poignant reflection
Have to arrest that tumbling mass

Have to reduce the viscosity
Have to register the variants
The clouds look like applesauce
Have to remember the

The bathroom door opens spilling shadow
Shadow where the light should be
The light that should be cast like a shadow
From the ineffectual bulb swinging from its wire
But here there is no light

This torment took place ages decades ago
It isn’t happening now
But every time you open that door
There’s that shadow like a pool of vomit
In the shape of a bat or a bird

The elderly woman bespectacled screams
Just after the slash of a saber
The birdlike creatures eaters of carrion
Begin to cluster around
Stretch out their long necks to inspect the snack

The pinks the greys the big brushstrokes gently curling
The glory and the freshness of a dream
The draperies demurely hinted at
A promise of the impending Baroque
Empires and Velázquez and massacres great and small

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