Adventures in Po-e-try

i am a sometimes miracle worker
do not touch me with kid gloves
just rest
watch the angel dust fall from my teeth
and that is not a metaphor
i eat angel food for breakfast
spongecake of a memory soaks me into myself
i stood in this place at least a lifetime ago and willed this poem into existence
stretched my tongue in all directions and said that it would be
and i am
in a word
surviving
all of the things that make life easy
like love, and love, and family
and there is no allegory in alcoholics playing bid whist on sundays over kitchen tables littered with cocaine and crumbs
but there's something in growing up grateful for the moments your grandmother remembers who you are
and i am thankful
for mathematics
and everything holy
like truth stitched in pomegranates on pandora's box
tell me a story
something non-fiction
about the flaws you've found in this fairy tale frenzy
dedicate it to me
and i'll re-write it pretty
because that is what i do
i take things that are ugly and make them beautiful
avalanche out my insides until what's breaking there lays in pieces on the table to puzzle with
i am an alchemist
i make magic from melancholy
like mothers making meals from ketchup and rice
most nights
i come up urgent
until the silence reminds me i'm fragile
like a butterfly wing
or a single snowflake
or a dying child's last prayer
as he stands on the precipice of his new world and remembers the music there
and when he can't
beneath my ribcage is a love without a bottom
help me heartbeat-box him a lullaby to teach him what he's forgotten
this universe
will never miss energy because what matters most will never be lost
though we will always mourn the flesh
and the rest we leave to rain dances
rabbits' feet and old love songs
to circus tricks and patchwork quilts
and rough drafts of finished poems
and i will never again be anyone's second hand good luck charm
but if you need me
i will work wonders
and be a miracle
undone

Adventures in Death

These are the times when I always feel compelled to pull myself together and be "the deep one" I've convinced so many other people I am over the years....say something...do something....meaningful. But I can't ever seem to find the one action that means " I would give anything in this world...and things not of this world if I could manage it - to make the next days hurt a little less"....or any phrase that can make it all better....and silence is not an option. So.

I found these (both by Rumi) a long time ago when a good friend of mine was killed, found them again when I lost my uncle, and I thought I'd give them to you now. Hope they...do whatever it is that words do in times like these...

The Death of Saladin

You left ground and sky weeping, mind
and soul full of grief. No one can
take your place in existence or in
absence. Both mourn, the angels, the
prophets, and this sadness I feel has
taken from me the taste of language,
so that I can't say the flavor of my
being apart. The roof the kingdom
within has collapsed. When I say the
word you, I mean a hundred universes
Pouring grief water, or secret dripping
in the heart, eyes in the head or eyes
of the soul. I saw yesterday that all
these flow out to find you when you're
not here. That bright fire bird Saladin
went like an arrow, and now the bow
trembles and sobs. If you know how to
weep for human beings, weep for Saladin.


Empty Boat

Some huge work goes on growing. how
could one person's words matter? What
is one seed compared to you? On
my death day I'll know the answer. I have
cleared this house, so that your work can,
when it comes, fill every room.

--

Peace Be

Adventures in Friendship

A Poem for the Homie

no one in jersey needs a toothpick from texas before dark on a friday night in november
the road's just not slippery yet
but if you need a snowstorm
god owes me a favor
and i'd break even with heaven to shake up your sky
can you see the moon from where you are?
has she shown you all of her faces?
i'm still learning to love her no less when not full, and see beauty in all of her phases
i miss you
these days absent have been like the dark of new moon, and i'm a satellite unto my self now
still humming that tune about sunshine
someone told me
love
is what you do with your last dime
but i'm tired of affection as afterthought
these days i think of you first
when i consider someone who will always understand even without understanding
my thoughts go quickly to you
across this distance from city to city
phone call to phone call
notebook to notebook
i know
friendship can seem so simple
and poems just words on a page
but these days they're the best i have to offer
but if ever you need that toothpick
or a hurricane
or a phone call and a hug
i have you
god knows
i have you