#1, He’d filled it uP.

#1, He’d filled it uP.

1.

by now, his life

The spiral bound books.

Among the dead SpiderS and 

kerosene dirt, smudged 

the moments time left, fading ...

he'd kept on spinning--

not really finished

reaching for some resolution

the final one? 

he guessed you could say 

there was just no reconciling

THAT would be a life long poem

a metaphor, or fragment 

that LeaF, to have any end meaning?

OFF NOW! to the villa Wall

that fresco, that American thing.

felt from under his MountainS

he had turned it over 

and that BrighT 

Striped SalamandeR 

was the beginning 

and Indian glinT,

The poet rode his bike down 

Houston Street, a black tee shirt and 

a poem in his head 

seemed all he needed, 

maybe he could say it

he opened his mouth-- the crossing  

was some crux or

crisis

things jammed

together like leaves and sunset and

ColosaLL suN and fragment

memory and VillA

into that OnE he still would crave 

at least here in the painting 

although it represented what we longed 

for in reality the oNe, we see

that made the cymbal clang, trumpet blare

As far away as Tibet 

drove him back 

to that ole, fish shaped island 

to continue his HeaveN,

into dreams of unknown,

escaping profane

He, Ho! 

Major maN at helm, 

Hero on his heaD

SpAraGmOs 

the rending apart, 

7.

He'd found it on the dump

coming down

the tree cut up into logs,

this particular thought

into AmbivalenT, Comic sublimE.

a minor key

to coincide

with certain abstract 

shapes 

some striped, others plain.

undid the Summer

in flames

imagining the Winter

constellations flying by

star spangled mind

of Achilles Universe

of winter circle

to deeper edge

She was the Universe.

Crispin passing

the drawing leaves

in paintbrush sunset,

Jack went west in ‘93

the JoshuA Trees waving

through Comic Sublime

he tried 

to put it all together 

Sun revolvinG in that time-lapsed splendor

9.

going down 

silhouette and black

fades to scribble

rushing around to see it all

come back up--

He would build from foot, 

ordering a head, 

repeating to symbol

He had this last judgement idea

revelations flying

unveiling any final truth 

as man is the final resolution 

of himself, at least

but now everything was 

just leant up against the wall,

waiting.

It was about putting 

it all together again and 

for all

it was the quest itself, arriving

he thought, this way

and that 

the flags waving

fate, freedom, and power

those Idealisms waning in the twilight

Jack had by now some philosophical idea

which seemed a reality,

a procession was involved

It was a making, the progress

of a he or-- self

Crispin was resolving an older order

new ideas were not what he needed now

as they kept spinning ‘round

presenting themselves

in negative and positive interplay

Akilles had seen it long ago,

10.

the reconciling of opposites 

it made sense of it all

this idea attached to a shape

to a surface, Shield

he gestured with his arms

it was all a narrowing down

we were all running fast not looking 

down to see there was no net, no

nothing beneath

we were only human

the sad fact 

we hid as well as we could, that

we would all come to an end

though the treasure was buried, long ago

in the winter mind, floating

through, he felt he knew a thing or two

that transcended or lifted him up

enough to keep on

a comic cycle into 

sublime and falling