#9, Back 2 the StudiO

#9  Back 2 the StudiO 

each year he seemed to 

somehow miss the cranes

he'd hear them high up

a shuttle

like sound

the birds of paradise 

they are called 

America! 

that vision, not

to fall back on to

buried idea

grasping--

largeness of idea 

as hero in the sun

leaving nature thing 

behind

It seemed we could base 

our countries ideals 

on those birds, their place in the order, 

the Indian myth and stories 

extending to Mexican extreme

the earth in blue

spinning

sun, stars earth, revolving 

the parts, that whole

feeling

25.

in the studio

he kept coming 

back to that tent idea

black drawing into idea-- the shield

red and yellow

Buddha colors

ideal beauty from death

the idea, beauty, order

all this as an after thought 

"a poem" he said and backed away

the studio-- red, red reality

he was talking of irony

presence and absence

da forte

a copy of the original

all sounds like, evasions of 

--god, again

or reality, big deal just 

everything there is, out there 

thrown in too

definitions crumpled up 

thrown in too

all a good story

I HOLD THIS fiction 

UP AGAINST MY DEMISE--

29.

the crows flying through

shattering SUN, THE shard 

the color

high content and severest forms

that sculpture seemed like that

his dark look

THAT boat 

slicing through 

THIS YEAR, the river turning

Achilles form,

and SWERVE

the poem and 

its cyclING winter mind

through the 'C' before 

the CHORUS

heightened to Credence

fragment

through AURORA CRY 

of the peacocks

planets gathering--

New gods ARRIVING

"it was like a new knowledge 

of reality," the poet said

dreaming in winter attic

memory

31

the wall was the stars 

IT WAS OK

tears, tears

GUERNICA

the little boy with the crown, believing

all piled up 

the life flowing out

like thoughts that they were

what if he-- floating

IN THE clouds

scratching leaves

that RAveN with a broken wing

at the window

he never had really mentioned

rhythmic waves in space and time

Yes, he thought like AN Egyptian 

walls all pointing to eternity

all fate marching

deteriorating

space

a Greek vase whole revolved 

the simpler figure

broken Renaissance memory

the Roman wall, a postcard from Europe--