#7, He’d filled it uP.
and goings on the NEW
WOrlD, worleD, twirled
flying rushing thoughts
It’s ThE EartH, StupiD!
turned round upon themselves
turn, turn, turn
Sometimes I like to paint
the scene in front of me.
Sometimes I like to remember
the scene, and simplify
the arrangement
things in the Imagination.
Jack thought there should
remain some reverence
he, Jack, Henry, and the Company
had all--
struggled beyond, some failed at this
The Henry’s were struggling
behind,
Jack meant,
how could that foolin around
out there
get us any where?
well Crispin was way beyond
A job-- there was none for Jack
He would write his nonsense trying to
spin it Rumpilstiltskin like into goldlike,
sense but
not the green cash
4.
you have in mind
you had forgotten the real gold
in this metaphor,
a meta beyond,
and you don’t believe in beyond,
the doubling otherness of every idea
in heaven of our thoughts
Heaven is ok
if just here in my mind
under my mountain.
Just don’t make any promises
by the fence post,
in the milk weed
the ole weed around the
cycle, through a sublime
moment in the sun
just the thought is sublime itself
and dies
as our saving--
self
in the sunset promising
at the very least
tomorrow but then Jack
had his poem to take along and
increase that chance of any hope,
this was for you,
Save Yourself!
back to the dream and
lowly beginnings
the leaves
6.
were blowing in the shopping malls
and corporate headquarters
and here I am in Kansas, damn!
I have to get this right
each revolution
had to increase, Jack felt
he was spinning,
not just his wheels and
he liked the spinning idea
of the earth, and the spinning
of everything else along-
He was driving 285
south from Denver
this Hero going his own way--
that town, that city, that urban affair
hid what he came here to see
that diamonded
clank changing chance
crop, fragmenting--
big idea! dying
before it had any chance to be
TruE
They thought they needed more
guns, Jack wrote on
his horse sauntering
in the whithering sage,
naked on that horse
with an older god
out there
he felt he was the very earth
7.
spinning,
floating in his oasis
of thought, Jack thought,
“ I am it, it is I.”
Achilles took it apart and
Crispin was wanting
to put it back together
figuring out
what it might mean
realizing as he wrote it meant just
this, and why Jack kept on
It was good just going
to the hardware store
the mountain clarity and
snow on peak, blowing
he remembered the prayer flags
though he had disregarded
the warning of bad luck
Jack was the hilarious fella,
extreme in the page.
a little poof, or puff--
Prophetic intention.
Looking back on his City
his Bridge
talking about the weather
the prophesy
Crispin kept to himself though
you might overhear him
out on the edge of the Village.
The real Apocalypse is no Apocalypse--
Why? is it yet unfound--
The Earth creating itself,
we all, in the stars revolving
City and Country disappeared
The sunset painting into violet
color and MilKy Way
into Sunrise
the cycles circles
and Universe and
moments between
the black
and the white
circling
all passing, revolving
here again
in the stars
Jack stood there in disbelief
Achilles looked at the towers
Crispin looked at the Aspens
They were jumping out of the building
Gaia herself was putting
it all together into a spinning
One thing
we were mirroring
what was,
in our minds what we
comprehended even beyond seeing
our thoughts were the
characters, for this constant
narrative unfolding in our heads
a hall of mirrors
reflecting to an infinity
all compared to ideals, and
dreams of objects that
may or not be,
Jack was seeing that this
structure was a preoccupation
beyond the thing,
where it fit
in the whole order.
Leviathan diving and
surfacing in a rhythm,
seen in the stars.
Even the Bang!
One.
Surface
we name ourselves --feel
attached to
getting a glimpse
he enacted the change.
He pursued and never let up.
So you might not like the square
blocking
what you thought to be--
to be out there
it was Heaven really
why should it just be handed to one?
Maybe the Bang!
15.
and a turning--
Crispin thought the differing aspects
expressed it best and none
were perfect or ideal or
transcended this process.
Jack thought of this
entering the west 4th Street Station
he had a pocket full of drawings
Subway drawings
they kept this thought present
and he felt a bit of a sage,
that meant crazy mad,
Prophetic
Just what was there, he saw.
