the thing that eats you

[[ random stuff from a cowboy movie, extrapolated ]]

it is of course the size that strikes you first and last and always in the west

the big forever lies across the surface where that red star goes to rest

this cloud approaching weighs as much as any locomotive made of steel

you measure empty none by none until the all alone is all you feel

out on the land

working the land

always the land 

working you

I would accompany my pa to town each month before the next full moon

we'd spend the evenings watching dancers clomp the boards and sing at the saloon

the actresses encouraged me to get behind the stage and watch them all

the exits and the entrances were always ready for a curtain call

out on the land

working the land

always the land 

working you

there is no place to hide a body when the wind turns every breath to dust

there is no place to hide a body when the rain clouds fatten up and bust

there is no place to hide a body when the snow begins to pile high

there is no place to hide a body when the sun returns to bake it dry

he said he saw the story of his life roll through the inside of his mind

then called out to a horse he used to have like he had somewhere else to find

but he had nowhere all before him stretched out in the dying of the sun

the thing that eats you when it eats you is of course the thing you left undone

out on the land

working the land

always the land 

working you

there is no place to hide a body when the wind turns every breath to dust

there is no place to hide a body when the rain clouds fatten up and bust

there is no place to hide a body when the snow begins to pile high

there is no place to hide a body when the sun returns to bake it dry

Attenborough's Day Off

[[ A description of a real morning but with the observer transformed from a groggy parent eating toast into a bit of a voyeuristic, lecherous naturalist. ]]

Even the cat conspires,

the cat and Captain Underpants,

to douse my dream,

so I sit up, Nosferatu

on a hinge. Sunday morning

early, when a decent man 

would sleep, is full of sound.

Outside the open window

long bare legs are

flexing as she sways,  

her auburn hair flows down 

her back in early sun, 

her head is tilted to his, 

her eyes are in his eyes,

their tongues are tasting 

one last clinking beer.

They have so much to say 

but cannot keep their mouths 

apart for Jesus going on an hour, 

and her peculiar rocking on 

her long bare legs as if 

she sways to unheard music 

or as if -- they look around, 

he finds an opening in the 

wire fence around the lot 

behind them and she crouches

through alone.

He stands and smokes and looks 

the other way while she 

wades through tall grass and yarrow,

indigenous to these parts, 

to squat and disappear and

bare her bountiful cheeks

to all the creatures of the field, 

then reemerges.

They toss their bottles in the grass 

and walk to the first bus

before a panther falls from a tree. 

tomorrow

church bells

a festival

a woman

singing

soul and flesh in

a single ecstasy

tapping at the window

a curious bird or

a friend coming by or

a branch in the wind?

stretched legs

from hips to toes

a woman

letting

go of tension

a turning ceiling fan

sweetness in the air   

a gift for us or

for some other species or

for sweetness itself?

a new coin tossed

shining in her hand

and dare she look

at fate in her palm?

at unplucked berries  

warm in the sun?

Imagined Geography 1: Montana Song

bounded by perfect

four solid walls

north south east west

one good window

bounded by perfect

one endless road

nowhere each way

but away, away

here in our place between

zero and one

love me from here 

to the end of that sun

here in our place between

before we die

love me from here

to the end of that sky

if you ever leave me

but you will never leave me

but if you ever leave me

I will be in every reflection

I will be the ghost in your night 

I will be in every direction

I will be, I will be, I will be

but you will never leave me

bounded by perfect

surveyor lines

fences and rails

the horizon

bounded by perfect

circular sun

hard solid earth
plain hard sky

now where were we?

[[ a song about how we try to find and describe our own consciousness ]]

now where were we?

the parts of the thing
try to trace
the shape of the thing

a beam of light
tries to see
the source of the light

the wind in the air
wants to know
the sun and the air

we are
nowhere in particular, we are
a bend in the road, we are
a draft through a door, we are
the iridescence of fly, we are
an eddy in a river running down to the end of all time

now where were we?

we sailed with the pilgrims

[[ a drinking song? no idea. it just came out this way. ]]

we sailed with the pilgrims

but not what you think 

for we were all pilgrims 

alone on the drink

we sailed with the pilgrims

but not how it sounds 

for we were all pilgrims 

lost in the rounds

looking for a home from the sea

looking for a sea that would carry us home

looking for daylight after the moonlight

looking for dark under the big starry dome

with the scouring sky hanging over

with the swallowing sea shore to shore

with the dread of the known close behind

with the dread of the unknown before

we sailed with the pilgrims

but none of us pure 

for we were all pilgrims 

in need of a cure

we sailed with the pilgrims

but none of us good 

for we were all pilgrims 

in need of a bed

to capture our gods

to capture our gods

catch them in motion

drawing on walls

living on the threshold

waiting for rain

wishing the rain away

waiting for rain

cats in the corridor

always wanting in

and out again

always wanting in and out

to capture our gods

catch them in motion

banging out sound 

living by owl-light

waiting for sun

wishing the sun away

waiting for sun

cats in the corridor

always wanting in

and out again

always wanting in and out

to capture our gods

catch them in motion

wearing new faces

living by hoax

waiting for moonrise

wishing the moon away

waiting for moonrise

cast in the corridor

always wanting in

and out again

always wanting in and out

You can know nothing

[[ This started from two episodes in Ryszard Kapuściński, The Shadow of the Sun, and his description of how there is little in the way of twilight in Africa -- it is light and then BANG it is dark, and then, twelve hours later, BANG, it is light again. But I have let something of the ambiguous and possible hints of the metaphysical or epistemological creep into it. ]]

You can know nothing

before and after.

On the way to Kumase,

our bus stops somewhere.

A woman gathers to herself her children.

She rests her bowl upon her head

and walks into the trees.

You can know nothing

before and after.

When the sun comes up,

there is no prelude to rising.

This is the old adventure.

On the Serengeti,

our truck has a flat.

Lions rest round shreds of antelope.

They watch us half an hour, then rise

and walk into the grass.

You can know nothing

before and after.

When the sun goes down,

it is gone.

This is the old adventure.

intentional love song 11: astronomical passenger

[[ a song about going no place fast but together ]]

astronomical passenger you

astronomical passenger me

tilted and whirling

one thousand

miles an hour

round this planet

round the equator

every day

astronomical passenger you

astronomical passenger me

tilted and whirling

sixty-seven thousand

miles an hour

round this sun

tilted and whirling

every year

tilted and whirling

tilted and whirling

springsummerautumnwinter

springsummerautumnwinter

springsummerautumnwinter

spring

astronomical passenger you

astronomical passenger me

tilted and whirling

four hundred ninety thousand

miles an hour

round this galaxy

until we are gone

until miles and hours are gone

what do you see in the dark?

[[ Mine work, mine family.  ]]

daddy comes up 

from working the mine

black as sin

mama goes to him 

and strips him and 

scours his skin

come on up, daddy, 

and we can have breakfast

leave off that dirty old work

come and cheer mama up 

tell us a story

what do you see in the dark,

my daddy?

what do you see in the dark?

daddy works nights 

and comes out of the ground  

with the sun

mama feeds daddy

then says come to bed,

your day's done

come on up, daddy, 

and we can have breakfast

leave off that dirty old work

come and cheer mama up 

tell us a story

what do you see in the dark,

my daddy?

what do you see in the dark?

ring of stones

at the... 

end of the 

actual 

day

when the... 

moon pushes 

through the 

sky

we fold 

our bones

round a ring 

of stones

and talk 

across 

a fire

we talk 

across 

a fire

we wonder how - we will get through the snow

we wonder how - we will carry this load

we wonder how - we will build a new home

we wonder how - we will follow this road

oh, go on

we go on

we can do 

nothing else 

but go on

oh, go on

we go on

and we sing

while we walk

a walking song 

till the... 

end of the 

actual 

day

when the... 

moon pushes 

through the 

sky

we fold 

our bones

round a ring 

of stones

and talk 

across 

a fire

remember how - we would lie in the grass

remember how - we would play by the shore

remember how - we would watch the day pass

remember how - we wanted nothing more


[[ nomads, refugees, wanderers  ]]

the lifting night

The lifting night is leaving -

Birds begin.

Before the sun is up,

birds begin the day.

Before the moon is down,

birds begin the day.

= = = = =

This is where we all are

in this air between

our sun and moon and earth.

Inhaling and exhaling,

all exchanging

breath for breath for breath.

= = = = =

From tree to tree

a gathering of bird 

begins to dawn:

how once we preyed

and how we once

were preyed upon.

A Coin Toss

This 1943 Mercury dime

will circle our sun

to the end of our time

Ladies, a toast:

to the end of our time

...then I settled down

with a boy from a town,

a town crumbled into the sea...

there will never be another story

this is how all stories end

...that was the time

of the Mercury dime

round the far side of the sun...

there will never be another story

this is how all stories end

...out of the sun

came a man with a gun

whirling a circle of heat...

there will never be another story

this is how all stories end

...that was the day

that she melted away

fell off the edge of the world...

there will never be another story

this is how all stories end

This 1943 Mercury dime

will circle our sun

to the end of our time

Ladies, a toast:

to the end of our time

Circle the sun

to the end of our time

[[ It's intentionally disjointed. An astronaut has failed to settle something with a coin toss using an old shining silver Mercury dime that got away and is tumbling through space, glinting with each rotation. Well, that's part of the story. There is loss in the images, and a gunman. Three or four story lines hinted at. Only the images and emotions matter. ]]

the seclusion of girls

first sign of blood
the girl must run

the girl must not touch the ground
the girl must not feel the sun
the girl must not be seen by men

first sign of blood
the girl must run

she must run (run to the river)
she must hide (hide in the long grass)
she must run (run to the river)
she must hide (hide in the long grass)
the girl must run

first sign of blood
the girl must run

she must
live in the
house of the
heartless

she must
live in the
darkened
house

first sign of sun
this curs-ed girl
become a skeleton

first sign of blood
the girl must run

[[ This one is straight out of The Golden Bough. http://www.bartleby.com/196/149.html and today's news ]]

what could a pale man do?

what could a pale man 

do but pack up?

pack up his oil and his towel?

off to a bright beach 

where I will bare my

chest to the wind and the sun

rub down my body

rub myself down

rub myself down on a towel

do you admire my polarized spectacles?

how do you like how my spectacles shine?

say how you like my dark gleaming spectacles.

this is the loveliest 

state of Connecticut 

If I had a pipe 

I would take out my pipe

I would take out my pipe and smoke it

drawn to water

Our pale daughter,

drawn to water,

wears her outside in.

She first spoke for us

at two, on the bus:

"I am inside my skin." 

She first noticed me

when she was three

humming a wandering tune.

"Sing me the one

with the moon and sun.

I am the sun in the moon."