inadvertent ornithology
arbitrary heavens and necessary hells
I see they’re offering me premium bollocks again
this time at a discount rate
slipping between layers of passing night ships
in the shadows, still,
while shambles shamble by
should it be warpaint on my brush
flicking through the breezes of change
across the swamp of time
sometimes we stare our demons down
and sometimes we turn our backs
and let the demons get on and ride us
across the plains into the setting sun
birds of ill omen hovering
birds of good omen heading back to the nest
still betting my best that there’s
a way out of humanity’s collective mess
it can be a long slow passage in despair
to make and then destroy is the way of the world
blah blah blah, as the wise one said
but excuse me, I’ve got a bird to catch
whoever whatever
I no longer plead innocent
now I plead insane
what do we know so far?
precious little, precious little
we only try to eat soap once
but other things take many lessons
recent studies show
that we pay a lot of attention
to recent studies
especially the ones that support our prejudices
we choose what to notice
indeed it’s one of the few choices
we have left
I no longer plead innocent
now I plead insane
and the result of the boldness is to
create new things in the world
that were not there before
when we stride like Johnny Appleseed
towards an unknown abundant future
that we will never see
I no longer plead innocent
now I plead insane
to be enslaved by our tools
is nothing new,
but what are we building?
at least we should know what we’re building
whoever she was
whatever she wanted
that was the thing that I could not do
but I no longer plead innocent
now I plead insane
when the horizon hides
so this is to be
a time of letting go
and setting adrift
of things falling apart
and abandonments
alternating boldness and limpness
shallow breathing and deep sleep
upheavals and whispers
doubts of confidence
and confidence in doubt
targets moving
and encircling
and snarling
things fall over
things fall down
things break
things stretch and then break
and then fall over
demons become
barbarians at the gate
banging on the doors
and rattling the windows
when the horizon hides
behind the haze
and its magnetic pull
no longer reaches the
innermost heart
so this is to be
a time of waiting
for the horizon to clear
for the tiny hopping birds
to return to the courtyard
and the days to begin with a smile
you are seen, you are not gone
there you are hiding
in the cracks and the corners,
in foreheads and shoes
and bursts of speech and
similar dresses
woven into the
landscape,
caressed into warm life
by someone’s laughter,
someone else’s sobs
you are seen
you are not gone
accumulating in
scraps of songs,
smouldering in cigarettes and
swimming in half empty glasses of wine
around closing time
whispering through dreams
dancing in the shadow of dancers
and the silhouette of photographs
in bonds of blood and melody
and ferocity of drum
and in the rain,
the emphatic rain,
again the rain
falling to earth
you are seen
you are not gone
reach
and when we reach
and rejoice in the reaching
action and object
stretch and grasp
always reaching
and never reaching
and when we reach
and rejoice in the reaching
the action as important
as the object
always reaching
and never reaching
and when we reach for each other
and when we reach each other
and we are extended because
there is more now between us
than there was before the reach
always reaching
and never reaching
when we reach
and rejoice in the reaching
bygone talismans
I wonder what became of those
bygone talismans of
forestalled good luck,
carried or placed or hung,
that could not overcome
the unlimbed lameness,
the star crossed inevitabilities
from stumbledacross leaps of faith
into mismatched three-legged races
in what boxes of archeological detritus
— I who can throw so little away —
do they now sit, inert and robbed
of their glamorous charm by the
passing of time and the
exposure of their false promises
of good fortune
justaroundthecorner
and what comes of
the abandoned hopes themselves?
sometimes I think they wander
the windy moors
of our collapsed memories
stalking us and waiting for
a weak spot to reappear
few of us are lucky enough
to find ourselves in a story
where we can be a hero
like in the films,
but some of us
are lucky enough
to make the threelegged race work
with or without talismanic assistance
to open hearts
to open hearts
with lullaby runners
and saintly socks
and sainted songs
with moving parts
and roaming bones
and strolling homes
walk through the jungle
step by step
one jungle at a time
if you’re in luck
to open hearts
with gilded ashes
and april showers
and rising greens
with found objects
and gathered seeds
and sprinkled thoughts
walk through the jungle
step by step
one jungle at a time
if you’re in luck
to open hearts
with hurricane smiles
and blue stars
and children’s games
with softened
and smoothed
and rested
with loosened
and caressed
with time
