PIERRE JORIS

                    two poems

but the mind has no care

absorbed in June's warmth

the body takes over it

laughs the

mind shakes its head if

it has one

if it has none

it shakes it

just shakes

with laughter

two principles play

at hide & seek

trellis work of

shadow & light

lies on body in mind

candle awaits evening

trellis plays loose &

fastens mind

the order of order

takes care of

mind the share of light

of darkness fails

to account for the sound

of these colors flowers

turn in visible wind -

there is knowing

outside perception

no knowing inside either

inside dawn

flutter of expectation

leaning on time

to come to bring

what never happens

 

---

 

monsoonish.

on back porch

awaiting dawn through a

curtain of rain. to write

whatever. quod

libet all the unwritten

letters to you. and you.

and you. The noise of rain

on the brain. Do not

mention pens. Wet dogs'

bark. Do not mention rain.

A quarter is a small

space, except when it's

empty. Rub Al Khal. Long.

7, Lat. 20. Dry spice

Rub Beefy Rancho

Roll-Ups. American

spirit: organic poison.

I wish I were in

Sa'ana. No news is old

news. A break in the clouds.

No joke. She sleeps through

it. Not the Latin quarter either.

The pont Mirabeau. He

was a strong swimmer. They

say. Which leaves a doubt. Do

you need a doubt? Bridge careful

coffee. This morning. Every

morning. Still or again the

back porch the front porch &

back again a smoked cigarette

now that rain don't mention

it has stopped

the kids play ball scooter down

Madison Place. Here there is no

room for no doubt. Yelling clear pleasure

& excitement. Every fact is a

miracle. There can be no doubt.

This is the back porch again 5 a.m.

nicotine it is not a moth it is a bee.

the night bee circles the light.

Tighter, more wound up then

any moth. Bounces off the

oddly honeycomb shaped surface

of the porch light. Goes into

darkness. Now a small

mosquito. Thoughts of stag-

nant water. Here by the Hudson

West Nile diesease. Pont

Mirabeau. Drowned in a

poem. Birds & mosquitoes.

All places now contemporaneous in

the body. No room for

contempt. The birth of Mithrias

from homesteads. Mystery of

a postcard A. sent from

Newcastle. Paying tribute

to the dead.

Barry MacSweeney, poet,

friend. A birthing card

cycles between the

three of us, the

wheel of Samsara

wheel of common

wealth &

decay.