as marilyn

Part I.
Blazing blue
bonny billy spirals
like a lightbulb glowing
revealing the way hair wraps around itself
strangling singularity and leading the eye
circling in down the tunnel towards truth.
He’s aloof as he stands there
like a lighthouse saving ships
without moving
He takes my hand and spins me around
our costumes clashing
different minds united in one time
waist line leading to wasteland
His hair on end at the sight of skin,
he’s doing up the figures
on the relativity of love.
I thought I saw him sigh
as I walked
back down the stairway.

Part II.
Awkward in his suit
the most powerful man
the most powerful land
and a girl to throw it all off
He’s lost in the way I glance back
over my shoulder
asking for help with my gloves.
To see this prince stutter, mutter
forget the point of his platform
the planks giving way to desire,
to make a liar out of an honest man,
it makes me even more sure
I do what I can
and come out
victory in colors.

Part III.
So I looked in the mirror
at myself
equal parts
of this evening performance
I smiled and watched
the corners of her mouth trace a semicircle
out of habit
So beautiful
are those things we most want
and so lonely when they want for identity.
Bleached and painted
pursuing excellence in personification of the lips
the swing and the bush, the curl and the blush
of the hips of the hair of the lips from the stare
She’s aware of what she’s doing
still she proceeds
But what of her needs?
It’s true.
We are lost.

the words in a poem, on Li Young Lee

His face silhouetted against
the angular painted busts
talking about God and the universe
and knowing nothing.
blazer and collared shirt over jeans
acting the part
mysterious starving artist
rasping out truth.
Feeling myself breathing every word:
the identification
that comes
when one really knows
In this room full of half smiles
awe and hope
eagerness reflected in their wide eyes
each looking to be the next to find the truth.
His hands nervously trace the wrinkles of an envelope
Long writers’ fingers
and I am entranced.
My words coming from every moment
a whole life culminating
over and over
each second the paths trace backwards
to yesterday.
He comes to life as his words take over his face
stretching and molding
his personality writing itself in scribbled cursive
on his forehead
trickling out
oozing through
my whole body trembling
in fear of the truth.
Submitting ourselves
as writers
as slaves
emptying our bodies of life onto the page.
Our ink taking shape
bleeding out of us
so this paper has a pulse
throbbing rhythm
so I can continue
writing on.
A demonized prophet
a poet
a painter of pictures on pages
and experiencer of rages
He says that’s what we are.
Does he know he’s preaching to a congregation
of the lost,
Hoping to be found somewhere in his sentences.
Searching for ourselves
and excuse for feeling different
“one mind in different quadrants”
reminding each other we’re okay.
This is the William and Mary I’ve been searching for.
The people who make me feel okay

creases

The tree outside the window sprouts the Jamaican national colors
protesting the move from spring to fall,
it’s flaming tips tickling the ice from the sky
as night falls
so too do the leaves
burning like embers
carried by the wind
drifting along with me on the brick pathway.

Koyaanisqatsi, part I.

painted druids
headbanging their ways
to falling debris
red like the sun
dandruff dancing
powder drifting like snow
from the space shuttle
fading to canyons
craters in the sun
devil horns form
in the panning red line
valley stretching
river running
over the edge of the world
waves rolling through the
shadowed giants
humming their way
rifts and ridges
down through the hole of Mother Earth
the abundant architecture--
an experiment in the anatomy
protruding up from the plain
pillars competing for fame
The battle ship trapped
a Monty Python laugh
between the lines
of water winding
its way through
the plot
A dot of mist rising off the
crash of the master
making waves through solid matter
What's the matter?
Never seen a fingerprint before?
Do you see the tie dye?
The clouds bleeding like bullets
over the dusk below
rising like the plague
repeating again
as the grandfather smiles
in the background?
single flower, misty cave
the wings flutter in the
monarchy of sunlight
Fear fading to perfect skies
rolling like waves
dissolving in midair
pillars of pillows
for childhood bears and dreams
movie scenes
playing themselves out in nature
Stop to savor the pouring of a mile of water
turning to a sea of static
playing gravity and moonbeams
flying up like fire
pulling the pirate under
below the glittering
sequins and sapphires
crashing against the mountainous shore
sliding down the slope back to bay
falling like prey over Scottish hills
airstream winding its way down the
fjord-- icebergs turning to
Holland tulip gardens
a patchwork quilt
and what of an island we
hear as a battlehorn
becoming a billowing
army of 6s
putting us in fixes of
visionless night
blocking light
becoming machines
before
our very eyes
Miles of pipe bleeding oil
over the Alaskan skyline
Power lines
metal giants waging war in
lines kitty cat faces
squinting.
These mirrors of the sky
shattered in corresponding pieces
held back by the ball and chain
Mushroom turning to budding rose
pointing arrow, jellyfish,
artichoke
fist held mushroom in the sky of
bikini island
taking fall to nuclear power
tourists staring at silver etchings
heat wave duplicating
pages
bleeding from the nose
becoming a playful Pluto in profile
set to blink at any moment
traffic writing letters
S.O.S. in its pattern
clover leaves
tin like legos
jutting knife blades
walls of windows upon themselves
digital clouds crowning the sky king.
building sliding like a pirate ship
people clearing in and out
waiting in line in clusters of color.
symbolism.
the same man comes back
for more
cowboy hat in the fifth row
car clogging arteries
cholesterol shifting rubber
from magic to Main.