December 6th, 2010


(no subject)

We always think that we have time to pay
that money will come in to pay each debt
each of our creditors somehow forget
what's due. And then arrives that dreadful day

that day of wrath when everything that's due
will be demanded of us, flesh and bone,
sinew and tendon. And the mind alone
stripped of all that is naked. What's to do

but keep some little back to warm the cold
quivering thought that's all that still remains,
in the grey mulch of our slow dying brains?
Prepare those dying moments now. Just hold

your lover tighter, savour on your tongue
hot pepper. And make art, now, while you're young.

On a roll, seems like


We cannot bring them back. And yet we sing
or write of them we held but could not own
to honour them we claim, and lie, or moan
our loss aloud. We mourn, and cannot bring

them back. And our first father went to hell
and could not harrow it for her. He tried
and failed, and he looked back, and later died
all but his voice, which sang out like a bell

floating a severed head torn out of flesh.
We do not know the tortured song they heard,
his killers, maddened. Scream or piping bird,
angel or anguish. Music weaves its mesh

of sound from pain and joy, having and lack.
It's beautiful, but cannot bring them back.

I wrote this a while back, but it felt too raw

We are all Orpheus. We try to get
back loves we lost. We fight our way through Hell
singing to our regrets. We might as well
accept that love is done, and just forget

because it is the act of looking back
that loses things. We know that they are lost
once they are past; getting them back would cost
all we have learned by losing. We would lack

that wisdom. Yet perhaps there is a way.
Live forward, and perhaps one day you'll meet
the person they became. Some random street
contains that meeting. Don't wait for that day

or hope for it. And if you recognize
your lost one, better reach out with closed eyes.


There's magic in the world. Or song at least,
a magic we can hear. Some can perform
it beautifully, others at least stay warm
lulled by it on cold nights. It tames the beast

outside the gate of Hell. It soothes the souls
in torment. It is structure torn from joy
and sadness. Some fear it will destroy
their will or anger or that it controls

their hearts too much,and stick wax in their ears.
And pity them, for all that they will lose.
And fear them too – without song they will choose
silence and absence, other people's tears.

So worship song. It helps us keep in mind
all other voices with ours intertwined.