SOFT ARCHAEOLOGY

i would go 

once again 

to the places

i have been 

to see what of me

i might find there

in the memory

of streets

& the minds

of hills

~

time has never known 

what its to do with me

& i am infested 

with its minutes

&

backwatered 

by the tides

of its great bowl

FEAR EVEN TO ONCE GLANCE

now

the
system orchestrated mindset

demands rolling explanations

for absence from the day machine

&

it

comes

out

as

a beg / a whine / an excuse

& pleas for understanding

when

i should
be unapologetically ill

a still turning 

burning windmill 

on the overlook hill

sacrificed to home experiments

& slo-mo soft-blazing 

a strange new trail

thru the heart of darkness 

where half the healthy fear 

to even once glance

CIRCLES OF ELLIPSES

 now automatic writing
that engine & saviour of expression

     well -

 stationary boatmen

 make circles of ellipses

 in the spring of surface tension

 with coffee scoop feet 

& if i must

fall deep

to hear myself

i will belay the kernmantle ropes

 & light it up 

 & read the shadows
 of the gumbo & diamonds down there

  & fetch them up

  to the suns

  light

  warmth

   & bleachy fade

   & bust like birth

the kitchen counter silence 

in this bad-quiet & still 

     headpan pool

BABY JOHANSEN ASKS #2

 

papa ?

yes son ?

you know carol on the corner 
sold their mobility scooter
to pay bills from thames water ?

that rhymes son ! 

you could be a poet when you grow up

but papa ?

yes son ?

how would that help ?

. . . well . . .

BABY JOHANSEN ASKS

papa ?

yes son ?

this labour party, 

theyre people too, 

right papa ?

yes son 

then why are they doing 

such unpeople things ?

. . . well son . . .