some hopeless night in Galilee
until you lose your pride in Him
until your faith objective fails
until you stretch your arms so wide
you do not need these Roman nails
A few minutes later Anthony produced a reply:
I really hope you stumble on
The Great Red Whore of Babylon
Forget the Grace
Enjoy the Lace
Have some fun and carry on
He is very fast. The beach was full of beautiful young women whom I desired uniformly at a very low intensity. I saw a new-born Christian on a rock contemplating the beauty of His Handiwork and I hurried off to let her know that I had been touched by Grace. My song almost made her cry. She hadn’t known “that I knew the Lord.”
Hydra, 1983
WHEN EVEN THE
Your breasts are like.
Your thighs and your carriage.
I never thought.
Somewhere there must be.
It’s possible.
Summer has nothing.
Even Spring doesn’t.
Your feet are so.
It’s cruel to.
My defence is.
Summer certainly doesn’t.
Your.
And your.
If only.
Somewhere there must.
But the.
And the.
It’s enough to.
Soldiers don’t.
Prisoners don’t.
Maybe the turtle.
Maybe hieroglyphics.
Sand.
But in your cold.
If I could.
If once more.
Slip or liquid.
But the.
And the.
Sometimes when.
Even tho’.
Yes even tho’.
They say suffering.
They say.
Okay then let’s.
Let’s.
The sign is.
The seal is.
The guarantee.
Oh but.
O cruel.
O blouse with.
This is what.
And why it isn’t.
But what do they.
What do they.
When even.
When even the.
Years will.
Death will.
But they won’t.
Even if.
Even if the.
They never will.
O deceiver.
O deceptive.
Turn your eyes.
Incline your.
To the one who.
Rotten as.
Who does not.
Who never will.
But now your.
And your.
And these arms.
Which is lawless.
Which is blind.
If you come.
If you find.
Then I.
Like all.
Like every.
If only.
If when.
Even though.
Even if.
Not for.
Not for.
But only.
But every.
If I could.
When the.
Then I.
Even if.
Even when.
I would.
New York, 1982
PARIS MODELS
The models were changing
for the next shot.
I saw the sex of one
and the breast of another.
A balloon was taped
to a woman’s finger,
and they started up
the wind machine.
The dresses came alive
and glorious accidents
of hair and shadow
framed their solemn faces.
The miracle of the balloon
grazing on a fingertip,
while the storm
carried off their bodies,
was deeply convincing.
Finally the Chinese food arrived,
and the models walked around
wearing towels
and carrying paper plates.
Everyone was happy
that the magic of womanhood
had worked again.
They could rest a little while
on the great wave,
at the very crest
of confident and effortless allure.
I was happy too.
I felt privileged
to have attended a ceremony
usually restricted to professionals.
Paris, 1987
ON SEEING KABIR’S POEMS
ON HER DRESSING TABLE
Perfumed soap
and a little Kabir
another hundred thousand
and a little Kabir
A new stone house, a swimming pool
arguments, debts, and facials, facials
and here is Kabir’s Love Swing
here is his Apartment of Death
Kabir, you old braggart
you have put them all to sleep
Rousillon, 1981
MY HONOUR
My honour is in bad shape.
I’m crawling at a woman’s feet.
She doesn’t give an inch.
I look good for fifty-two
but fifty-two is fifty-two.
I’m not even a Zen Master.
I’m this man in a blue summer suit.
My lawyer took my .32 away
and locked it in the safe.
I’m defenceless against
her arrogance.
When the world is slow
she turns to me for an easy victory.
I’ll rise up one of these days,
find my way to the airport.
I’ll rise up and say
I loved you better than you loved me
and then I’ll die for a long time
at the centre of my own dismal organization,
and I’ll remember today,
the day when I was that asshole in a blue summer suit
who couldn’t take it any longer.
Paris, 1987
PEACE
I’ve come clean
I’m afraid you will have to bow down to me
I won’t be able to breathe properly
unless I am worshipped
You thought I was getting better
didn’t you
Here it comes again
peace
the hands of peace around my throat
That’s why I’m letting you go
that’s why I’m sitting here
in my robes
with my eyes rolled back into my head
Mt. Baldy, 1980
THE EMBRACE
When you stumble suddenly
into his full embrace,
he hides away so not to see
his creature face to face.
You yourself are hidden too,
with all your sins of state;
there is no king to pardon you;
his mercy is more intimate.
He does not stand before you,
he does not dwell within;
this passion has no point of view,
it is the heart of everything.
There is no hill to see this from.
You share one body now
with the serpent you forbid,
and with the dove that you allow.
The imitations of his love
he suffers patiently,
until you can be born with him
some hopeless night in Galilee;
until you lose your pride in him,
until your faith objective fails,
until you stretch your arms so wide
you do not need these Roman nails.
Idolators on every side,
they make an object of the Lord.
They hang him on a cross so high
that you must ever move toward.
They bid you cast the world aside
and hurl your prayers at him.
Then the idol-makers dance all night
upon your suffering.
But when you rise from his embrace
I trust you will be strong and free
and tell no tales about his face,
and praise Creation joyously.
Hydra, 1983
A DEEP HAPPINESS
A deep happiness
has seized me
My Christian friends say
that I have received
the Holy Spirit
It is only the truth of solitude
It is only the torn anemone
fastened to the rock
its root exposed
to the off-shore wind
O friend of my scribbled life
your heart is like mine —
your loneliness
will bring you home
Hydra, 1981
EVERY PEBBLE
Every pebble dreams of itself
Every leaf has a scheme
The sun is by desire bound
to travel down a beam
Defeated still I cannot yield
my heart to blessed peace
because I dream that there are chains
I dream there is release
I told this to the prisoner
who killed the man I hate
I told it to the miner who
dug up my golden plate
Therefore do I live in hell
for dreaming that hell is
the distance that I dare to put
between my hand and his
I dreamed my body yesternight
I dreamed the universe
I dreamed I dreamed a thousand years
in order to rehearse
the seven days of wonderment
when, drawn from the mist
I was clothed in nakedness
and suffered to exist
I dreamed that I was given song
to be my only proof
that my true dwelling place with you
has neither ground nor roof
nor windows to look out of, Lord
nor mirrors to look in
nor singing to be out of it
nor dying to begin
O child this is your human dream
this is your human sleep
and do not strive so hard to climb
from what is sound and deep
I love the dream that you’ve begun
beneath my evergreen
I love the pebble and the sun
and all that’s in between
And for this conversation
in the early morning light
I offer up these shabby days
that
