Dishwasher

Dishwasher

Sometimes when asked my vocation,

I answer “dishwasher”.

I learn more about the soul

From a stranger smoking wet

Cigarettes on a street corner.

Or the hooker who perfected

The five minuet trick,

Who taught me economics.

I wash dishes and listen

To the girls gossip:

About who is fat or ugly or high or strung out.

And I can’t stomach it.

So I keep the coffee hot

Watching the quick dance

Of consumption.

The history of it all.

Conversations matching the sweet

Cups of electric radio.

Everything still and bright,

Just like the moment before death.

And I watch or listen,

Distinctive hum of cycles,

Dots forever strewn from light to light,

The madness of wage, drifting trough this life

Silent and aware.

Revolution

Revolution

If I didn’t understand it then,

I get it now:

As a poet exchanging

Warms coins

And prewritten sentiment

To earn my keep.

Watching old men

Cough out sugar and smoke.

If I didn’t care then I do now:

Ten o’clock cancer

Belting monotonous hormones

Over plastic and glass.

And as a cynic,

Catching scents and worn

Paper,

Learning life by the sadness

And fatigue of purchased goods.

If I didn’t notice then,

I will now:

Waiting for the bus,

Listening to the lull between,

The silence where I think about

Pasta and whiskey,

Or the way the space between branches

Catch the street light haze.

If I didn’t understand it then,

I get it now:

It begins softly,

Until is rises in ecstasy.

Ten

I. This can not be it!

Something which

Half heartedly boils itself,

Aimless and aimless

Not even aware of aim or:

Less we admit to seeking

Dust under our own eyelids,

There is only the sound,

There is only the sound.

II. Collected dust

Pools of rain, here:

Following these…deeper

But still just following,

Secret poems between

Breast and thighs,

Trail without signs,

Leading…leading.

III. Through the bowls

Something dissatisfying,

Seeks it’s own stench ,

In gratitude, reach deeper,

Catch yourself catching it,

No: this is not the way

To go about changing.

IV. A great struggle!

Within our hands, grab & grapple &

Fix, and lose it again, and regain:

Return.

Breath…this is going to take awhile.

V. When struggle ends:

Acceptance, obedience, and gentleness.

No, this is not the wild

Same self

Lacking the ability or necessity,

You are not the enemy I had once perceived.

VI. Great joy!

Returning home atop

These mysterious things,

Music and dance and sex and wine,

Everyone joins!

Everyone begins to grow great beards

And wild hair!

VII. I am here:

Joy has subsided,

That which left footprints

Is transcended.

Idle…idle…idle…

Ideal.

VIII.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

IX. There is only sound.

There is only sound.

And laughter, happiness, sadness, trees.

Ordinary becoming ultimate,

Ultimate becoming ordinary.

One and one makes one.

　

X. The circle is complete.

I return to the first face I saw,

And that face returns to me.

Walking I smile at strangers,

They return the smile,

and begin there own thoughts with:

This can not be it!