8 Poems by James ONCE A MAN Once a man tasted anger on his tongue and there was speech no longer could he move through the air like light and thus he was given form and eyes with which to apprehend it he saw a bird in flight and in this way learned desire he longed for a star and in longing built a city in which no one ever speaks WE WILL NOT BE DISTURBED BY THE TRUTH When the master returned after all those years how could we not be happy all our lives we were told he was no master that he had turned his back upon us all were told by talentless men that his talents were waning and would soon amount to nought yet the more they spoke the greater fools they appeared in our eyes the longer the shadow he cast over their feeble appeals to our hearts we knew them to be old men seeking only the absolution of youth when the master returned clutching a burgundy suitcase and dressed in a dusty olive suit how could we not be happy he looked just like the old picture where he smoked a filterless cigarette clutching a copy of The Antichrist while his hopelessly stunning consort looked on in neophytic devotion when the master returned we were like village children shamelessly rooting for a stranger's favor watching carefully lest we fail to capture any stray bits of wisdom that were bound to fall from his lips how we implored him to fill us with truths to tell us how much better things were in the old days when wine flowed freely and youth was a power unto itself we waited and waited then the master spoke he said he had returned to make his peace with those estranged by his immoderation for years and years he told us he wandered without direction from bed to bed from one revolution to the next until one lonely night in a town too far from home when it all came clear and he knew he must return how old he looked standing there alone suitcase still in hand the daylight already waning nothing like the old photographs how could he be happy it was with mercy in our hearts that we drew our knives we killed the old man I'VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH REALLY I was at a party which I suppose is a bad enough beginning for a poem but it gets worse for I was not drinking and everyone appeared exactly as in fact they were someone introduced me to a woman who had travelled once to the Caribbean tempting me to mention my sojourn into Kansas but before any such consortium could be organized the host appeared from my blind side demanding critical appraisal of his gathering under such obligation I assessed the room paralegals with vodka and tonics programmers discussing COBOL with disinterested administrative assistants a Brobdingnagianic data entry clerk standing guard at the one door head thrown back and laughing laughing "wonderful wonderful" I moaned so suddenly conspicuous in my ink spotted khakis and faded denim shirt THE COMMUNAL ORGASM Hearts senselessly lunge through void asymptotes continually reappear years become redeemable for moments judgement doffs its murderous robes a knife walks free and everywhere chests are bared expectantly infested with desires HEAT The way the heat breaks upon the city and covers everything the way your skin responds to its tang you sense in this the motion of desire through absence the sight of blood to the anemic that faint in its presence MASS TRANSIT The homeless people are whispering planning themselves a celebration later on this month somewhere around Armageddon a bus with brow like Athena's breaks down at the stop and who knows what Prometheus will not have his fire who knows when the anchor a plane makes of its shadow will catch and what a feast there shall be then already the streets are laughing listen how these bellies roar THE COMMONWEALTH OF DREAMS In the Commonwealth of Dreams a man is fixing coffee trying to remain asleep in the dark kitchen his wife stands before tho open refrigerator transfixed by its light there is no talk and whatever hunger there is is always on the point of fulfillment in the Commonwealth of Dreams there are students trading their books in for love and amorists given due for their knowledge in this place even suicides drift from bridges like feathers to soft and bloodless completion in the sand banks of awareness in the Commonwealth of Dreams there has never been any talk of secession MINUTES Do not be mistaken we are here today only to discuss not do away with the problem we are here to pick at the scabs so the wound will never heal we talk only to move our tongues to the exposed nerve to remind ourselves how it hurts we are here today to discuss the problem to define an index of suffering determine to whom the prize must go upon which wrist lies the longest scar within which heart the most shards of glass we are here to found the Brotherhood of Suffering now let us discuss our agenda quick the time is running out and we are growing well