A SECOND BEFORE IT BURSTS
ON LEARNING ON THE CLEAREST NIGHT ONLY 6000 STARS ARE VISIBLE TO THE NAKED EYE If seeing only 6000 stars with the naked eye awestrucks us to topple in drunken ecstasy Or piss looking up in devout praise of being, What would happen if we could truly perceive, comprehend and experience the zillions of stars galaxies universes pastpresentfuture? And if, as scientists agree, we only use 10% of our brain's potential, Then the astonishment we sense is only 10% of the astonishment we could sense, And so it would seem that what seems like dots of light twinkling in pretty patterns moving across the black is really enough to shatter us like goblets when the soprano hits the highest note. And if the 10% of the brainpower we do use is ignorant of 99.9% of the totality of the Universe, perhaps a li'l vino in our goblet ain't a bad idea -- Perhaps a flask of wine in deep wilderness night is more powerful than the largest telescope.
A SECOND BEFORE IT BURSTS Seeing my reflection on a river and seeing a bubble float into my reflection the bubble also reflecting me, So I see the reflection of my face in the bubble in the reflection of my face on the river, While below on the bottom the shadow of the bubble passes over golden fallen sunken leaves So it looks like inside my face is a riverbottom of golden fallen sunken leaves with the shadow of a bubble passing over while on the surface My reflected face with a bubble moving in it also reflecting me and me thinking It will burst any second just before it bursts . . . .
LIP-LICKING DEER SHITTING MEDITATION When you become such good friends with black-tailed deer that live in the black oak forest Sierra Foothills That 20 feet away they graze contemplating you as you sit on a stump in silence admiring them And they think nothing of shitting in front of you looking over their shoulders across their backs and rear-ends their black tails lifted As the perfectly shaped same-size brown pellets fountain out in a delicate continuous fountain And when they gaze at you with their big black eyes while they shit And suddenly their long pink tongues curl out and they're licking their lips, Licking their lips while shitting and looking over at you with their deep shy eyes, Isn't it proper etiquette to lick your lips back to think nothing of pissing in front of them, showing off your cock and the long arc of urine saved up for them knowing they like its salty savor like salad dressing on their grass and mushrooms, Isn't it proper etiquette you should look at them curious playful friendly and lick your lips in return? Note: On November 18, 1988, four poets from the People's Republic of China, Gong Liu, Jiang He, Gu Cheng, and Li Gang, gave a reading at Woodland Pattern Book Center, along with four U.S. poets, Folami Abiade, Antler, Martha Bergland, and J.D. Whitney. The American poets read some of the poems by the Chinese poets in English translation; and the Chinese poets read some of the work of their U.S. counterparts in Chinese. The above poem was translated by Yuan Yuan for this event. Click hete to go to the Chinese translation.
UNDERWATER LAKE MICHIGAN SOCRATES Thought of dropping bust of Socrates Morgan Gibson gave me that belonged to his dead Congregationalist minister father Over the side of the Spartan carferry into the middle of Lake Michigan as it crosses from Ludington to Milwaukee, No shore visible in any direction, no one on deck, so cold -- even in July -- but I thought in advance to bring wool cap, wool shirt, gloves, scarf and downfilled jacket -- Lightblue clear sky, windy, darkblue waters spreading white-capt and screaming, wheeling gulls, the ship rolling in wavetroughs stolidly -- Possibility the bust might plummet downward head up, land perfectly balanced on underwater cliff edge so it overlooks vast underwater valley and deepwater fish come to inspect it while all my life goes on and the history of humankind goes on. How many busts of Socrates exist contemplating the bottom of Lake Michigan?
FACTORY SACRIFICE Factories volunteer to be thrown into the volcano so the acid-rain typhoon won't come. Factories leap on the live grenade of industrialism to save their buddies, us. Factories wander away in a blizzard because they've become a burden on the tribe. Factories give themselves to be crucified so all who believe in them can relax forever. Factories immolate themselves on the work-ethic's funeral pyre. Factories have to be cut off below the knee to save the leg. Factories serenely cease to be after drinking cups of hemlock surrounded by philosophers. Factories help workers get into lifeboats and then nobly go down with the ship. Factories find work so meaningless they dream of being torn down even before they're built. Factories pull out their life-support system on their own and are discovered dead by the nurse. Garlanded with flowers, factories ascend the pyramid at dawn to have their machines torn out held up dripping grease to the Sun.
ATHEIST CONCHES Are there conches that don't believe after they die they echo the sea? That go to great lengths to prove to other conches the foolishness of believing after they die they will echo the sea? Spend their whole lives writing books about how there is no air or beach, only the sea, and when you die that's it, there's no echo?
Published by Woodland Pattern Book Center
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