It's All Pretend

Let’s all pretend.

         Everything.

Pretend competence,

         incompetence,

what difference

         can pretense make?.

Speak with a voice

         sane with reason,

god is dead.

         Scream insistently

at no one in particular,

         everything is god,

nothing is divine.

         Ancient nature

honors no favorite;

         is fire burning comfort,

or simple destruction?

        

         Let’s all pretend

to live in fear

         because life goes on.

Or feel delight

         because life ends.

Anger floods you

         because you have power.

Anger fills hearts

         because power eludes us.

You curse an ugliness

         someone finds beautiful.

You are shocked when friends

         look on that

which is your beauty

         as ugly.

Let’s all pretend

         that which wears away bone

became dust,

         and you teach

that as permanent.

         That dust, scattered amongst stars,

across an entire universe

         where you tell your lies,

 you pretend is truth.

         It’s all pretend.

Frame

So we start our dance and so we start. Our dance so started and it stops. It then stopped. What stopped was once started. So what started and stopped was dance. And it was our dance. And our dance it was. It stopped. It stopped before it finished and the stop was the end. The end was not the finish. So the finish was the end that cannot be seen. Now the finish is after the end. So the finish is after.  Then there is a photograph, a picture of us. And it is a photograph before and when and the end but not the finish. After our dance started it stopped and it did not start again and it did not finish. And what started and stopped was a dance.

Naked body parts stopped in a photograph, is a photo. A photograph of naked bodies stopped so no part can move. These two naked bodies stopped in a photo once moved. This is a photograph. And it is not a dance for it is stopped and a stopped dance is not dance, it is stopped and it is a photograph. If dance stops it is not dance. It is a pose. Poses from dance are stopped. A photograph of a pose is a photograph and now it is not a pose. Dance is moments and this moment is not a pose and is not a dance. This moment was caught as light and dark shows. Dark is caught and is showing light. A camera is a mechanism to catch light, a light catching mechanism, and a mechanism, a machine can catch light and it is a light catching mechanism and it catches light. It is a camera. So light caught by a mechanism is not mechanical. It is a photograph and not light.

Motion stopped is not dance and light caught is not dance. A camera is not motion and is not dance. Dance is stillness carried.  Dance is motion and a body in light. A camera is not motion, so it is not dance. They are not light. Light is not dance. A body is not dance and dance is not light. So they were caught. And a camera caught light and motion is caught and is not dance. So there is a floor.

Sticks and Tricks

Sticks and tricks

on thins and thicks

glass and frame

shame and blame

all fail and fail again

multitude and plenitude

done to gone

with bit and bite

of appetite

the whether

we weather

to climb and climb

to see a sea

we’ve never seen

Imprimis

Does anyone know

who they were before

experience changed

them into the next

person they became

or when experience

changed that person

can they see who

that interim person

might have been

can anyone then

be anyone then

or now

forever

after

such thoughts fall

away and never

enter in again

unless the sinner

sin again the sin

that became the in

before and left

an open door

stepped through into

a room so much tighter

or looser than before

for me

I cannot see

a forest

without a tree

I Will Never Be Consul To Burma

I will never be consul to Burma,

         ambassador to France.

I will never shake a president’s hand, nor

         would I bow before a queen or king.

I can bless a pope or lama,

a minister or priest

as well as grill a burger

or perform a remarkable feat

I am neither criminal nor saint.

         Award me or deride me, you

                  cannot change a stone

                  into a parakeet.

Guardian Angels

J Church

sparks away

from 18^th

after eight hours

of the Financial District

paper maze.

I walk

to gather thought

for a night

in the City.

Mission High School

hides street light

leaving its sharp edge

of shadow across

a November night.

Sidewalk spots

of dropped gum,

and teenage spit

desiccate into odors

of faint mint.

Church Street

and Dolores Park

run empty except

for the click

of my shoes.

San Francisco

and I

are looking

for dinner.

A black and white

police cruiser

at my left elbow

stops,

it’s window

sliding down

seductively.

Two policemen,

the driver resting

his right arm along

the seat back,

strangely intimate

with his partner’s shoulders,

the partner,

laying a uniformed arm

along the window track

ask,   

“You seen any fags?

You have to be careful, you know.

They’re all over the place.”

Like insects and litter.

bored policemen,

harass a solo evening walk,

drive quickly away,

when a flight

of Guardian Angels

come into view.

Museum

this museum

of ancient displays

I’ve seen every day

since it was built

periodically, panics

are carefully dusted,

re-lit

and fresh blood applied

look, there are the words

placed by mother

sharpened razor fine

and left for a child’s

naked feet, an old remedy

against illness

in this metal case

father’s silence

a meticulous construct

of lies and ignorance

to prevent exit

except through

the gift shop

and these … these

are famous actions

and phrases left

by uncles and cousins,

friends and aunts

as donations

to insure

a living legacy

of life in distant history

and the survival

of these outstanding artifacts

this museum is funded

in perpetual trust.