Motion Beyond the Edges of the Universe

rumor says

that motion beyond edges of the universe

calls attention and seeing

what can be seen

cannot be unseen

an ocean

of understanding to understand

understanding cannot be unknown

when understood

yet no final understanding

lives in those seas

a gesture made

moves faint airs

about fingertips

stirring grasses

in unknown fields

The Cemetary

 City high-rises loom like gravestones

against an August moon blasting radio tunes

off teeth of the Sierra Nevada.

Geek and Dork drive Eighty into San Francisco Bay

crossing bridges, waiting for the next quake

along the faults of saints.

Neither felt a river move until one night

a skylight fell during a long slide show

of mythic meteors.

It was love at first shake and ever since

they’ve been looking for repeats

in syndication.

Imagine the Worst

Imagine the worst

Now tell me

Your mind’s eye view

Famous photos

TV adverts

In Sad-eyed places

Little waifs

With brown skin

In shoe factories

Black and whites in

Rio favelas,

African Sahel

Ragged unwashed

Andean kids

Without a shoe

What about rumors

Of the Magic

Kingdom missing?

Or the hundreds

Whose last portraits

Grace non-fat milk?

Santa Ana's Wind

Swift Legs Mojave won in flagrante delicto

         slow dancing in Santa Ana’s arms

and they blew hot toward forgetfulness

         down the 10 passed San Berdooni‘s charms

where her old red stolen wreck’s engine

         and his shiny black convertible top

finally caught fire in a two-star pile-up

         in a motel parking lot late night stop

well he had her and she had him

         while they slept off a naked tonic and gin

celebrating a Vegas win on a moon cool autumn night

         Ana’s old hot wind started blowing again

through his mother’s garage in Hacienda Heights

        

         old mom threw some gas on the flame with

her Jesus jive over ice-cold beer and they

         booked into Hollywood with hell

freezing over and a dream in gear of finding

         some fame engraved in a big bronze star

under their dirty feet and old chewed gum

         burning up tombstone boulevard

        

        

A Person Sitting In the Dark Am I

sitting in dark am I

in these shadows

grown by the moon

whose dull light

robbed each tree

of green

and sky of blue

only to shine the merest points

at this earth

to tumble from broken mirrors

what a strange existence live I

among the murmuring lost,

a path along the stream

spirits deflect futures

at a fleeting touch

afloat in currents

formed nowhere.

a conversation began

now or then

with whom or them

how long ago

it happened again

and again we spoke

and spoke

against our walk

our steps

on ancient streets

of a river

where memory,

thrown unheeded,

by happy dead

who smile

and laugh

and work

and trod,

their eyes, oblivious

to this color washing cities,

sometimes stare,

you at me or me at you,

with lives

full of watchful anger,

or envy,

or bland joy

wrapped around,

of tears, streams, washed sullen

from faces

who now so live .. or not