Category Archives: Fables

“I Could Have Called”

“I Could Have Called”

I could have called last night, you
Know; you’d have answered, of course, and we,
Removed, should conquer these deserted walls; the you and me
Expressing wonder and ecstasy de facto that two
Fine tunes in a single space find nothing in our words;
No lyrics, no grandiloquent prophesies, no binding ties,
No coy deception, fitting deposition, or bold-faced lies
To truss up seams, loose and dwindling ends; just birds
Of prey whose festive table breeds in fables, birdseed, curds
In whey–nothing offered, nothing taken–
Gilded fare in a God-forsaken
Intercourse that breathes perhaps in syllables, but nowhere near a word,
Stentorian sensations that somehow subdue a nightly desperation,
Declarations masked in stilted mantras ripe with endless repetition.

“He Passed the Bricks”

“He Passed the Bricks”

He passed the bricks he lived in once today
And for a second felt the loss, a certain regret
For what was then and is no longer. So wet,
So green, so full of hopes and dreams delayed
While he was arrogance, itself, and barely free from teachers.
So full of what it was he thought he was, he married,
Had a son, found his breadth again, and carried
Balances forward to the point he found he could not reach her.
Separation’s not so facile as inevitable,
Again a second house and this of straw, a second child
As though he gave a damn and still he could not reconcile
What differences it made. They deemed it irreconcilable,
The either of them undeniable and so they parted as they could.
There is no safety from the wolf, you know,
no magic castles built of brick nor straw nor wood.

“Myths and Logarithms”

What, really, do we know about Pluto?…
“Myths and Logarithms”

Myths and logarithms reign within a dream
And all is measured by simple inference
As with pleasure in a fleeting license
Flows through all such vain imaginings, the seams
And hems of calumnies and innocence of ignorance, meandering liars
Poised to level all past histories to the rank of legends. Jewels, knowledge
That while oblivion is distant to the young, the greater folly
Lies in thinking of it so: no stillborn thing aspires
To rebellion; nothing “lasts” in depths and distances
That are not scarred by creeds that have no meaning
In the lexicon because they harbour just the other side of seeming.
Blasphemies feast on what is always well beyond the unforeseen,
The Sadratu’l-Muntahá that marks the boundaries
between what is and what while here can never be.