Erosion at the Earth's Edge

Last time I lost my head.
Last time
I convinced my gray
glowing chest,
it's heartlessness,
and balance of mind,
that there rested a role for
creating an our,
and
those personas could
climb the partitions
we mapped out
without each other knowing.
When we were young,
and did things.
Last time
I lost my qualm,
but I continued
to rest under
your hand-made quilt,
and dream big dreams,
important dreams that carried
our spoken lines
onto faraway lands,
and cliffs that disappeared
with the ocean's ebb
like Orion's appropriation.

A Jawbone for You, And For Me, a Ribcage

Poetry is everywhere. And no, that’s not the most original line anyone has ever written, but it makes perfect truth out of blindness and illiteracy. We are not illiterate in the sense of reading and writing, but in the visual world of imagery. Can one truly argue the cause for those elements they notice in a photograph? Are they capable of reasoning why the next mountains shot in Yosemite will not demonstrate a perfect snow cover? And what about the portraits of Leibovitz? Of Avedon? Steiglitz? O, red wheelbarrow, where are you now. And when a picture fades into the past, does it fade from memory as moments drift away like leaflets of a maple? Or do they stagger to the ground like those shredded eucalyptus? And when all of those images settle into a cove, bones from deer, antlers and all will we bury them more? On the side of highways and roads that lead to nowhere, will those who will treat what our past has accomplished, dissatisfied with our effort to preserve theirs, disregard our belongings, and leave it be? Or will they brush off the earthenware instruments, listen to each one-thousand words, and bring about the change we so wished to seek in ourselves yet were too distracted by the simplicity of light to make..

Discovery

I need to discover something new.
Something worth discovering, or rediscovering I should say.
There's a place where my inspiration resides and it's not here in this house
where the pain of coming home rides away the joy
and exasperation of a bountiful pen, and instead, blends a
new anger inside a bottle or glass -and no I'm not describing alcoholism.
Dissatisfaction; directed at Langston Hughes, John Ashberry,
An d all of the mislead minds that taught a writ er
what it means to write, a think er what it means to think,
a bod y what it means to be.
Like discovering a lang uage disappearing
in the middle of Act 3, it's all hearkening, really.
And I need to discov er some thing new. Really new-really.

Pistol

A mainstream being of a timely culture with the likes of black, bare-blown vultures circling a plane of sky, flying higher than a natural high, clawing at scalps, and branches, and what appeared as ropes, lassoing aerials, wrenching them down, they them and their hopes like a prolific stream of ideas dragged into a trap for fools, furrowing, helplessly, humiliated it seemed, below. O, how I bargained for a different setting, but was forced out, watched, spectated merely, empty-handed and wholehearted.

Anthropology Lecture Notes

"Geography of imagination."-transformation in the savage and the study of the "other".
-Passing of the savage: light of great cultural problems moving away from focus of study, unanswerable to our own culture. The suffering subject replaces the savage.... ...suffering slot...
Waiting for Godot relationship...
Side comment::: "well wived"::::
-Rise of the NGO as a new humanitarianism movement focused on suffering savages.
Studying the suffering lead to releasing of pressure from the anthropology community because suffering was universal and not attributed to solely to savages or the "others".
:::Traumatic suffering beyond culture? -accounts of trauma felt inside our bodies as we recall specific moments..
"Growing interest in empathy.." a new form of humanitarianism..
Side comment:::"When anthropology happens in general.."::: ....peculiar line...

Painting of a Boy Sailing a Toy Ship

Those trees take years to grow.
Don't you know that you are only a projection of light?
A refraction or bending of the image inside of my
childlike mind.
And I am much younger than those sails will last.
Will they see an ocean? The most musical one at that?
::Pacific, Indian, Atlantic, Antarctic:: sounds like
a cathartic exploration, young boy playing with perhaps
his only toy.
And what of balloons?
Oh, the places they'll take you. Oh, the places you'll go!
Oh, whichever ocean your river will lead you, be sure to
greet those new friends with
a wide open hello!