Having our Times


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The clouds on their blacks lay
Trumpets of the rounds of time
They brought thunder, lightning, dance
Not with vengeance but industrious

Angels near, time playing clown again
Settled for a bask in a golden sun
This was Earth, proud and indifferent
Extinction was speaking to God

The last night and smallest of things
The awful leisure of the years given
The sense of nearly infinite renewal
In our absence and in our cleansing

Planets had a kind of intelligence
Unopened to the divinity italicized
Of what it means to be sentient
The responsibility it bears, the human sign

A fear that urges the soul to live
Out its design before the play of the body
Is done, And not spoons, playmates or
Holidays can save us, we all have our time.

Chronicle of Comet-Like-Jewel Eyes


3

I am alive with lucid memories
That are mere moments
Of my future, ribboned sequences
Of the pure enactment of miracles
The little crazy buzz
Of kindness, the gift of giving

The altruism principle, in full bloom
Flowering of big-sky belonging
I am alive with the joy-in-chaos
Of hours stretched to the bottom
Of every corner, every error, deployed
Like sentinels of the state-of-wonder

Fresh like cinnamon roses-buds
Moving colors of wispy vanilla
Chocolate resplendent autumns
I am alive to the best of the world
Where harvests come from strange occurrences
And accidents lead me to love

The old jewel box by the side of the road
Where you smiled at me
And changed me forever.

Uninterrupted Poetry


These poems are lost to me
Like the dead, there is no returning again
To what was, old loves

My mind feels them shouting there
Those who have died to us
Once here, now gone

It is the same with the music of the night
Grief dies to my renewal
I regenerate my lips, my ears, my thirst

Like a mausoleum of longing
I am, without ever being satisfied
I wake up to radiant mornings

Each and every day, jasmine at my feet
And I write poems, like lost waterfalls
Missed sunrises, broken comets

Stars on the tips of forgotten inheritance
These poems are lost to me
Like the emptying fulfillment of breath

Like a kind of solution to what I am
I create a rhetoric of distinguished ambiguity
Legislating my soul to be free

An embroidery without worldly cares
These poems are lost to me
I am not a thief of possession

But rather, a common beggar
With the guarantee of unearthly words.