[as yet untitled]

ball of song center chest
blue throb over roll
hurricane dice delight
stained glass beer ceiling
Blessed are thee amongst girls
grinning against a mirror
shawl-dressed statues
lamp grapes tree stem
laptop lady in black
blond liquor cabinet
on clawfooted drunkenness--
dreaming as it all
fades from you,
lamb racked, with mint,
checks cashed with cherries
cashews the favoured
waitress slivered wireless
the hook is holiness guilt
vibrations from the altar
the Word of the Lord
florist's oasis slake
dusty ivy forever
copper bar bent
wood vodka washed
women the stage flipped,
stacked, stood for
flaming lights and lost
bills bells on rings
strings of seeds silken
thigh of the Buddha
in an iron lotus.

---
12.16.05
MWL

"To fall..."

And the wild flowers, the red clover,
lean in the wind, as if listening
to the passing song of the vagrant traveller.

Will you be there, to catch me,
when I fall, drop from the arms
of the mid-day moon,
esurient, nearly insatiable, uncertain,
hoping you will steady me…

To the lap of the broad-bound earth
I have been dropped,
released for a while from
the craving wandering
that so often possesses my path
and casts my way through
metropolis and meadow.

Torn and tired from wind and water,
hoping you mean I can sleep
through the night,
I will lean in your love
like a breeze-bent flower,
listening to your heartbeats like
vagrant verses…

Do you mean I can dream about
moon-bred moments,
siroccous singing and lightless beds?
I listen for the bells that
mark the morning,
dreading their voices,
for they can extinguish this hope.

Will I find, upon waking,
that my wounds from the fall
are all healed?
Will I find, upon rising,
that their declarations
have not destroyed
the haven you are?

I have hoped, against hope,
wished beyond my wisdom,
that you existed, breathed,
were bred for my desire
and are for me and my life.

My foundations have been wrecked;
only you will lift me up.
My soul has been gutted,
only you fill me up.

I need someone to love me,
as long as the day,
as long as the night,
to follow the course
of my blood and the luminous bodies.

Am I wrong for my wanting,
this blind and heartsick vision?
Have you fulfilled the prophecy
of lunar longings and mythic desires?

I wait for the moment to end,
to realize the answers to my questions:
how can I be wrong for
craving what’s intended;
yes, you have answered the
mysterious inquiry.

And again I fall, but to sleep,
in the contentment of your being,
the knowledge of your reality
and the resolution of your love.

---
04.22.02
MWL (as MCW)

"Winter on the Water"

I remember
Winter on the water
The smell of frost
On water too warm
To freeze.

Through the window
The world loses colour—
The wind and the water
Seem to be washing it
All away.

But I know better:
It is the storm,
And the storm alone
That bleaches the day to a
Pale gray.

It seems a shame, really.
I moved here with hopes
Of colour and wonder,
Only to taste the bitterness that is
Not Home.

I have now seen snow—
More than I wanted,
More than I needed.
It has not the beauty of
Balmy Home.

I can still see the wind
On the wild, wild water,
And remember the desire I had,
At that time, to know a
Colder climate.

And, the other desire:
To swim in that wild water…
Not so much to swim,
But to be in that wild water,
Helpless, quiet.

But I’ve had my fill of the
First desire: its hold is gone.
The second desire is naught.
Cold is beautiful, no doubt, but its allure
Is unconstant.

But home…ah, home…
I miss the balmy South.
What is this place, but hell?
As Dante envisioned it—frozen, full,
And bitter.

It has wounded my soul:
And I am bereft.
The bitterness has shaken my soul,
And the cold has wracked my body:
Bitter blood.

Will I be released?
Have I paid my penance?
I hope so: for memory is full,
But sometimes only a ghost:
Thin, formless.

I am hungry: these ghosts
Do not satisfy my questions.
I can smell the frost on the water,
I can smell my own waters,
Cold, counting.

I am days away, just days away…
I will return from where I came,
With hope that my blood will warm,
With hope that my soul will warm,
In homecoming.

Until then…I will remember
Winter on the water,
The smell of frost on
Water too warm to freeze…

I thought I was like that.

---
12.20.02
MWL

"System"

Ants—the light scrambles in
cracks concrete:
aesthetically blown out,
vibrating first stars,
rough wires tight drawn
by spider climbing—
corduroy habit
of fields, faded gray wings
of unwashed cotton…

sentient cogs, hard-wired blood,
of the earth machine—
we systematically consume our own bones
trembling against “me-time” alternatives
warrens of caffeinated brats
schizophrenic flickering of television
and pale-born plagiarizers
hungry, pornographic, a-satiable.

CNN-doctrination
AOL-castration
MSN-masturbation
IV-line of information—
Gratified before sundown,
dead by the ten o’clock news,
beer in hand, glazed bottle-eyes
withering in the armchair orgies—

It’s not so much that
we cremate our souls
so much that they disintegrate at the
touch of light sound of paper weight of sun
taste of gods smell of veracity,
sixth sense of self burned before morning.

---
12.02.05
MWL

"There is something that saves me"

the candleflame of
red stars tower
over water
arch of hill by river
spider road
unwound
the mention of
bridges and dinner,
sweet migraine
from oranges
a sleepless throbbing,
mania juiced from
the limes behind
the bar.

---
11.26.05
MWL