He’ll Agree with the Dead Thinkers of Time

Philosophy-man has a brain like child’s shame.

An internal balancing act,
squirrels poised on power lines.

I hear quotes of logic without thought, discipline.
A knowledge pack-rat reflects on the state of
St. Aquinas’s toilet.

Unanswered questions take their toll when
no one knows what the hell is being talked about.

Haunting words float like volcanic ash from
recorded accounts of people talking in their sleep.

Shared views are needed to believe in,
a bandage applied to a mental war.

The Year of the Rat scores the Roman calendar,
a raccoon’s yearning for things that shine
forces claws to remove kitten eyes

Fictive

She was lost, unsure.
Smothered voice like
a dying bird

under the sun’s hand.

A hush fell over
the onlookers
as she parted
through their gazes.

She stared at her necklace,
remembered last
Christmas’s snowfall.

Ghosts or shadow people,
the group was gone.
They had vanished.

No more voices

Point Lobos State Reserve

Sophism

The rowboat is a haven for mammals.
The boat you wanted me to get rid of.

It hibernates upside-down like a bat.
Oars folded close, crossed for warmth.

It’s been lying dead since it cracked
in the reedy channel. I remember the way
it submerged like a mauled heart; perch
and bass instantly recessed there.

Algae begun to thrive.

I hauled it out with Jimmy’s wench,
ended up in a backyard burial spot.

I used to wander fields to abandon houses
and broken tombstones. I once walked there
through apple trees and badger dens.
The trails were laid down by deer, horses,
and Japanese dirt bikes.

Detach apples from the trees and put them in
the wooden box, the one with your head in it.

The one we used to make apple butter in;
glorious, award winning apple butter.

I left your eyes in a state of shock.



*************************************************************************************
This is a revised (hopefully final) version of an old poem.

Does Anybody Pay for Long Distance Calls Anymore?

Somehow a clash had been waged.

Not the kind that is fought between
sisters and brothers, but
by the confusion of lovers.

An upsetting, discomfort
loomed in a fogged sun blackness.

Am I audible?

These words on paper.

Big Sur

(path leading from Ferlinghetti's cabin, under that scary bridge, to Kerouac's beach)