Untitled III

Caught a feather in the sky,
Sent it floating on the lake.
"Blue, blue," the pigeons coo.
Decision isn't mine to make.

Light climbs down the ropes to earth,
Retains the miracle to shine.
See, beneath the mustard tree.
Solitude is a friend of mine.

Wash my hands in mountain streams
Wash the blood off lest I break.
"Blue, blue," they mourn anew.
Pray the Lord my soul to take.

Alone on a Rock

I am sitting hunched and chilled

On a plastic chair in a room.

The room is only halfway filled

With people; the other half

With predatory air from the cold-vents.

I am alone on a sun-warmed rock.

Stretched out, spread-eagled,

My arms are string and my heart's a lock.

There are no legs to kick me back;

This space is mine, and mine for all intents.

I am at a table too full of food.

My ears are buzzing and red

Like bees in a raspberry mood

Or thoughts consumed by drugs.

The candles are insipid like plastic incense.

I am surrounded by wooden men.

They have dice instead of feet,

And they're more faded than they had been...

But the squares just must be jumped,

So they round the board and pay their rents.

I am alone on a rock in a desert.

I am at school, at home and at work,

Talking, driving, dancing-- and comfort,

And comfort is mine as long as I stay

Exposed on the rock and you in your tents.