Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

the sacred thing upon the mantle



the sacred thing
was set upon the mantle
set upon the mantle last night

the sacred thing
broke upon the mantle
broke upon the mantle last night

we were a commotion
we were a shattering of forms
we were the particles
particles of paradise
maniacs on melting ice
a shattering of forms

i saw an old man
walking like a robot
walking like a robot to death

i saw an old man
shuffling in the carpet
he grimaced and he smiled

he was a soldier, a lover
he was a leader of men
he was a statesman
he sang from his bloodstream
he sang of the nature of man
and he had a plan

lately i've been wandering
across the firmament
across the firmament of my mind

lately i've been wandering
sort of sauntering
in the perfection of time
oh, my

we were a commotion
we were a shattering of forms
we were the particles
particles of paradise
maniacs on melting ice
a shattering of forms

i saw an old man
walking like a robot
walking like a robot to death

i saw an old man
shuffling in the carpet
he grimaced and he smiled

***




Saturday, February 23, 2013

There, I've Said It


i love avocados
 
***

Sunday, February 10, 2013

This art that grows


i live inside the dark and light
i dream about you every night
there is no talk of wrong or right
only shadows

i held you in the lover's way
kissed you up and down your face
we clenched and shuddered in our grace
just like shadows

when we walked down to the caves
we stopped to see if jesus saves
what is love, just to obey?
passing shadows?
this art that grows
this art that thrives
this gnarled trunk 
of great divine
is silent 
and then it screams
right through me
just like love
i live inside the dark and light
i dream about you every night
there is no talk of wrong or right
only shadows
  
the ghosts have gone so far away
you will not see them pass this way
there's nothing left for them to say
they're just shadows

correct me if i have got it wrong
we are the notes, life is the song
we cannot last for very long
just like shadows
just like shadows

this art that grows
this art that thrives
this gnarled trunk 
of great divine
is silent 
and then it screams
right through me
just like love


Image by mjs, who is frank, who is...?

Saturday, February 02, 2013

How are things in DC?

when a gun is pointed directly at your head
you might appeal to the wielder's reason
or speak of decency, of compassion
you might connect with a fellow traveler
and save two lives, yours and the would-be shooter
so there is a chance
a chance, slim or fat is better than no chance at all
a chance to not be shot

But when the gun has been fired
there is no word yet imagined
that bends bullets away from where they were aimed
no appeal to humanity that can deflect the hot metal
the flesh-ripper, the flesh-eater, the flesh-killer
no poetry or vaulting prose will stop it
no freeze-frame to abide inside
just speed and thrust and death

in Congress, words are harvested by interns
who mop up the excess phrases
or sweep into cans the shreds of rhetoric
these are recycled, we'll hear them again

ah, but words about guns are placed in actual guns
these guns are fired at ideas to save us from ourselves
these guns are fired
until every last thought
is dead

***