I am that
imagine…
a foetal brain bathed in estrogen
turns female after normal genetic
decisions have built a male body… she,
swimming in the red-warm dark beneath
the beating heart of her unsuspecting mother
listening to family arguments thru womb walls
sensing sans understanding the disconnect
waiting in her future…
imagine…
she comes to know herself in a
family that calls her "John";
pushes hockey stick machismo
as appropriate for rising young men
living in their neighborhood; sister and
brothers devising exquisite tortures
to offend, poison, and bend her
growing feminine mystery.
imagine…
coming of age in jean, jackets and boots,
in gymnasiums full of cruel boys, and
oblivious girls, fighting a body that
in no way fits her conscious wish, her
unconscious dreams; every minute
her brain strives against
the body's energies, the penile drive,
those undesired erectile activities…
imagine…
seeking masculine sanity
in military uniforms, black belts,
sniper and commando training, desperate
search for camaraderie among men at arms
while fashion, color sense, connectivity,
empathic feeling searches for vulva, breast, hips,
a kind word, the proper pronoun,
social acceptance, emotional civility,
imagine…
a life filled up with contradiction
mental outlook versus physical aspiration
inside up/out, routs of misinterpretation
becoming suppressed yinful contagions
of grief, rage, lust, love, compassion
hoping against global and personal history
for companionship to support her
required surgical/medical transformation…
imagine…
the flared bell curve of gender;
flat lines reaching toward pure male/female
hardly a statistical blip at each extreme
most everyone rising/falling/searching
among viewpoints thru odd proclivities
opposite/same/intersex so secret intimacies
for love, trust, respectful congruency within
stabilities of partners or particular friends.
imagine…
a society of humans, accepting "other" as
identical to self; bearing witness
to the unity of life, mixed, matched,
burning with desire among infinite choices
ecstasies with random faults, sensuous design,
exquisite gentility happy to abide by a
universal etiquette: compassionate respect,
sincere support, and mutual consent.
imagine…
Parsifal
We can climb up syllabic conundrums
or kiss our sweet concepts goodbye
or march against every debasement
of Earth, Water, Fire, or Sky...
We can wander with wonder and wishes
or skip to the beat of DOW JONES
pretending we're richer than Midas
as we poison our brains with cell phones...
But the Sky absorbs all that we give it
as does Water, Fire, and Earth...
the accounting is cash on the minute
from the moment we climb in our berth...
If we dawdle with torpor and wishes
as we have for an eon or two
we'll be burned on the pyre of glitches
we've built up with pieces of truth.
So let's cease with our babble and construct
put down our sharp points and bleak jibes
this history of ours spans a minute
on the track of life's carnival ride.
Not separate are matter and spirit
nor distinct from life is the mind
and bodies are one with electrics
whether vegetable mineral or kind.
Come dance with the earth at the crossroads
there are forests and bridges nearby
the fete at the castle is waiting
for honorable guests to arrive.
Landings
We do 'em all the time...
in a manner of thinking, speaking,
romancing, acquaintanceship...
not so easily done anymore
not so practiced, so everyday normal as
when we talked to one another, face to face;
did foxtrots, waltzs, polkas, and
danced holding each other close
talked to one another in the barbershop
conversed likes and dislikes on dates,
in the car, at the beach, on a ferris wheel...
not so much of that anymore
with electronic go-betweens
chat rooms, e-mail. roam an' cell phones
video tape and jpgs
hardly a letter writer among us...
even at that we're barely literate
never literary...now, most everyone
can takeoff at the drop of a hat
but landings, ahh me, landings are hard
whether you're crabbing with pots, stars, or rings,
fishing with flasher, down riggers, or bait,
phone sex? Give me a break...
yeah... landings are just plain tough...
so much depends on nuance
the feel of the oncoming moment
tug of the line,
smooth steady lift from the water,
tone of voice, and the easy fluid moves
among speed, yaw, and pitch
wrapped up in the whole show
most of it over without time to think
we just don't get much practice
even when we're practicing
landings... 11/03
This Moment
Each moment is a seed planted...
millions of moments
millions of seeds
most will appear to yield futures
from whence their first cause will founder
in the opaqueness of memory
So futures are as malleable as
the mis-remembered past...
What a wonderful opportunity...
forget future
let go of past...
seize the moment
flow into no beginning,
no end...
We are leaves in torrents
or on swift smooth pools
On the water there are only edges
surfaces, eddies, waves, upwellings,
whirlpools, backwaters, wetlands,
bogs, and incipient meadows: moments
composting into futures
Leaves at a distance dance no meaning
we are content: calm in this moment