I am a Beat elder, responsive to Love, not Duty.
Duty
Grandma Grace had it right, I
Was queer child
Where normal was the portrait of a young Queen E 2 in the hall at her place
And a Budgie.
There are monsters in the bottom of the pool bringing me down
There are monsters in the bottom of the pool
Buying my attention
The duty of the elder is to
Forget about duty. “You have to serve somebody”.
Says who.
The monsters in the basement of grandma Grace
Are gracefully gazing up her skirts,
Are unlacing the ribbons that tie the coral together.
When the earth is in extremis
All bets are off. Off duty. At ease.
A queer child from the get go.
The queen at the bottom of the pool
Locked in the closet
Screaming like a bat. Unsustainable.
Ii
Earth-born we are
Shaped
To be here, with our toes
Married to earth.
WGC Gathering
I wd like to imagine that you all got what you want
I imagine you all got what your heart desired
You all got what you wanted
Your hearts were filled
Imagine imagine imagine
Th image in nation is real
The belly is full th soul is
A number of stars th stars r endless
Yr eyes cars volumes of
Desire I like to imagine
Image in me
wd you food the feed
th endless need
the shadowd reed
shimmers
in thwatr of yr mind ankle naked.
Plague
We are in-between, we are
The in between, entwined
And envined with this hairy
Silence that drifts down, and softly down
Into the neoliberal skull of speed. Beyond
here is the mysterious air the generous silken space
this is the time between, tied to the
coming and going of gods. They are
trying to decide what to
do with us this time are they
amused? What are we between, and who?
We are in between, we are the in between.
It’s like looking at the world backwards from between yr own knees.
It’s familiar over there
But upside down. It is the knife without
A blade. Silence drips down, “there’s a kind of a hush
All over the world – tonight….” Dare we summon
“The apocalypse”, that rending of the veil & if the veil
Was a living well, of forgetfulness, we wake to remember.
& rolling on, across the whole wide prairie, we roam.
methinks big time TRICKSTER
energy about, Hermes
walking backward to hide Her tracks
loops and twirls
in the entrails of the Market.
it is the first day of the world
strangers greet each other
logs rest on rocks
there are shadows
there is light everywhere
crow comes closer as you
lean into her language
her black
beauty catches fire
it is the first day of the world
as I sat beside Otter’s shit I thought
it is the beginning of the world
not the end-times but the times
of creation, the tines of origin;
no dusk but dawn
this is Pure Land, Dewachen
with coyote grin, a bee floats by
& I climb through a thicket
on the shores of the Salish Sea
“The best safeguard against the novel coronavirus is the ability to voluntarily withdraw oneself from capitalism”
WORDS
BIRDS
So this is what we’ve been practicing up for
With black coffee & wild descents
The sudden flights into immediate heights
The cross-roads, the aching swords & goblets
Zafus & inkwells, we have arrived
At the appointed place, the forest
Of knives and apples, milk and smoke.
If walking makes the path,
Then flying births the sky.
