HARBINGER©
HARBINGER
of all the bamboo screens that ever hid a cemetery
Madame Marla's haggle toothed vindication
lace curtained windows
was no excuse for the subterfuge
how did the baker's ovens in her kitchen
have anything to do with telling fortunes?
it was a parlor of last refuge
and that accounted for everything
it was like tripping off to a hospital
a desperate comfort in one's waning hours
didn't really matter what she said
just that someone would take the trouble
to speak
the car wash next door
the Shell station on the other side
these were countries that did not speak magic
only the roses, which did not care
seemed alive
and the bees visiting
late afternoon long shadows
cooling concrete and asbestos
were harbingers of some sort of stupid future
where the wheel of fortune finally stopped
and the circus lights came on
obliterating reality
Shell sign, hugely yellow and red
cars on El Camino, blinking
Madame Marla gradually merging
with the canopied table on her patio
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE UNIVERSE
this is foolish
though my publisher wants the title
here's the rub
it's self-published
and there is this thing about a so called self
the absurdity must be evident
I was not born
have always been
pretty much infinite in extent
but
to forestall the inevitable critics:
being time is forty elbows
gave that one to Dogen Zenji
for free!
so born or been or whatever are insubstantial
one might say illusory
but biology
as in autobiography
contradicts the illusion
ever stub your toe?
existence in question?
pretty much laughter is who I am
and if that seems insubstantial
well, that's just the first chapter
more to follow
donations welcome
life story thus revealed
sort of a fractal geometric mandala
with forty elbows
AFTER MORNING ZAZEN
it has been windy lately
clouds scudding overhead
leaves and shadows play together
staring into nowhere
immersed
the allness of it
thoughts refuse to form
a symphony
the bumble bee a leitmotif
our neighbor's dog
barking at slight noises
is the temple bell
it fades away
SIMPLICITY
sun dried prunes are delightful
so a plebeian taste
but the halls of Montezuma seemed unaffected
or more properly
neglected
in favor of a hike through the forest
trees do not preach
speak louder than literature
are lessons in silence
leaving a habit of mind
unaffected by things
a portfolio of nothing that travels well
through any terrain
subways
the friendly skies of terrorism
departmental meetings and concrete ditches
the sixth extinction now underway
a stick of incense clears the air
QUIET
several stone tablets ago
the lightning ceased
oh, the circus tents of youth
places of estranged amusement
circumstances dictated in large
by unremembered elders
a visit to the district attorney
a pull of the one armed bandit
perhaps an affinity lurking in genes
remote families
reincarnations
even the mysterious lure of lotto
though thoroughly discredited
phosphorescent fireflies
burnt layers of tree rings
through tomes built upon them
the light
though no one can read by it
shines brightly
here on the windless plain
BALD MOUNTAIN
you with your hands on the levers
the real power beyond family names
has no preferences
your dream of dreams has no existence
better to sit quietly
without preferences
THE FLOW
“You're safe now.”
said the guard as the elevator went up
from starvation?
it just seemed incongruous
no wife, child, mortgage, debt to whom?
maybe graduation
stealing hubcaps would mar my career for what?
a world full of mysteries defined by someone else?
the battlefield lurched unpredictably
from thought to thought
music surfacing again and again
harmonies that plumbed the soul
so beautiful as to hide my face
cry in a closet
only to be met with Scat Band basketball tunes
playing drums in Tom Clark's dance band
after school
lead tenor sax in the school jazz band
C Jam Blues
confronted with that measure of vertical notes
“Let's hear it, Mr. Kline!”
and the elevator stops
there is no orchestra in jail
a lurking realization that it was all just some fantastic hype
a come on for some sort of plan
that never had much to do
with what came before all that
and what I already knew
the walls of the cell are vaguely green
vacant space with a small window in the door
dispensing with all the irrelevant stuff
sort of like practicing clarinet
the journey hops
from prison cell to Zendo where
ironically
I am gong player
no improvisation required
chant leader
“Your voice is too low!”
work leader
Roshi suddenly appears with a brown paper bag
to collect my trimmings
TECTONIC SHIFT
bannisters jolted from their long held positions
a great clattering of troubled dominoes
Hoover dam reverts to its origin:
primeval mud
where senators and whores wash each others feet
something is vindicated
no one is sure what
or can remember how it started but
just flight over the fissure with hopes
of landing
a deliverance in green tree tops
waters rushing drown spiral staircases
flooding water wheels
books floating everywhere
termites in their generation
rocking chairs of a forgotten season
perhaps Colonel Fry
in a tsunami rage
a certain satisfaction knowing
that what was
has met its Watergate
spring frogs lately are not singing
a couple of escaped neighborhood dogs
pay a visit
dogs I have not met before
followed by annoyed owners
subtly embarrassed because
in some incomprehensible way
probably I was responsible
I've taken home my marbles, though
senators do not call here
