Now The Moon
Now the moon looks down on us like a high silver platter --a
high golden platter-- it did not run away with our silver spoon. And
the anguish of accepting a great grace is upon us. Perhaps we would rather die.
I Say The Moon
I say the moon because Bucky Fuller envisioned the moon-landing as a sign to
humanity of the realization of magical whimsies. Arthur C. Clarke said "first,
things are impossible. Then they're possible, then they're easy." Twenty
years elapsed between the first moon-landing and the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Impossible became possible. Whim became wham. Wham became whim. In the nineteen-nineties
we waited, worked, played for the next stage. Then, of course, for awhile, Wham
wham Wham Wham Wham.
Dream Bone
Gnawing an old dream-bone
That moon-Sidhe She
Is a toy coy
Dead ringer
Orion a child
On a tricycle, Sirius
The toy he tows
All the way home
Trailing the sidewalks
And the sidewalk cafés.
An owl screeches
To a halt. Extinction
Jams his willful beak.
The moon must have seen a Sight--
Her face is white
As a sheet
On a night Clothesline,
Ship-pegged, star pinned.
Threw away my old religion
Dropped my cloak of tales and tunes
Gathered up my memory
Put my foot down easily
On the surface of the moon
And then came back to all that
misery
One Small Step
Heaven is Meaning, the Earth is "Reality." The emotions can be of both. One thing about this life, ecstasy is guaranteed. Ecstasy is the bottommost line. Just under death . Mighty conceptions can have ellipses, and lyric skylines that would toss the moon like a coin from a rich black giant's pocket to old beggar Earth. Nah! No way! The Earth, she is rich in return. She was rich under the night obscured by blackest clouds. She was a deep top hat, a gigantic pot of gold. She was the real end of every rainbow. And the beginning! You backed up into yourself. Earth was stuffed with promise. The poised hands of prayer represent the promise the dead gave before they dived down. I've been where I'm going. It's one small step for this man into his Other Self.
Second Wind, Come Midnight
Some day-people have wells, from the bottom of
which stars can be made to shine
into the eyes.
But--this second wind, come midnight.
Listen. Hark! Perhaps when most people sleep, the energy of roles, masks, personae, that powerful protective libidinal energy that carries us, hedges us, vanishes , and the unconscious fantasies, dreams cast in other consciousnesses, casts us in moon-glow, arches the sails of our archaic moon-boats and stone-boats in effervescence of light; our sails belly up to moonlight, those of us in the music, those of us in the words:
|
the
blinding fluorescence of collective consciousness,
square-dance, square-walk, square-stop, square-die... sad dun cattle,
domesticated dreams, or grey hyper-cappucino and coke squirrels
who just can't sleep, but toss and burn, puppets among robots, they have
layed down--of course the skyscrapers incandesce... cities sail their
scattered ladders of luminousity, sprinkled hillsides among dark horizons...
night people batten to their own roles, ring out footsteps, mingle in
the crowds, the bars, cafés. They hunt or celebrate. Respectable
citizens sleep--step into their troubled dreams next morning by the second
coffee gone beyond recall.
|
We awake young wizards
of the tomes--our face to face their faces is turned down, like the sun's despotic
dogma that allows the moon and stars no face at all is gone and now our way
of singing out is like the moon's. And out beyond the
illusion of sky go dark forevers of the stars and starless.
Nixon
Now to get to the work (moonlighting) of explaining to you, whether or not you give a _______(fill in the blank), what "inverted commas" "are": they "are" "homologous" to Richard Nixon's "peace" or "victory" signs, held out upon the raised-out arms,
|
|
|
No, since July 20, 1969, "just" another day on "the" world, round, halved, on which the moon drew her tidings through all kinds of gates of water. Even Bill. Water bill. An enlarged engraving of Mr. Nixon's freehand signature rides a monument on the "Sea of Tranquillity"-- which so far as "we" know, does not hold water. What, the signature? Footprint of Late Enlightenment on old template of dreamers. These are the Dark Ages of the Enlightenment, thought the full moon. "Shake 'em up..." was what I perceived to be the words in Nixon's, or God's mind as he flashed that double-handed "V" to a "Moppsikon Floppsikon" world. "Shake up all single vision..." he flashed the hand-signal that meant "inverted commas" around his behaviour,
 |
 |
(Russian names often end in "off": but Richard's syllable "Nix" nixed the positive "on," so perhaps we could say it was "off-on," a base of computer languages). His middle name was "Mill House," this "Rocket (Racket) Rorschach Richard" of 1970s America's geist of myths. Richard Nixon was from the backside of the moon. The moon that moons the stars. It was a giant leap for mankind (that frog!), this team effort to get Kneel, Strong Arm, to the moon! It is now________(fill in the year). So thank you.
What can I say about Richard Nixon except that I love him with a hard love. He is me sweetie. So, so: down the viaducts come the waters of ______, through the Mill House and out the Water Gate, into the Sea of Tranquility, where trenchantly and actually, a tombstone be.
And models of 5000 years of design science embodied
as Hasselbad video cameras left in exchange for rocks. Look, said humanity,
what we have done with our rocks, template of dreamers. And the moon
rocks? You bet. I say we should give them to Rodin. What myths? My childhood
of course, and my adolescence. Or, should I say, someone's. Someone cured of
all disease, a flaming buck dancing to the sun. Why stop?
lkl
 |
 mmm |
  |