January 14, 2014 #smallstones

class notes (found poetry)

the transformed, empowered mind….
(mystical processes)
…is capable of more possibilities….
(can transform our perception)
…than the ordinary mind…
(and thus grant us subtle abilities
that we previously did not possess)

January 13, 2014 #smallstones

meeting last night
at Starbucks
to plan our strategy

Gotta bust outta this old groove
and break out a new thing

here are the assignments:
M: logistics/space planning
A: evidence/artifacts
R: database aggregation
S: overall in charge

Maybe Sun Ra was right:

January 12, 2014 #smallstones

What if poetry is speaking in tongues,
and tomorrow – the tomorrow of our dreams –
is really yesterday, or the day before?

And what if time dislocates itself
from time to time, like water,
always seeking its own level?

And what if we live and love inside
a closed box, where freedom and justice
are just optical illusions,
dream-like holograms of hope?

And what if poetry is speaking in tongues,
and homeless shelters and prisons
our true condition, an accurate depiction
of our feeble, temporal existence?

And what if poetry is speaking in tongues,
and pure information our medium of exchange,
transmitted exclusively by a holy kiss?

January 11, 2014 #smallstones

black ice –
slipping and sliding
and stumbling and trembling
and smiling and grinning
and aiming and missing –

and slipping and sliding
and tripping and gliding
and aimlessly riding
and falling and falling
in love with Just ModPo

January 10, 2014 #smallstones

when a great poet/
griot/spirit passes on –
you can’t just go to bed
at the normal time,
as if nothing special happened,
as if the routine is the same,
the same old routine…

you gotta stay up late,
read his work out loud –
invoke his spirit,
let it come inside your house –
sip some scotch with it,
smoke some weed if you got some,
and take a pause,
and take a pause,
and take a pause…

January 9, 2014 #smallstones

“The Poet is a faker who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain of pain he feels in fact.”

no need for an apology –
it was I who over-reacted:
obsessed with non-existent privacy –
trained with a double fiction:
never who I am,
never where I am,
always hiding the truth –
even from myself –
and mixing justifications –
until I lose the ability
to distinguish contrived reason
from complex reality –
but that phase of life is over:
and I need to break away.

January 8, 2014 #smallstones

when I write about Emily
behind the scenes I am thinking
about my sister Phillis,
kidnapped and brought
to Colonial America from Africa,
enslaved, she mastered English
and blossomed as a writer of verse.
She died a free woman, a poet,
but her husband destroyed all her work.
Chained to a bad husband
might be worse than slavery.