the impossibility of things

I am more myself these days

-myself, a reoccurring theme with me-

but I'm also you

when I smile this way

determined, amused and beyond words

at the state of every union,

at the impossibility of things.

Every time you smiled, I read stories

in your eyes, which, objectively

were rather muddy

in color and creed,

but I was not objective

and didn't think color

signified much, certainly nothing

having to do with clarity.

Every time your smile spoke things

the poet in me

heard beyond the words.

This kind of listening became

a dangerous occupation

to say the least.

See to me you knew everything--

and your high elevation became

a dangerous position,

impossible to keep.

Still just now I caught myself

amused at everything

aware of everything

seeing everything

holding all the colors of all the world

at a safe distance

and laughing.

And that's either

what I learned from you

or what you taught me.

broken street.

One time I ran away

got to the end of the broken street

(they've paved over since

now it's smooth, dark, neat)

then it was all cracks and gutter rivers.

I dodged each one, flying

free, and the whole time

barefoot, that whole minute

sprinting away. I was gone--

I was somebody.

I had a name I gave myself

not the one you gave to me

and I could sing, anytime

and you couldn't stop me.

and the moon danced for me,

sighing, 'oh, honey,'

'run while the night is still young.'

Hair streaming, in an undershirt and jeans

unpresentable--what would the neighbors think?

Feet burning, wheeling around corners

until running further

would have really changed things.

I walked back, the whole way

and sat on the porch

and cried,

and held the cold bruises

on the soles of me,

and the moon sighed with me.

botched sonnet

We spill our guts, but casually, (and not really)

the way women just know how to do

easy as breathing, at once meaningless and vital

threading the freeway in the afternoon sun,

gorge on words with an old, rusty lexicon

so familiar it's frightening.

---

This song reminds me of you,

about whom I strung under 10 words

together today, moving on

to new schemes, over lunch. And it didn't sting.

So easy it was frightening: you are now story:

short story.

We played it over and again

on Santa Monica Blvd, no less. It did not fit us,

but we liked it,

I liked it,

the way it sounded sad.

why Tolstoy is the man

'What happiness and peace of mind would be mind if I only could say now, "Lord have mercy upon me!..." But who would I be talking to? Either some indeterminate, inaccessible power, which I cannot have any contact with and cannot even put into words, the great All or Nothing,' he said to himself, 'or else that God sewn up in a little bag like Marie's icon? No. Nothing is certain, nothing but the nothingness of all that we can understand, and the splendor of something we can't understand, but we know to be infinitely important.'

-War and Peace

in its dangerous marquees, even fake sitars....

Bon Iver's Re: Stacks is an amazing song. I've never listened to the words before tonight. They are much more powerful than I ever guessed. I always thought they were referring to, as I've posted above, dangerous marquees and fake sitars.

The real lyrics are epically cooler. In fact, quite amazing. One of my favorite poems I've read for a long time.

This my excavation and today is kumran

Everything that happens is from now on

This is pouring rain

This is paralyzed

I keep throwing it down two-hundred at a time

It's hard to find it when you knew it

When your money's gone

And you're drunk as hell

On your back with your racks as the stacks as your load

In the back and the racks and the stacks are your load

In the back with your racks and you're un-stacking your load

I've twisting to the sun I needed to replace

The fountain in the front yard is rusted out

All my love was down

In a frozen ground

There's a black crow sitting across from me; his wiry legs are crossed

And he's dangling my keys he even fakes a toss

Whatever could it be

That has brought me to this loss?

On your back with your racks as the stacks as your load

In the back and the racks and the stacks of your load

In the back with your racks and you're un-stacking your load

This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization

It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

Your love will be

Safe with me

*Lots of the references are to poker--I didn't pick that up at first...

*Also, the first reference to Kumran (the day they found the Dead Sea Scrolls) is explained by this quote by the songwriter:

When they found them it changed the whole course of Christianity, whether people wanted to know it or not. A lot of people chose to ignore it, a lot of people decided to run with it, and for many people it destroyed their faith, so I think I was just looking at it as a metaphor for whatever happens after that is new shit.

stay with it.

Poetry is just images

in some ways it is empty.

But the window--

the white lights' reflection

strung against the mountain line

cut across the sky--

exists, and speaks so eloquently

exactly what I've been wanting to tell you

all along.

for everything you learn, there's something you must let go of

I saw The Swell Season on Thursday. I have to say-- the most incredible concert ever. Pretty sure it tops everything else--even Good Charlotte.

...okay, I've obviously kidding. I wish I were kidding about having seen Good Charlotte, but sadly I'm only kidding about that GC show being near the top of my list. Truthfully, and more seriously, this show topped Bela Fleck at Spreckels and Jon Brion at Largo. And yes, that's a bold claim.

The old Frames' stuff was my favorite part of the whole night...there's something so incredible about their lyrics, something so cool and subversively spiritual. I like that kind of lyricism the best, because when the spirituality is a little bit buried underneath something, oddly, it always seems like there's more there. That's when the important parts come through: redemption, creative love, creation, and humility.

When he introduced "Backbroke," and explained that it was about finding peace in the midst of hellish situations, Glen Hansard prefaced the song by claiming,

"I'm not a spiritual person, really, but this song describes the feeling of an old Irish song, 'Dancing at the Feet of my Lord', which I think is the most beautiful title for any song ever written, and the most beautiful description of peace I've ever heard."

Before he started the song, he said rather quietly, away from his mic, "so...here," and gestured sheepishly up toward the ceiling with his free hand. The look of his face was pretty indescribable, the most humble I've seen anybody look in a long time. There was more worship in that action that in 95% of the 'worship' I've seen. And, for better or for worse, I've seen plenty of people gettin' their worship on, if you know what I mean. I was a camp counselor, for goodness sake.

Listen to "Red Cord" and "People Get Ready"and "Backbroke" and you'll know what I mean. I think, anyway. I hope you do.

And then listen to everything else, too, please.