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Subject: poetry in motion


Last night I dreamt I got a call from Bing Crosby he said "I dont know what your feelings are about southern California are , but do you think you can make it in April? I said " No I dig southern California" "Then you'll be there? " he said I thought this is July , it's a long way to April but told him "Sure I'll be there" he didn't say anything else then I hung up. I said to my self " but Bing Crosby is dead , isn't he?" that reminds me you must be running short of poetry so i'll send more to re-stock after the valentines rush

-The Nature of the Sumac-
india with the twisted wrist a spine of pointed frozen waves branches fairly softly bent feathery fanning summer's dusty noon cicadias grind one note away on a broken record shard that lies on the same diamond pavement by a sumac helpless shadow the first scarlet of the fall maroon berries birth recalled wishful leaves on an autumn breeze all the seasons twist my heart

-The Phone-
fakery on hand held above the head atrophied on my knees the pilgrims passed on the dusty path i wish to ease the pilgrims sadness questions without answers burn their bodies they to the sky with their request not at my filthy hand begging at their feet begging for their charity one hand raised palm to the sky the glory of god the other hand stepped upon ah! the pilgrims progress

the cross is everywhere the phone poles one street past the other the window up the sash across the mouth speaks the teeth lie wires jolt the whipcracked throat a spear the tire flaming around the neck the knife plunging into the all too thin skull my dogs are on you how can you cry out you are ripped to pieces

red clay ditch windswept crossroad general store ,railroad siding. weeds. very flat. after the first of the year , the bus will no longer stop here, in Heavener, Oklahoma.

-Trying Avenue-
a walker saw a silent stoop sitter he had that lost look of a man on another's doorstep we will all walk briskly or slowly by our parkbench backs will front the traffic sliding in an elegant way down that backrest until sleep so troubled overhauls us only we awaken at dawn big cockroaches charging into my face a drenching rain of bittersweet regret i guess i am that man sitting in your doorway i guess i am stepping over myself

-Mantis and the Harmonium-
chinless circle dance a reel iced hoop and black top peal a swollen cry of deluxe crime ventilated frigid ball a crater indescipacable bliss a senseless grin it worries me so

-More Like A Goat-
it is not force or the will it is more like a goat a shaking hand wrote a curious word the box of gray gone stark growth of a shocked hare formented a plot against your mother's bold vacancy jeweled spark of harvest lost tossed a seabirds snickered bark olive leaf small refusal fingered type written bones harspiculean wing far flung and gasped a crawling lump coughed onto the whispered sand washed by always the chrome tide

-High Regalingwhiviz Bang-
walloping arteries mayhem pathetic faith warms me tendering offers of the sweet drawn down and back flashing youth regained then forgotten a shabbiness of spirit perhaps cured or terminal training for a last bloom of endless sorrow

i'm here to fix your flag i'll shoot it full of holes with my gun i'll have some apple pie when i'm done

-The Farming Gentleman-
his wellingtons sparkle like tuxedo pumps his tweeds reek of some heather stench his belgian rifle is impeccable his tomorrows are guaranteed his dog is better groomed than his wife his death will be civilized, even tasteful mist will settle on his fields this evening he will not be missed

thatt'l do piggy boy the poet retires

is it the purge of cool confession it is hot with pity
Email Poet Dave Walsh

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