now i lay me down to rest
did i give my very best
did i use my lovely day
soon it will all go away
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
keys
the
keys
when confessing a lie, subtract
from the truth~
the key to forgiveness is being
forgivable.
when confessing the truth, add a
lie~
the key to acceptance is being
acceptable.
bread
and butter.
when writing a confessional,
subtract and add~
the key to writing is being
readable.
slice
bread or sliced bread?
there may be more truth in
untruth than truth.
there may be more truth in
untruth than untruth.
there may be more untruth in
truth than untruth.
there may be more untruth in
truth than truth.
there may be more forgiveness in
unforgiveness than forgiveness.
there may be more forgiveness in
unforgiveness than unforgiveness.
there may be more unforgiveness
in forgiveness than unforgiveness.
there may be more unforgiveness
in forgiveness than forgiveness.
there may be more acceptance in
unacceptance than acceptance.
there may be more acceptance in
unacceptance than unacceptance.
there may be more unacceptance in
acceptance than unacceptance.
there may be more unacceptance in
acceptance than acceptance.
butter
with butter.
there may be more writing in
reading than writing.
there may be more writing in
reading than reading.
there may be more reading in
writing than reading.
there may be more reading in
writing than writing.
bread
and butter is better.
the key to a better truth is
forgiveness.
the key to a better forgiveness
is acceptance.
better
butter, better bread.
the key to better writing is
reading.
the key to better writing is writing.
the key to better reading is
writing.
the key to better reading is reading.
the key to better reading is
acceptance.
the key to better writing is
forgiveness.
nothing
better than bread and butter.
and the key to a better sandwich
is toasting the bread.
locked
when
i was in the second grade, i lost my house key.
my
mother decided if things were allowed to continue in this manner, everyone in
los angeles would have a key to our house.
and it would be useless to lock it.
so i was not given another: i had
to use the spare key. which was
originally kept in the garage.
since
the garage was usually locked when the house was locked, i had to climb over
the back fence from the neighbor’s driveway and enter the garage through its
back door. where there is no light
switch. cross a floor riddled with
obstacles. and reach up onto a dirty,
cob-webby, who-knows-what-kind-of-terrible-monster-bug-could-be-living-there
ledge for the spare key.
i
soon moved it to the planter by the side door.
where
it remained for twelve years.
until
the day my mother decided it was unsafe there.
anyone could find the spare key and enter our house. and do unspeakable deeds.
so
she moved it.
without
telling me. an unspeakable deed. and i was locked out.
that
night, i put the spare key on my key ring.
later,
when i was on break from college, i went on vacation with my grandma. i put the ring of my keys in a clean ashtray
on the picnic table in her sun porch. so
my dad could find them. and drive my car
home. instead of leaving it in the alley
behind grandma’s house. where
who-knows-who could get at it. and do
unspeakable deeds.
when
i returned from vacation, my car was in front of our house. but the keys were nowhere to be found.
i
kept a spare key for the car in a drawer by the telephone. but a spare spare-house-key?
my
mother said, “i told you this would happen.”
i will leave a key for you
hidden by the door
do not let the locks delay you
they are paper and string
and not even sealed
there is just one key
to open the door
and it sings
so you will find it easily
if you listen
it sings in key
of course
it sings in harmony
and you will be humming
as you enter
in
one house
i
remove my shoes
in
another
i
remove my hat
but
in the house of my heart
i
remove the clothing of life
and
wrap my self
in
the fabric of your love
lost
and found (i)
every
key is a relationship:
there
is you. there is that that you lock or
lock away. there is the lock. and there is the key that opens and closes
the lock.
you
may have with the key a closer relationship than you have with that that is
locked or locked away:
you
may spend more time with the key (you may spend more time looking for the key)
than you spend with that that is locked or locked away; you may spend more time thinking about the
key (where did i put the key/where do i put the key?) than thinking about that
that is locked or locked away; you may
touch the key more than you touch that that is locked or locked away…
and
yet, it is that locked or locked away thing that is considered important,
precious…
and
the key as minor.
all
across america, there are corners of kitchen drawers, shallow dishes, cigar
boxes, canning jars filled with keys whose locks are forgotten; whose locked or locked away things are gone,
forgotten.
each
key had a relationship: a person, a
lock, a precious thing…
an
aura of importance clings to these keys
~not for the keys themselves but for the idea of the forgotten thing,
once precious, once locked away…
we do
not dispose of these keys though they are useless ~no lock, no thing to lock or lock away… they are like memories we cannot conjure but
refuse to release...
when
you find an unrecognized key, ask yourself:
what precious part of life, of self, is gone, forgotten?
try
to remember:
when
did you first borrow keys to a car?
when
did you first give someone keys to your home?
what
does it really mean: the key to your
heart?
i dream
of inserting my key
into your lock
and rotating it
until your inner parts move
with a shudder
that releases the stops
and you open
like a treasure box
like a mystery
like a door onto the night
y 150
yes
(why not) has variable effect
my
endearment
what
makes you a man
a
club and a vagina
trivia
where
three roads meet
this
is where you came from
a
photograph of a flower
unlocking
a key
may open a lock to a large building or a small building or a room within a
building or a closet within a room or a closet outside a room in an entryway or
a hallway or a closet outside a building such as one for storage though all
closets are for storage except the water closet
a key
may open a safe as large as a building
or a safe as large as a room or a safe as large as a closet or smaller
or a
key may open a locker within a room or outside a building or a safety deposit
box within a safe or a post box inside the post office or outside your own or
someones home
or a
key may open the lock to a lockbox or a briefcase which could be anywhere it
could be traveling
keys
travel more than locks but some locks travel some locked things travel
you
may be carrying a lockbox with you now you may not realize you are carrying it
you may not realize what is locked in the lockbox or you may
a key
may open and or start a car or other vehicle of transport a key may be your way
to escape other locks the highway an illusion of freedom the wind in your hair
both a key and its own kind of lock
a key
may unlock a secret a key may unlock a secret code a key may unlock a code that
is not a secret a key may unlock a secret that is not a secret a key may unlock
a code that is not a code a door that is not a door a lock that is not a lock
at first every key unlocks a surprise
a
church key opens a bottle of beer but not a bottle of wine and not a church but
it does release spirits
a
skeleton key does not open a skeleton but it takes some muscle to use and the
lockbox in your heart will be opened if the skeleton key is used with a church
key unlocking the spirit unlocks everything
a
master key is like a skeleton key but evolved the skeleton showing the process
of evolution and mastery
a
greek key will not open a greek but if you take some time to meander it will
open your whole life a greek key fits the key(w)hole of life
a keystone
is not a key of stone but a stone of stone and key if you stand stoned with a
key under an arch
there
are keys that are stone no matter how
you spell them they are islands and jetties and what is open there and opened
will surprise you at first at first every key opens a surprise
the
key to music is the right key that is key in jericho and elsewhere yes key is
major
a
telegraph has a key but it does not unlock the code and a typewriter has many
keys but the code to writing is still a mystery a secret code with many keys
and few masters
i
have written this with a board full of keys a keyboard and i am still locked
in
one room
i do
one thing
this
thing
in
another room
i do
another thing
that
thing
but
in the room without walls
in
the room without things
i do
nothing
i do
everything
in a
drawer
in a
house of white doors
i
found a key
marked
green door?
it
had a twin
attached
at the hole
by a
wire ring
maybe
the green door
of my
heart
has a
key
forgotten
in the drawer
of an
empty house
it
does not matter
how
many copies were made
if no
one remembers
to
bring one home
lost
and found (ii)
every
key is a story of separation, of isolation;
every key is a story of loneliness:
there
is you. and there is that that is locked
or locked away from you. the key exists
between the two. the key exists more so
than the lock…
it
remains with you, this key. but you do
not use it. the story also remains. you carry them in your pocket, in your purse, in your mind, in your heart…
or
you hide them in a drawer, under the floor, in a pot by the door… sometimes you try to bury them…
or
you wear them on your sleeve…
but
you do not discard the story; nor do you
use nor discard the key.
(there
is no lost and found for these. they
will not be lost; they will not be
found.)
maybe
you try to fit the key into a lock;
maybe it is the wrong lock or the right lock but you cannot make the key
fit; maybe you feel the key will never
fit a lock, any lock.
maybe
you tell the story; maybe someone
listens to the story or not but the story has no resolution; maybe you feel the story will never have
resolution.
when
did the story really begin?
you
have in your hand a key. you have in
your heart a lock. you have in your soul
a story of separation, of isolation;
this is the first moment:
one
day, you look at the key and begin to cry.
yes, you have in your life a story of loneliness.
in
the story, there is you. and there is
that that is locked or locked away from you.
when
did you first learn the key in your hand will not open the lock in your heart?
when
did you first learn the story in your mind is not the story of your life?
what
does it really mean: the key to your
happiness?
s 7
strangeness
(ellipsis)
the
symbol for strangeness
outside
of time
avoid
obstacles
more
than one
small
and
possessive
hissing
through the teeth
a
snake in the grass
there
are people here and there
but i
love only you
their
hearts have darkened
or is
it my heart that has darkened in its view
for i
love only you
the
words and deeds of men
have
travelled down a darkened path
did i
follow or did i lead and where
there
is a shadow on my heart
that
makes it bleed
when
gentle sunlight warms my face
and
frees my pen
the
threshold of my life has darkened
the
candle in the window of my soul
has
reached its end
behind
the curtain of black lace
and
this weary traveler
will
not leave his home and hole
the
key is set in place and never turned anew
there
are people here and there
but i
love only you
latch
key liberation
since
i had opened every box, released every monster that college had to offer, i
dropped out of school in long beach california.
and
flew like a banshee to europe to live. i
set down my luggage in london for a year ~clothes and books and papers neatly
arranged in boxes and bins. but took
month-long trips to madrid, milan, berlin, and simple tours of morocco and
scotland. the magic of each place
finding me in its own quiet evening or fresh morning. between trips, i stayed in the bosom of
london or the navel of london or the anus of london; i flat-sat for a friend or a
friend-of-a-friend or bunked with a friend or a friend-of-a-friend, learning
the city and the culture as i moved from one section of town to another.
and i
learned:
instead
of mayonnaise, the british butter the bread for sandwiches. with butter.
better butter but butter nonetheless.
the
british line up for everything. if two
people are waiting for a bus, they stand in a queue. they queue up to queue.
and,
most importantly:
the
thing that is consistent about flats in london ~no matter which side of the
town, which side of the tracks~ when a
door closes, it locks. the front door of
every flat is unforgiving.
every
flat door is hinged with a spring that pulls the door closed;
every
flat door is fitted with a latch that automatically locks when closed;
every
flat door has been cursed by somebody walking out without a key…
and,
according to jesse jackson, i am somebody.
i was
not long in london before i decided to wear whichever flat key i needed that
week around my neck like a pendant on a necklace.
this,
of course, had its own learning curve.
and i had been in school long enough to know every learning curve has
tour stops at error, forgiveness, acceptance, and truth.
i
returned from a week in paris, traveling in a storm, an old french lady on the
train to the coast giving me a slice of peasant bread with butter and salt. i got the flat key from a neighbor and settled
late into the little box without any other food. i myself was flat. the next morning, with everything needed for
banking and shopping ~passport, cash from different countries, transport pass,
tube map, writing paper and pens, book, sweater, and the latch key~ i set out into the weak sunlight for
breakfast and errands.
the
chain i wore around my neck was a gift from my grandma and, short to the collar
bone, would not slip over my head. the
key dangling from the chain made a smart accessory…
smarter
than myself, it seems (as i am not a master key-er):
i
vowed not to be locked out of this flat so i slipped the chain through the ring
attached to the key. while waiting for
poorly cooked eggs and barely toasted whitebread toast. which would arrive at room temperature if the
room were cold and cold if the room were warm. the key to breakfast in london was (one) the
temperature of the room and (two) not comparing it to america. the key to a good breakfast in london was
leaving london.
on
that first day of wearing my functional jewelry, several people commented
kindly. the british were familiar with
americans standing on the sidewalk, locked out of flats and looking confused.
but,
in the evening, attempting to unlock the front door, my error became blatant:
even
with my cheek pressed against the wood of the door and my ear penetrated by the
cold handle, the key would not reach to the heart of the labyrinth of the lock.
while hanging around my neck. not many keys reach to the heart of the
labyrinth, it seems. nor to the
labyrinth of the heart. be grateful if
yours has…
i
slipped the bag of provisions to the ground, groceries and staples spilling
onto the sidewalk.
in
the twilight, i tried to unclasp the fine clasp of the rarely-removed chain.
it
was as locked as the door.
i
rotated the chain clasp to the front of me. to my throat. as if i needed to unlock my voice. but that was not helpful. you cannot see the lock on a short
chain. there are many locks you cannot
see, a short chain being the worst.
but i
did manage to open the clasp
and
drop the key into the darkness.
a
constable on patrol, a keystone copper, a latch-key lover himself, inquired
about my activities in the bushes…
i
found in the flat a long strand of kite string. to hang the flat key of the moment around my
neck. if it were good enough for ben
franklin, it would be good enough for me…
and
one morning soon after, as i stepped out onto the sidewalk in boxers and
mis-matched socks. to pick up the daily
paper from a kiosk. i was struck ~like a
tree in a field by lightning~ that i had unlocked the secret to british
culture: managing the latch key. if you
could control your coming and going with ease, you could control your life with
ease. it was the death of an era of
innocence and the birth of an era of responsibility. that continues to this day. solving the problem of these little boxes, i knew
i could solve the problem of the boxes they wanted to put me in at school… and
london itself became a graduation ceremony.
sometimes,
one key holds the answer to everything. especially
when a door closes.
when
i read your poem
i
wanted to write
i
wanted to never write again
when
i read your poem
i
wanted to live
i
wanted to never live again
as i
have been living
i
wanted to die
and
begin again
when
i read your poem
i
wanted to be a better man
i
wanted to be a scholar
a
poet
a
painter
i
wanted to make a mark
worth
making
on
the history of man
it is
not that i had been asleep
not
the way you sleep in a bed
but
when i read your poem
i
awakened
a
part of me
long
frozen in the dark
awakened
as if
a light
were
suddenly lit
in a
forgotten room
of my
soul
as if
the key
maybe
for the first time
found
the lock
to my
secret door
and
the light
of a
thousand suns
rushed
in
k
1000
kinetic
put
it right here (ok)
god
of the earth
balance
(constant equilibrium)
gravity
your
body made of light
an
open hand
an
open book
a
magic flute
in
one room
i
write words on paper
in another
i
paint colors on canvas
but
in the room of my soul
i
lose the artifice of art
and
create a work
for
you
of
candid materials
of
meeting in the garden of figs
of sharing
the last sip of wine
of
lightning flashes on a summer evening
e 250
ecstasy
(highest frequency)
transcendent
constant
there
exists one oneness
a
river running
such
music
the
god of wisdom
energy
equals a window onto relativity
the
sun on the horizon
a
jubilant man
hands
to the sky
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