Song of the Old Dog

(Las Canciones de Los Perro Antiguo) The bells ring again and the cars arrive, day after day - same hour, different hour What do I care! The bells ring again and I am on the street and promenade. not lost and not found The butterflies are alive and moving. I move from one scent to another. I am not lost and not found These young whippersnappers (los loquillos) They have no memory! They sniff and go crazy. These young ones sometimes take my spot, They are rude and have no stories They have no nose! Once I was El Toro (she sees me but there would be a fight and no one wants that now) I am not lost, yet not found The young butterflies practise flight and grow strong. They are moving I will ask them to strap me on their backs and I will ride the wind But I know I am too heavy and I complain too much: "These straps are too tight" "Too loose" "The sun is too close, The moon too far away" "Fly closer to the ground! There are no smells up here" "I need mud in my feet and a crotch in my nose" "Land here! There's a pile of garbage" I am here forever What do I care!

and the bells ring again not lost and not found I do remember the perfect aroma of you. I know the infinite aroma of you all.
February 28/12 Angangueo, Michoacan

Poem for Marlene Walking She walked a bit down the path that proved the river Her walk collapsed into poem. Her poem traversed the eld and followed the seed, another secret of the river The poem proved her walk The river rolls into seed and seed imagined poem and the poem heralds past and future and our tenses sing of our lives lives are the river's lyric and the river proved the poem and her seed proved the river and her walk proved the seed The seed amed yellow and became sun and the sun proved the seed

I have seen you

I have seen your smile melt into the hearth of life and thaw the iced caverns of authority. I have felt the joy of the meld and the ache of misery. I have seen the smile of freedom loosed in your deep kiss. I have seen the chaos welded to the armour of licence. I have seen the guile of pride. I have seen the army of hate. I have seen the crux of science. I have seen the caprice of incomplete love. I have seen the drudge and the bayonets of the classroom. I have seen the bent, manic strut of the lost. I have seen the rictus of silence. I have walked into re. e smoke of my soul merged with the oneiric wind rolling across the high arc of this planet's deep regulation. I have fell into water, the emergence of life and the sensate arising into feeling, impressing idea, and this world arises a contiguous beauty , like a kiss upon breathing, taut, wet lips, like butter ies upon the erect, tensile stamens. I have seen you... June 2011

The Whiner's Lament

(Back on Incense Row)

Here I am again back on incense row with the dirty floors the lousy chores the busted doors with the stale sandwiches those fucking radio glitches the same old boring bitches with new-age macho men everyone's a vegetarian I just want some chicken Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row with the paper-thin walls those dark dirty halls all those stupid bird calls with those spring torrential rainshowers driving all those endless hours and all the logging towers with all the dirty dishes all our sex-starved wishes oh, Port Alice seems so delicious Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row with the plugged-up toilets those fucking dumb briquets I'm just a fucking puppet with 200 kinds of stock then you gotta walk theres no reason to even fucking talk with the broken washing machines I'm really tired of refried beans I cant even keep my room clean 1

Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row with nothing to do on fucking day off whos next to get the cough Fuck were all just too soft with that all-night sweating heater I never get to lick the beater why cant life be sweeter with all those dam roofing leaks all the instructions are in greek I feel like Im under Cleagh Creek Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row with its just another boys club Im so sick of reggae dub I just want a back rub with never enough cash advances all those off-road chances and those manic dayoff dances with all those logging trucks I guess I aint got no luck how else can I make a buck? Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and the trees they all weigh a ton when the fuck is my toast ever gonna get done I cant get no satisfaction and all the boys think theyre monks and all the girls are in a funk Im going to Campbell River I need some fucking junk and nothing here makes any sense theres too many kinds of incense I cant read anything Im too dense

2 Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and driving stakes is like doing time another vexar on the stupid line like an alien waiting for a sign and Im so sick of the fucking cranberries I think theyre a bunch of fucking fairies Id rather listen to fucking Don Cherry and Julie always looks so good I wonder whats under her hood if should could, I would Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and Im in this truck and I cant smoke someone farted, Im gonna choke Fuck this fucking jobs a fucking joke and Im so sick of these fucking trenches I cant find a drink that quenches Id rather be a bum sitting on the benchs and all my friends say I got it made but when the fuck am I gonna get paid Im so burnt out I cant even get laid Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and the batterys are burnt out in this fucking lamp Im really tired of fucking moving camp motherfuckers! I paid $5 and my laundrys still damp and ah fuck I just stepped in cowshit who fucking cares about your fucking wit youre all just full of fucking shit and its day 5 and its sweet and sour tofu Im getting mighty fucking sick of you I just want something else to fucking do 3

Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and its 5 days off then onto the summer work my girlfriend thinks Im a fucking jerk FUCK!beam me up Captain Kirk and whose the fucking moron who planted the front it makes planting the back a real fucking grunt WHAT A FUCKING STUPID CUNT and where the fucks the fucking line all I know is these fucking nonexistent fucking ribbons arent fucking mine for fucks sake someone give me a fucking sign Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and Im so tired of uppity cooks why dont they just go and read their fucking cookbooks I think they think that were a bunch of crooks and I felt way better back in May my trenches are all as hard as clay its 5 oclock. Why cant we call it a day? and oh fuck people say my breaks are too long fuck seems everything I do is fucking wrong I just dont know where the fuck I belong Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and Im so sick of fucking bugs I cant cull enough of these fucking plugs and of course the cooks are yelling, Where the fuck are all the mugs! and some folks here think theyre Jesus Christ I guess Im always gonna have to say things twice why the fuck am I so nice? and seems like 1/2 the people here are lazy the other 1/2s just new-age hazy Fuck am I the only one here whos not crazy?

Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and oh fuck bad plots Im under attack how the fuck do I get back on track motivational tapes are what I lack and please dont send me back to Jervis its like I'm in the fucking service all those excons make me nervous and why the fuck do we have to get up so early these hours just make me fucking surly I feel like I'm trapped in a swirly-whirly Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row and everybody here needs a fucking psychiatrist i think I need to see my therapist Fuck this shit Im gonna get pissed and planting today always goes runs on so late i guess my lovelife ll have to wait fuck it Im going to my room to masturbate and everybodys talking about whos sleeping with who really there aint much else to do I just want to sleep with you Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row1 and everyones running around like lunatic kinda makes you wonder why were not all sick and they say its not a capitalist trick and some people think everything's a sin thats just a hangover from some fucking hasbeen I say if it feels good do it again and it seems like a behaviourist psychology why cant all of us be really free

its a fucking philosophical CACOPHONY

Hey! I gotta go away back on incense row Here I am again back on incense row and Ill see you all again back on incense row back on incense row

the cumuli roll off the ocean. thick, billowing, and shafts of corralled light are a strafed indulgence. the air from the glaciers, high upon the western flanks of the cordillerae, fall off the mountains, and sidle 'side the dense building nimbi. both are timorous, almost courteous, shy: a soft wet melt with a crystal short breath, 'side the sun's simple order of these seasons. the light is quick and dense with the whisper of spring's indomitable emergence. as day collapses into night, air melts into the crystal memory of ice. and these waning shafts softens this crystal light admitting the moon and the incoming tide. a million crows filling the dusk, this black fluted smudge just above our hearts, herald the sun's protocols and clamour to thicket and copse, muttering a deep rousing joy, spring arising. and the ashen moon rising above the darkening horizon.

this light... my being, startled by a wave of blue light lowing out of the mountains and down through this empty air, opens and surveys this rustling atmosphere. this light is soft and dense, thick with a delicious emergence. a breeze propelled this light and then the breeze stilled and this light grew around me, as if an ancient greeting, settling low, immediate, beside my heart. my soul opens turns into a wave of white light and dances upon the wet grass. two lights shimmering, sparkling exquisite upon the smear of the orange dawn. a rumbling of deep love rises out of the opening earth.

Poem for Edward James 2 soil is language ora is subjunctive fauna's vocative lagoon, rill and river are genitive Mud is one language of the heart stone is the original Andognyne out of earth we arose cell to stone to water gem to leaf leaf to esh ower to lake and birds pluck sh from water and become future planets when the moon mutes doors open re becomes stone becomes mud becomes cell becomes air becomes re re turns into feathers and circles upon the raft of wind the whirl of our pulsing hearts into tomorrow re becomes soul

Sat. Feb 25/12 back in Morelia for 2 nights, after 6 years. Am the only occupant of my hotel - people are afraid of Michoacan - Cartels and Police and Army, yet only 1 incidence with tourists this year and that was way in the south. But 8 months ago the Army took control of South Morelia for a week. And the Army is gone. And the Cartel is quiet here. Still the people are afraidall over. Police and army in the bus stations everywhere. ('cept Queretaro and everyone's moving there. no one knows why Queretaro is so safe) Did my Art day today - Museum of Contemporary Art, Natural History Museum (identical to 6 years ago, except some newspaper articles and the ood in Angangueo, 2010. (5 days later, leaving the butteries, walking down the mountain to Angangueo, Francisco told me of the ood and its insurgent waves and the mud and the 31 who left the town forever, never to be seen), Museo de Michoacan de Artisanias!, Museum of Michoacan - with Spanish/Native documents back to the 1500's . A really boring Museo des Artes Coloniale (around the corner of my Hotel - Hotel Carmen) boring and disturbing with a couple hundred crucixes and huge dark forbidding paintings of priests and generals - the extolation of Terror and the emphatic Taming of the spirit - Bah! Let the dead die! (cant forget my favourite: the Museum of Type and Typography in Guadalajara 7 days later hasn't changed much since i was last here: exquisite 1800's presses and huge broadsheets with mostly Roman/Egyptian typeforms yet the bookfaces were of the wonderfully classic Transitional and pre typefaces: Palatino, Garamond, Goudy and Jenson ignite my deep passion as these Humanist designs have stayed the breach of digital technology and still sail thru, elicit the beauty of form welded to function) Tomorrow back to Angangueo and the mountains and the Monarchs! What wonder this trip: 2 Natural Wonders of the World on each side of the Sierra Madres - Ed James and his Las Pozas, his Surrealist House and Gardens nd the Monarch Butteries with Migrations and repose and dedicated wanderings. One natural and one made by man and imagination saturates/ emanates and decimates solipsism. And who's to say that the natural world was not left by the ancients for the futures to enjoy and add enigmas. Happened to walk into the Cathedral as I thot something was going on. (yeah we know what's going on) I haven't been in a church for over 30 years and as soon as i enter i could hear, smell and sense Mass being sung and these Catholics insane afiction, bloodlust and the perfect devotion to the virgins. Fuck! now i reek of this holy excrement. I need to shower for a few days to wash this stink of centuries off my body and restore my unctuous sensuality. As i age, i don't hate the police as much, yet my hatred and intransigence of Priests and Religion, and their attempt for the destruction of curiosity, sensuality and love grows and grows - has not reached apogee. yet my vociferousness has grown quieter - if these idiots choose chains over freedom and love, fuck m if they wont take the joke. Too many dinosaurs here. started 2 poems. came out in homage to Edward James and his EXQUISITE SURREALISM in Xilitlawords seem to come hard these days, though the images come easy. perhaps i need to distance myself from them both and learn a new language, not only of tongue but heart also, which admits the old sounds, images, words and metamorphs feeling and intellect. Or has my metaphor become trite and banal for me, tho, surprisingly, not for folk who read/hear my scrawl. I still sing of joy and exult in beauty: the natural expression of all life before it is thwarted, stunted and decimated by those hoodlums of family, state, school and church. My complete acceptance and wonder with James and his work will continue and i will nd the thread thru this impasse. Perhaps the Monarchs will admit me further

Part of me feels that urbanity has distanced me somewhat from the wonder, joy and exquisite beauty of the natural world (which includes us tho our history would betray this) Last night i woke up well before those raucous catholic bells and felt, perhaps i should move away from the city - a starker landscape always proves unexpected joy As does love! I feel my political work with the world has passed. This range of avenues, invention and exploration is now a far-too-narrow road. I will not admit the savage imbecility of the rulers nor will admit the brutal provincialism of the left. They both contend and force this narrow track of feeling and idea. both have a sea of misery and the brute thugs of history to face, tho never will they face this: easier to deny, rewrite or erase any trace of life. I will rove alone if i must, as i always have. Live as self-regulated as i will - the simple proof of Reich. They (left and right) will always attempt to kill and annihilate life in all its magnicent and myriad forms, yet expression holds sway, irreducible and swells thru Time as the ellipse escapes the circle and yet infers a tacit allegiance to it. We really are mud and rock as we were water and calyx as we will be air and star. Feb 25, 2012

Poem for Edward James 1 where lichen and jungle swallow sense - heart becomes dream and smelt into the future and the sensate to come the juggernauts of reason succumb to invention and imagination thrown into the rm rattle thru the mineral sewers - slag, dross and the masquerade of ingots hawk and vulture pillage the wind that whirls up thru the sky and moss disturbs form disguising function bamboo tears the sky above the mountain and the raptors rest upon these rising fronds wrapping moon and sun deep inside seed a river of stars owing back before time unearthing the immediacy of tomorrow,today and the ones that have come and will come dread is unknown to water, rock leaf and the primal humid caverns mirror the light beyond calyx is arresting passage as souls create tomorrow from the dreams of the past and the unknown present dreams slide into solidity