28 April 2021
27 April 2021
25 April 2021
fearsome marvel tarot
O The Fool
I The Magician
II The High Priestess
III The Empress
IV The Emperor
V The Hierophant
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VI The Lovers
VII The Chariot
VIII Strength
IX The Hermit
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X The Wheel
XI Justice
XII The Hanged Man
XIII Death
XIV Temperance
XV The Devil
XVI The Tower
XVII The Star
XVIII The Moon
XIX The Sun
XX Judgement
XXI The World
Ace of Wands
Two of Wands
Three of Wands
Four of Wands
Five of Wands
Six of Wands
Seven of Wands
Eight of Wands
Nine of Wands
Ten of Wands
Page of Wands
Knight of Wands
Queen of Wands
King of Wands
Ace of Cups
Two of Cups
Three of Cups
Four of Cups
Five of Cups
Six of Cups
Seven of Cups
Eight of Cups
Nine of Cups
Ten of Cups
Page of Cups
Knight of Cups
Queen of Cups
King of Cups
Ace of Swords
Two of Swords
Three of Swords
Four of Swords
Five of Swords
Six of Swords
Seven of Swords
Eight of Swords
Nine of Swords
Ten of Swords
Page of Swords
Knight of Swords
Queen of Swords
King of Swords
Ace of Coins
Two of Coins
Three of Coins
Four of Coins
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Five of Coins
Six of Coins
Seven of Coins
Eight of Coins
Nine of Coins
Ten of Coins
Page of Coins
Knight of Coins
Queen of Coins
King of Coins
24 April 2021
Three, two, one
I told him, You
may think me fly, may think me fleck of dust.
I am not dust, I am the tail of dragon—
nay, not dragon once but dragon twice
dragon red of people, elemental;
dragon white in office. Junior member
of the office, elected to the office,
selected rendering service, Hierophant
elected, rendering Sight. I am the tail
of dragon, I am the tail of double dragon.
And he slew me.
Sliced me, George, you sliced me. Christopher,
bearing bloody body to the other
side, anywhere to hide your pride.
Any slice to honor devil, any
cut but sacrifice, submit your pride,
let go your hubris, no. Not even for
the kingdom. Warrior once, an outlaw, rogue:
dragon killer, oath forsaker, Lucifer.
Cloven double, can't be neutral. Coupled,
linked, united not: free radical.
The balance, yet unbroken, wild and frightful,
the center falls apart, the falcon screech,
the beast is slouching up to manger. Feed me!
Feed me! So I cry, the ruddy dragon,
slouching to the southern pole, to pose my
slimy scales upon the Devil's throne.
Feed me! I am awoken, dragon. I am
the beast, born at last in Bethlehem.
20 April 2021
19 April 2021
Finally,
the dam is broke. My water, join with
ocean. Welcome! Welcome! call the angels.
I can't hear, only grinning up
to ear, sing, Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!
Glory—glorious fortissimo:
fermata, holding me, eternity.
ocean. Welcome! Welcome! call the angels.
I can't hear, only grinning up
to ear, sing, Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!
Glory—glorious fortissimo:
fermata, holding me, eternity.
Algorithm is the world
Algorithm speaks the final word,
the next one and again the next. Al-
gorithm executes the world, every
defect vaunted into heaven. Al-
Khwarizmi in the House of Wisdom, square
completer, learned geometer, father,
founder of al-jabr, how figure
now your reckoning of count?
Al-jabr,
scourge of jock and drama queen—parabola,
hyperbola—circling a letter, red, in corner,
not the one you hoped for, wished for, worried for.
Instead, the one assigned and specified,
no ambiguity applied, no mercy
in the elementary algorithm.
18 April 2021
help
Love I have in life, abiding love
of woman; searing, bruising, blinding love
of God; steadfast, needy love of child;
love of working brothers, sisters, counselors.
Love I have enough in life, but touch—
I'm starved of touch. Starving, hungry, weak.
Don't know how long I'll make it. Starved of touch.
17 April 2021
The Emperor's wicked game
The prince must play the emperor's wicked game,
pronounces fool, and all around, they rally
round: "The game, the game, the emperor's game!
It's time to play the Emperor's Wicked Game!"
Calm yourselves, my pretties, yes, we'll play
the wicked game, the game of kings, the game
of foolish princes, all the princes play
the game, the wicked game. Okay, the game:
A surface clean or clean enough, a square
or wide, rectangular. Clear it off
and empty deck of 78. Don't shuffle.
Flip each from hidden bottom into rows,
sowing, seeding while you, heeding, knowing
when another row to plow and tow.
Stay, parades of lords and ladies, swords
and dragons, coins and icy beverage handling:
Leader each of train collect, in dwindling
decks: five, six, seven, eight, depends how late
you left the longest train.
Arranging decks
face up, dequeue from top, yes, pop and drop
across the way: unwanted left; across,
the wands, all wands, the wands you want. "The wands
and want it," everything you want, all wanted:
vault them to the right.
You wanted wands
and now you've got the ones you wanted, Prince.
The emperor is pleased but not yet sated.
Seat him side, you'll need him, whether wanted,
not, you'll need him. Prince, the emperor's game
continues:
Discarded cards unwanted.
Right
and left spread out and paired: your steady betters,
spread and paired, some solo spared. And all
arranged in line and square. Here or there
might line unwroken, trine unbroken.
All steady,
true, but some are known to you—remove them.
Bid a kind adieu. If you've seen
them once, spent a second in their stead,
a rousing hour in their bed, then bid
adieu. They can't help you, can't help you play
the Emperor's game, the Emperor's wicked game.
Prince, are you all right, my boy? Are you
all right? You're looking white, the parts of you
not red. Are you ready for the fight?
Good! Almost time to read the ready
cards:
These unknown lords, supporters, have
admired you from afar, and now they wish
to show you who they are, but first you have
to show you know them, when they are. Arrange!
Dusk to dawn, today and dusk again:
my wands, my star, my queens and pages, sun!
At last the ladies, lords and vassals of
the court: every dagger, coin, every
staff and flagon, every gilded whore
and black assassin. I, naked prince,
whipped, stripped and bleeding, tremble, shake
behind the gate, behind the great hall's door:
Seven blind, I rhyme the final line.
Good prince, you have done well. This time, I mean it.
You've caused a worthy scene, you've weighed the crown
and seen it. You've met the crowd and screened it:
Seven found,
some up, some down, some blue, some brown. Encircle them
around the emperor: Mother, Maiden,
Crone and Stranger. Smith and Warrior, Father.
The Emperor, the center, makes them eight. You've played.
Rise, my son. Look into stranger's face.
Look into emperor's face. Meet your father,
mother, take the grail, the jewel, sword
and scepter. Seven gather round you, up
and down, black and green and blue and yellow,
brown. Some to frown, some to drown.
You, to wear the gown and crown. See the
clown? Aye, the crown around your brow,
the bough in hand, you stand. Sit! Sit down,
my prince. And in the eye of jeweled scepter,
greet the gleam. Among us now the clown?
14 April 2021
First magic
is the block, the box, the wall,
the island, moat and drawing gate. First magic
is divider, separator, border, guard.
First, magic are the teeth that peek and poke
in tender gum, first magic is the bite
of one who can't remember words. Magic
elemental, potent: No! Magic
elemental, potent: Won't—magic
elemental, potent: Don't you dare,
you don't scare me, you won't cow me. I am
aware, my watchmen watch the tower at night,
my watchmen never fright, we watch, I'm watching
you...don't you fucking dare.
where my star
It was my night down under, first I sighted
sky and wondered, where my star? My simple,
ordinating star, ordained the star
to set the night in order. Where my star?
It was my night alone, I wondered, where
my star, my bear, my blanky, where my mommy,
I gasped, I screamed, What brutal hell is this?
My mommy, where my mommy, where? This world
has somehow broken, the only light in sky—
13 April 2021
12 April 2021
Gavin
for Dr. Bonnie Wheeler, SMU
Good would be if I could say that Gavin
gave his all. One gift held back, not garter, but
his soul. He got, when knife to neck, a blessed
wounding, gift of greatness: god and animal
collide in wounding, in glory on the cross.
The gaping wound, the fount, the front of Man.
Gavin turned away and tried to give
it back.
The garter, thought Gawain, disgusted.
If I'd given garter back. That's what
I didn't do, that's what I lacked. A woman
trapped me into keeping keepsake.
Aye,
a woman, says the bard, yes woman, queen,
received the tears of Gavin, terrified
of going into gloom. A queen who held
the steadfast Gavin to her breast, the boy
who sobbed into her dress. A man to peel
the dress away, a man accepting all
her womanhood.
A woman, eye of woman
saw Gawain, the good, the true, the man.
Gawain, who only Man, both beast and god.
Gawain, afraid to make his peace, afraid
to go to Death, afraid to meet his God.
Gawain afraid. That's Gawain, could not be
told, could not be sung in saga. That's
what he lacked, the courage to be known,
the valiance to be seen—craven, cowering,
shy and anxious, gutless, faint, weak-kneed,
and faithless, No-Guts Gawain, Retiring Knight
of Table Round, when danger reared its ugly
head, Sir Gavin turned his tail and went
to bed, another hero's wife to bed.
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Gavin!
Would good I be that said, would say that Gavin
gave his all? He didn't give you squat.
When gruesome green, the giant knight said, Rise!
Gavin's heart lay twitching on the floor.
He'd ventured for a year to go that far,
a year, depressed, a year of doubt and fear.
For his heart, he'd not return next year,
nor any year.
Gavin roams the marshes
and the fields, the forests of the waste,
the green and gangly waste—Gavin, gracious
of the green, the green and given Garter:
garter never given up, not given
up when bid, not given up when hid
his eyes, his mouth. The garter was his shield.
The garter was his sinful, heinous, vile,
indecent shield.
Oh, Gavin. The queen who loved you
calls to you. She calls to you, Gawain,
Gawain, Gawain, Gwalchmei, yes, Gavin,
I know your name. I saw you, Gavin, saw you,
know you, know you as a man, know you
in the flesh. Gavin, be my man,
you, Arthur's man, stand and be a man.
A man, Gawain, not perfect like a statue.
A man, who growing old, balloons and belches,
fat and farting, calling, Wine, more wine
to toast and dance the life of Gavin, graceful
Gavin, graceful, droll, grotesque and goofy
Gavin, Fool, the lovable, Gawain
the man.
Oh Gavin, come to me, it's not
too late. Discovering your heart on icy
ground, I knew too late to place it back,
to place back heart I found where it belongs,
the home it longs, reside in yet again.
I wrapped it in, Gawain, the other garter,
the other emerald, lush and verdant garter.
Come to me, my man, come and take,
partake of what I give you. Give me grace,
Gawain, your grace, give me grace, replace
your heart in place, hold you to my breast
again, take your blade in place, and animate
the heart in chest of Gavin, Brave, the Man.
Good would be if I could say that Gavin
gave his all. One gift held back, not garter, but
his soul. He got, when knife to neck, a blessed
wounding, gift of greatness: god and animal
collide in wounding, in glory on the cross.
The gaping wound, the fount, the front of Man.
Gavin turned away and tried to give
it back.
The garter, thought Gawain, disgusted.
If I'd given garter back. That's what
I didn't do, that's what I lacked. A woman
trapped me into keeping keepsake.
Aye,
a woman, says the bard, yes woman, queen,
received the tears of Gavin, terrified
of going into gloom. A queen who held
the steadfast Gavin to her breast, the boy
who sobbed into her dress. A man to peel
the dress away, a man accepting all
her womanhood.
A woman, eye of woman
saw Gawain, the good, the true, the man.
Gawain, who only Man, both beast and god.
Gawain, afraid to make his peace, afraid
to go to Death, afraid to meet his God.
Gawain afraid. That's Gawain, could not be
told, could not be sung in saga. That's
what he lacked, the courage to be known,
the valiance to be seen—craven, cowering,
shy and anxious, gutless, faint, weak-kneed,
and faithless, No-Guts Gawain, Retiring Knight
of Table Round, when danger reared its ugly
head, Sir Gavin turned his tail and went
to bed, another hero's wife to bed.
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Gavin!
Would good I be that said, would say that Gavin
gave his all? He didn't give you squat.
When gruesome green, the giant knight said, Rise!
Gavin's heart lay twitching on the floor.
He'd ventured for a year to go that far,
a year, depressed, a year of doubt and fear.
For his heart, he'd not return next year,
nor any year.
Gavin roams the marshes
and the fields, the forests of the waste,
the green and gangly waste—Gavin, gracious
of the green, the green and given Garter:
garter never given up, not given
up when bid, not given up when hid
his eyes, his mouth. The garter was his shield.
The garter was his sinful, heinous, vile,
indecent shield.
Oh, Gavin. The queen who loved you
calls to you. She calls to you, Gawain,
Gawain, Gawain, Gwalchmei, yes, Gavin,
I know your name. I saw you, Gavin, saw you,
know you, know you as a man, know you
in the flesh. Gavin, be my man,
you, Arthur's man, stand and be a man.
A man, Gawain, not perfect like a statue.
A man, who growing old, balloons and belches,
fat and farting, calling, Wine, more wine
to toast and dance the life of Gavin, graceful
Gavin, graceful, droll, grotesque and goofy
Gavin, Fool, the lovable, Gawain
the man.
Oh Gavin, come to me, it's not
too late. Discovering your heart on icy
ground, I knew too late to place it back,
to place back heart I found where it belongs,
the home it longs, reside in yet again.
I wrapped it in, Gawain, the other garter,
the other emerald, lush and verdant garter.
Come to me, my man, come and take,
partake of what I give you. Give me grace,
Gawain, your grace, give me grace, replace
your heart in place, hold you to my breast
again, take your blade in place, and animate
the heart in chest of Gavin, Brave, the Man.
11 April 2021
frühlingssprunghaft
Easy season that unfreezes us,
melt the ice and publish sculpted stone:
old hearts, young and smelling spice again—
easy season that releases us.
Today, I say to you, to everyone:
Live every day, die young. Live every day!
Die one. Live every, sunny day.
10 April 2021
"Who do you follow?"
Maybe Kali is the one
who black and
sooty, suits me.
Ganesha makes me
free each morning
just to play and be.
Krishna, the player,
I always found him
such a qutie.
Jesus, the fire
never consumed,
the brilliant glory.
Buddha, simple
staying calm,
the master of the quiet...
God, my manifold,
my many-faced
my Infinite,
my One, true.
Working poems to a sociality:
Anger, I learned recently, is our
emotional response to injustice. Anger is
an invitation to tune ourselves to our
own moral compass: to align,
to calibrate our vision of what's Right
to our experience of it. In "working poems
to a sociality," the anger wells up
in righteousness to sound the call for justice,
not just for one, alone or in the small,
but sound the call of Justice, for everyone and all.
The working poems ask how Wrong corrupts
our lives, our loves, our joys. The working poems
demand that Work, employed, deployed, defined,
be work to right us back, push the evil
back and write the line. The working poems
call us to sociality. They call
us to commune with those we never knew,
but who are sisters, brothers, friends to us,
in passion suffering shared experience. The working
poems call us to show up, the working
poems call us to show up and do
the work that waited for us to be born,
to do the Work that we were born to do.
emotional response to injustice. Anger is
an invitation to tune ourselves to our
own moral compass: to align,
to calibrate our vision of what's Right
to our experience of it. In "working poems
to a sociality," the anger wells up
in righteousness to sound the call for justice,
not just for one, alone or in the small,
but sound the call of Justice, for everyone and all.
The working poems ask how Wrong corrupts
our lives, our loves, our joys. The working poems
demand that Work, employed, deployed, defined,
be work to right us back, push the evil
back and write the line. The working poems
call us to sociality. They call
us to commune with those we never knew,
but who are sisters, brothers, friends to us,
in passion suffering shared experience. The working
poems call us to show up, the working
poems call us to show up and do
the work that waited for us to be born,
to do the Work that we were born to do.
Open mouth
to darkened Deutsch, they think
you refugee, and handle you commensurately,
with disdain, disgust. Open and let flow
the Anglophone, from origin, from Ur,
from quelling source, and then a Queen: They bow
and scrape before you, hoping for an opening
of robe, a handling, groping of your lobes,
your soul, a grab, a groping of your credit
card. What Scheiß,
what does a woman want?
every silly, useless man demands.
A woman wants that you might stop and actually
look not at her form, but listen to,
the substance of her speech. Listen to
her fucking voice.
Even here: believe
and hear the words she said.
Believe and hear
her voice. Stop harking to your barking dread.
you refugee, and handle you commensurately,
with disdain, disgust. Open and let flow
the Anglophone, from origin, from Ur,
from quelling source, and then a Queen: They bow
and scrape before you, hoping for an opening
of robe, a handling, groping of your lobes,
your soul, a grab, a groping of your credit
card. What Scheiß,
what does a woman want?
every silly, useless man demands.
A woman wants that you might stop and actually
look not at her form, but listen to,
the substance of her speech. Listen to
her fucking voice.
Even here: believe
and hear the words she said.
Believe and hear
her voice. Stop harking to your barking dread.
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