And Now I Become Shiva

and there was Oppenhiemer
reading the Bhagavad Gita
never once considering
Shiva beneath his skin

the mother creator/destroyer
moving his hand
in front of the chalkboard
--a comet across space--
rewriting equations
waiting patiently to dance

he sounds so remorseful
quoting the sandskrit

how can that be

Waking Up Addicted

One morning the sunken eyed sun
Rises and shares its truths
He awakes in a pile of
Anemic arms and legs
He sees that cattle have grazed
In his concave bed
On the refrigerator under
Magnets and topaz tape
Yellowed notes are found
All hoping for this day
All saying, "good-bye"
And if he is lucky
There is still one faithful friend
Who is not lucky
But filled with the cool
Patience of co-dependence
Holding a rope waiting
For him to wake up on
The dangling end
The addict sees his dreams
Family, career, security
Have been replaced with
Immediate demands, needs
He sees every bad choice
At every fork in this road
And the broken terrain
That must be covered
To correct his error
And begins to tow his one
Friend in that direction

Woman in Cafeteria

kind of woman
I always am attracted to
beautiful without smiles
distant eyes searching
a horizon of sadness

one day I saw her crying
wanting to go to her
offer a tissue, an ear, arm

these days I synchronize my lunches
get a table near her

I cannot help but study
slender wrists, thin face
high forehead, blonde - even if
I don't like blondes

sonorous german accent
- sexy sad tone

I think of Dietrich falling
my own velocity increasing

fantasy of me pushing the thin
strands of her fine hair
away from green eyes
that stare not quite over her shoulder

unhappy stare

my trying to get a smile
some clown thing I learned
-almost always works
but doesn't because she
is not like the always and the usuals

we could be unhappy together
her in the frame of a window
with rain beyond perhaps
a well feed but temperamental cat
sharing the sill

I and a piece of paper
attempting an image of her
frustrated and torn mad
with lost translation

oh woman of frowns
my heart quickens for you
even as doom rushes up at me again

Ghost Father

ghost father drinking the void
that part of my heart is pain
cold as a starless march night
everything I am is your wake

that part of my heart is pain
a permanent wound spilling blood
cold as a starless march night
its rain jabbing into my head

a permanent wound spilling blood
my father whose name is a storm
its rain jabbing into my head
even as the crows stood laughing

my father whose name is a storm
left me in the desert of my life
even as the crows stood laughing
my tears evaporating from my cheeks

left me in the desert of my life
everything I am is your wake
my tears evaporating from my cheeks
ghost father drinking the void

Dancing Bear's Lair:
http:/www.hooked.net/~bear

"It is good to tell one's heart."
-Chippewa saying