August 2000
Letter 27

                                    Night is the true democracy
                                                                          - Edward J. Wheeler

Night                   
        the equator
                                                    between hemispheres.
Realities.

Night                   
           the revelation
                                     of the Dogon.
The Iriquois.

Night                   
                  the needed vacation
                                             from blur state
      realities.
Distractions.

Who                                                
in need of suffering
this holy hr?

Who                                                
recycles dream fragments
                          from the dust bin
of living                      
                       the skeletons
aging                         
as      the story goes on.

There are no more maps,
no more creeds, no more philosophies.
From here on in the directions
come straight from the divine.

Your cell. Your self.
Who has plotted this prison
has tangled in emotional
stew, who delivers the
antidote?

Who brought the dark
as briar patch, not
the mask of fat
for somebody?


Who constructed the box
set                             
the playing field
of black plasma
                              &
imagination?

Who                                  
sees the viscous
liquid through which
living is attempted
                                    who
sequestered us from
                        the certain play
the wealth
                             the healthy
alignment?

OH!  if there is a
doctor in the house
I want an abuelita!
A yerba buena
                            an
antidote   for   the
somnambulistic
                      heresy
to be delivered
                             from.

OH! I've had my fill
of August
                  let me
get my poems & leave
to step over the Slaughter
& resume the party
                                       how easy.

Is this the gestation
or decay?         
                    Fertilization
or response to the bodies
all over the dance floor
   so grisly                        
                      they shield them
from the white man's
                                       view.

OH! Is this closer
                         to death
             or rebirth                       
                     always

seeking a sign
                              so little
FAITH      
                       these days.
So many numbers.

Fava bean blossoms              
          festoon the Slaughter
                         August.

Cat paw prints                                   
shape the raised
            beds.

Still                                         
the neighbor's junk
                                 light
bright                
                  as a star
worthy                              
as illusion
                    blot out
the Milky Way
                       w/ fear.
Fingernail marks     
                        in possessions.
Something            
  gone
                       awry.

How many times the humility
card called                                       
        how many times
ignored?                                

How many times                                   
Los Antepasados
must drag us                                     
through the clues
must the evidence                       
         overwhelm
like the smell                   
            of restaurant
grease               
         in the downtown alley
?


How thin                                           
to spread              
             the self

how soon                                       
to begin         
                   the cycle
anew
?                                             

Quote from the Book of Runes - Ralph Blum


peN#992
3:33AM
8.27.00