Bad Ballerina
dPress 2002 Sebastopol
Cover art by Lucienne Dorrance
LE PETIT SOLDIER DU JEAN LUC GODDARD
I have nothing
aside from the shape of my face
and the sound of my voice
you will never know what I am thinking
or where my voice comes from
already all is silence
RED HEARTS, WHITE ROCK
for Kimberly
You believe it all.
I believe none of it.
We hear thunder in The Bohemian Grove.
They’re making war, you say.
You believe it all.
I believe none of it.
The reason you are here
is to help us in the flesh with the flesh.
I watch you dance a dance as old as space
while the world goes to the fat cats.
You believe it all.
I believe none of it.
ON STAGE
faces superimposed over a man running
the man running over rubble on the screen
ground zero, ground the square root of minus one
and a dancer in an aztec headdress crooning to a clown
ckkkkkkkkckkkkkkkkccccccccc
a boy picks at his food
morose over a molecule of mayonnaise
on his hotdog
ckkkCccccccccc ccccc
another man in a black suit
wearing a gas mask over a catcher’s mitt
flaps his arms and asks,
“Us is America?”
“Iq is Iraq?”
ckkkkkkkkkaa;ckkkkkkkkk
YOU, ME, & A SOUND TECH
you dance, and I sing
to an empty auditorium
against an impenetrable
wall of sound
why strain my voice?
I had the books open
mouth the words
stand solidly on stage
and anchor silence
SURFACES
Night comes, and moving
into the somnolent darkness I engage
in the slow seduction of a woman
who looks like Louise Brooks
in Pandora's Box.
We are digging graves
in the center of a road running
through the high, open fields
on Umptanum Ridge,
going slow, a problem
with rain and our will to dig.
Standing in a shed
looking through the drizzle,
telling her she can do it, not to leave,
I look at figures dancing
inside a transparent moon.
She puts my hand under her shirt
and lets me kiss her.
I realize we are in a showcase window
and awake.
JUST AS IT IS
I watch
with mystic
horror the sun
darken and
shimmer
through violet
haze
dream green
nights
and watch
distances shat-
ter into foam
while feeling
slow kisses
in the midst of
calm
At the moment of death, remember that all substances are your own mind, and that the mind is empty, unrisen and unobstructed. ref. Bardo Thodol
MADE OF CLAY
We are just bones and sinew,
but it's bliss to join lips
and entwine limbs in abandon.
We are rampages of feeling,
heaps of hopes and fears,
tangled in thought webs.
What fun it is
to challenge the gods
in the other worlds.
LOST LENORE
a girl in a car
with a container of coffee in her lap
whispers she knows where Lenore is—
she asked around
questions direct and indirect
wondering if Hwy 10 goes to Alabama
no, she didn't want to go to New Orleans
and she was told Lenore was in Baltimore
currently it's 93° there
humidity 33%
wind from the northwest at 10mph
visibility unlimited
I remember her wearing velvet pants—
respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore
THINKING WITH FEELINGS
thinking with feelings
my voice comes from far away
from within a mirror
where phantoms whir by
friend, I see you
something in me
I fear
a power in us
the cruelty to kill
I have walked through Hell
and eaten my bread
soaked in tears
I am numb
having seen the beautiful
faces of the dead
ONE SPIRIT, MANY FAITHS
acts of senseless terror
intention directed against Satan
years of domination, manipulation, shame
viciousness of attacks
the weak versus the strong
hitting symbolic targets, money and might
humanitarianism
we relieve our conscience
while veiling our political motive
foreign policy
can't leave the Gulf and live without oil
or leave the Holy Land and loose control
freedom rings
altruism tainted with self-interest
hard not to have self-interest in survival
self and enlightened self
CACOPHONY
cacophony
of gothindustrial music
no lights on stage
mirror balls throw dots into the abyss
whompwhompwhomp
without interruption
and squawking voices
and what the devil?
love and kisses
shuck, rot and roll
democracy is here
making a mess
insane
totter and howl
the party's not over
the mystery's only begun
THIS MORNING
This morning I waited on a city bench
Watching people pass
Feeling lust as much for the aged as for youth
This world trembles and flows
Grows younger by the second
As it dies and vanishes
CASE OF BLACKOUT
at Le Belle Aurore
it's still the same old thing
as time goes by
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