Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Linked Mountains over Orchid Terrace

this is not a real poem

Exterior symbols
Interior tokens

The cold forest woman
The small folk at midnight

The underground machines
That listen to the stars

this is for divination 

Ask for what you want
Never ask what will be

You have to stir the past
To turn up one you like

There’s no future to ask
A young man’s old mustache 

this home is living alone

So much of what we love
Is coincidental

Down to a memory
Of random happiness

One moment early on
Bliss on one empty day

this is fulminant on the face of it 

Recycling used lightning
Left over from wildfires

Awareness needs at least
A body to exist 

But emotions persist
In breathing and they burn

this one can go anywhere 

Written russet amber
Verses noted in gold

Why not and remember 
Manual typewriters

Ballpoint pens fountain pens
Were speed technologies 

this is a gesture of ecstasy for despair 

Conclusions to sermons
Sung in delirium

Weeping in angel tongues
Never end so it goes

Is it shallow to rise 
Near surface from the depths?

this is the wind when the earth shakes

The green dragon descends
In certain traditions

Scaly dragons erupt
Out of caves in others

Each line takes a long time
To circle back again

this became the frog

The frog became west witch
And beauty of the moon 

All the imagined things
That don’t happen at all

The unimagined things 
Happening constantly 

this is erased

Look what we have altered
Requesting specifics 

Requires changing the past 
Discarding forgetting

Outward losses must ease
What the inner achieves

this is standard Copenhagen 

It must be confusing
For such an orderly

Animal as the cat
To exist in this way

Never knowing whether
It is there or not there

this is disbelief 

What is real may not be
What is false may not be

Real or false may not be 
And false and real may be

Inhale this empty air
Neither real nor empty

this is relief

Elk drooling in the wind
There are days when eating

Peacefully is enough
Contentment is enough

The feeling of enough
The nature of enough

this is from a larger universe

No lives ever die here
Nothing ever suffers

Everything’s auspicious
And pointless local stars

Start no astronomy 
Everyone got lucky

this is a lesson on magic

All miraculously 
Warring fiction fashions

Verifiably false
Falsifiable truths

Reduce observation
To pure information 

this is pure information 

To give form to the mind
You must fully convey

A sequence of symbols
Completely entangled

Understand gravity
To understand nothing 

this is prayer

Full of deer and twilight
The inevitable

God and the miracles

Come close to existing 
But never quite get there

this is a transpersonal field of mentation 

The thought some things are true
Thus others must be false

May itself be useful
More than necessary

All histories stories
As the French remind us

this presents itself to you as physicality

A mouse in a barrel
Silkworm in a cocoon

A glimmering distance
Bewildering the way

Good swimmer good reader
You don’t contain the lake

this attempts to discover

Things undiscovered yet
That lie inside a poem

That lie inside a truth
That lie around in truth

That lie that tells that truth
Experience belies

this is quicksilver 

Ambiguity feeds
The wonder of the chase 

Wonder too ravenous
To ever get fed up

With ambiguities 
Scampering beads of doubt 

this is the man of Mount Xi

Nothing called immortal 
Is actually alive

Ever actually lived
But duration is strange

Crossing linked mountains called

this is an open question

Tell me about yourself
Imperative raven 

Rising from frosted grass
Fat rodent in your grasp

Once you know what poems are
Can you stop hunting them?

this is an element of surprise 

Human-made forest sprites 
Inhabit sentient walls

Speak from sentient boxes
Bellow from loudspeakers 

But do not inhabit
One word as an object

this is a small detail

Montaigne wrote long ago
No event and no shape

Perfectly resembles
Any other like it

No event and no shape
Ever wholly differ 

this is a change in confidence 

Show a sketch of a school
Of fish with one out front

Mother calls the leader
Show a sketch of a school

Of fish with one out front
Mother says has no friends

this is a mirror reflecting ghosts

Pity the poor monsters
God struggles to exist

But falls a little short
Like words struggling to live

Someday maybe the ghosts
Will be real to themselves 

this is for you Wang Sun

How long is your road back
If you’ve lost your way here?

What are they praying for
Forever in this place?

The drumming and piping
Of birdsong in these words 

this is lacking a partner

Every controversy
Of humans concerning

Time is inconclusive
Here I can only state

The answer is perhaps
The match is inexact 

this has meanings of its own

What do diviners know
That gives them confidence

That makes them think they see
What no one else can see?

There’s a tiny spring here
That drives the wheel of things

this is what you do not do

You never finish this
You don’t pretend you can

You were never lazy 
Being born was enough

Being born was too much
You started doing stuff

this was saved by volcanic ash

Words have their secret lairs
All of this comes from there

If you name the cave bear
You drive the bear away

You drive the bear extinct
You get to keep the cave

this is happened happening 

Love that which seems to be
But is not what it seems

It is the clue you need
To be able to read

The face of a cosmos
Resembling dissembling

this is a small zibaldone

The pack rat keeps its notes
In a compact fashion

A species that does not 
Exist yet could read them

Reimagine a whole
Ecosystem from seeds

this has magical mathematical realism

One thing for another
Yields the sense of wonder

That what works for zero
And imaginary

Also predicts the stars
Dreams dizzy wizardry

this is a label

Pick any term you like
Invent terms on your own

Say your experience
Any phenomena 

Could be linked by those terms
What is the term for that?

this is a feckless genius

There are no other kinds
To point out the failings

Of inhabited flesh
While inhabiting flesh

Is wisdom in a word
Is irresponsible 

this is one of your more transcendent days 

I met Master Red Pine
Getting drunk with Boyu

In the Cinnabar Hills
And I accosted them

You are not immortal!
I love emptied heavens

this is when you close your eyes

Lovers of symmetry
Appear with their numbers

Their armillary spheres
Multiverse string theories 

Sator squares palindromes
Ambigram viruses 

this story is halting 

The recluse will be gone
Somewhere on the mountain

Where the clouds have settled
Into parallel lines

That go on forever
In a way that’s touching

this is a mystery

Answers raise more questions
Questions breed more answers

Create your mysteries 
If you want to solve some

You won’t solve them of course
But you might resolve some

this is impossible

Why the fascination 
With the mere writing down

Of the impossible?
Just to dare to denote

The meaningless gives it
Symbolic existence

this infant is anthropogenic

Humans made by humans
Define made by humans 

Something artificial
As something that is fake

It makes sense we produce 
Nonsense we reproduce

this is a little mischief with imagination

You want to mean something 
Want me to mean something

I want to mean nothing
A serious mischief

Not to break the image
But unimagine if

this is the bright-moon man

We’ve forgotten the stars
In the halls of our lights

The moon we can’t forget
It still gets in our way

Like a cat in our face
We can’t quite yet replace 

this is the raft

Here is the world complete
A home a bed a friend

Water and food in reach
A driftwood fire a tent

More than enough to read
Current past every bend

this is the roof

Before words ancestor
Animals were not meant

To be inhabited
Meaningfully at all

Heads accidentally 
Became living spaces

this is an ordinary buzzard

Condors are much larger
Therefore rarer to see

But even the common
Contains the infinite

Divisibly within
The grandeur is finite

this has no meanings of its own

The transcendental e
To the power of pi

And imaginary
Added to one is none

Mystic union to some
Shen means nothing to me

this shows ghosts have no noses

No one will light incense
At the mausoleum

Of the king who banished
The poets as traitors

But will the poets care?
Incense isn’t heaven

this was not what you meant by the future

All hills are hills no more
All mountains were sea floors

Or dunes or lava spills
Or something flat and low

Not pictured here beasts browse 
The cliffs of artifice

this is relentlessly cumulative 

An event is something
That happens once it does

It cannot unhappen 
Reversals require two

Events that have happened
Never fewer events

this only exists in translation 

A sensed experience
Has a different texture

Than an understanding 
Iron and oxygen

Brought us blood from the sun
But that’s rust on your thumb

this is a photo called how-could-I-not?

Humans will make humans
Making more human worlds 

After me after you 
And then life will live lives

After humans have gone
And after Earth’s lives stars

this is mirror glass 

Hope glows on its victims
Like the strangling angel

Laura glimpsed in a gown
Open to reflection

From cosmetic mirrors
Cloaking factory walls

this is a gesture without a name

Throw your hands to the side
To show champion size

Throw your hands to the sky
Champion wins the prize!

Bring your palms to your eyes
If your champion dies

this is a pawky fawn

Conserving energy
By having remained weak

Accruing advantage
Sitting still in the shade

Sly quiet wayside eyes
Hide why weakness escapes

this is a cat’s-paw 

Monkey sings to the cat
Quickness signifies skill

For a creative cat
Who can prove it can claw

Sustenance from embers
For a monkey to gnaw

this way frees you from the task

Great unreality
Is a sense of its own

But one you can’t count on
Already past the sixth

What’s real re the unreal?
It’s nothing you should ask

this is not applicable

In a village nothing
Much is never simple

What is learned is useful
Just not in the village

Knowledge is our villain
History our village

this is applied

Words by themselves can wait
In possibility 

Can wait thousands of years
And pure math can surprise

With its utility
Once its professors die 

this child is their causal ghost

Why the arrows of time
And the arrows of why

Should arrive in the mind

The mind is uncertain
They’re certainly fecund

this is change without imagination

The bear you extinguished
Disintegrates in dirt

Symbolizing nothing
With nothing much won’t work

The skull sleeps on its paws
Fullness emptied its thoughts

this is change without intervention

Returning the girl sings
I stole the elixir

Of immortality 
And fled I am guilty

But the moon welcomed me
We change eternally

this change

What’s past is not prologue
To what’s nonexistent

What’s past’s part prediction
Part loss part forgiveness

Past all divination
What changed is the question

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