There is no place that does not see you
What you see is only what you view.
In a coal black room or white sand beach
vision is trapped, there is one of each.

Look into the eyes of someone you love.
Is what you see only what you view?
Are there rules that say we are trapped in our vision,
that our love in each others eyes is only delusion?

Now close your eyes, touch gently your lover
I feel only her, she feels only me.
Why do we ache apart from each other?
Viewed without love there is little to see.

Art is a dictator insisting on total obedience.
This can be tricky if one wants to think
About several subversive ingredients.

I never wore beads but could have –
The rage of my mold was lack of joy
to laugh a bracelet away – my guilty strength.

I always knew I was half woman
Shocked that strength was resilient –
not piercing.

And when I became the piercer
My conquering became – a double awareness –
Good / bad – obsolete – complete?

A fete of anger / joy – ejaculation
occurs everywhere – our life – our death –
Am I worth dying for?
Only my mirror will know – I hold my breath.

Take a stand upon a donkey’s back
Along the lumpy spine we track
his natural course
or alter it
by flexing our toes or shifting our weight.
Our path is clear but is his?
If his path is clear what of ours?
Heads or tails, are we in control or just freight?
Reality, however imperfect, has weight.

In a cage eyes don’t see –
rarely eyes blink, pause, think
muscles clench – find the sink
throw up – lurch towards breath
Gasp – grasp – blink –
In a rage – eyes don’t flee

When all that hums or ticks
has stopped –
When the bubble of our being
has popped –
When faith or fame no longer
tracks us –
The thought of death no longer
haunts us –
Then we are memories and become
the haunters

Wax gentle you old van
layers of experience
on your side

An old van knows
all the blows that
wax cannot hide

Can I keep those flat images at bay
that suffer thinness upon delicacy?
When the necessity of considering night and day
and those efforts of conflicting efficacies
I cannot picture all in one light
but must borrow from day to see night.

An insight fairer than the eye
nature has commissioned us with.
Our eye though egg like can
transport the globe, whisk away
the tentative shell and bask
in white illusion that we can see
further than the eye, so to know
false art and where beauty lies.