An audio recording of the Robinson Jeffers poem, read by the author
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Transmigration Solo
I had forgotten how much I love Joseph Ceravolo's poems. Buy or borrow The Green Lake Is Awake!
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The Bones Of Night
Images are not numbers. Freud
tried translating them. They are
notes towards themselves.
A walled city represents its own
interests. I want to go in
but I don't trust -- its symbol
is the horse, no, an upended
flask of water. I've been there
once creaking like an old door.
Soundly to venture forward
into desire. This film
I think I've seen, but it changes
memory. I dream an entire
film. A recurring dream. Always,
I am some actor, falling into trees.
My mind churns up such thoughts
to bother me on weekends.
Distract me towards the sea, or
to you. My mind on the whole
has betrayed me. Love is strong.
Sunny villas, much running water.
The grasses hush together
in greenness. This stolen city means
so little. I will write it flawed and beautiful.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Sunday, November 17, 2013
There are few things harder to parse than the minor acts of injustice and betrayal perpetrated by good people. Tonight, riding my bike home, I meditated on this and it finally dawned on me: these acts do not make sense because they are thoughtless. Injustice, for good people, is a kind of wave or gestalt that overtakes them when they are weak. The only answer to such wrongdoing is to feel rage - raw rage- at the fear, not at the person and to refuse to, yourself, be afraid. To respond any other way is bound to hurt someone else, if not today, then soon.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Community is: you are just as scared as I am, but you know you cannot figure it out alone. You can't solve it so you hold onto the hand of the next person, grip really. Then they do the same, and the person next to them. It's like Matisse's painting "The Dance" some days.
But mostly it is like walking through the sky, not daring to look down.
But mostly it is like walking through the sky, not daring to look down.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
I long for the day when civil rights are viewed the way that oxygen is: shared, essential and no less necessary to those whose morality is in doubt than they are to those with whom we sympathize. If the air is toxic nobody can breathe.The UN's website maintains the full text of this terrific refresher course in justice.
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