One Million Years BC

The oceans were hot
and spat toothy fish into the air
like olive pits. Mountains
drooled fluorescent paint,
valleys filled with loose change
and lost sunglasses. In the jungles
great lizards walked on two feet,
carried flasks of warm lava,
and lied and lied and lied.
The trees had crude tattoos,
and dropped suitcases full
of money on the ground. Cats
with knives for teeth stalked
themselves under skies crowded
with sharp birds calling “Oh,
baby!” At night nothing walked,
the moon hissed at the ocean,
and the stars held each other
at gunpoint.

Letter IV...
..........................To an 1830 Henry Yellowboy 45
..........................from a standard issue army boot -
..........................Sharpsberg, Maryland, 1862

Dear Sir,

I embrace with pleasure this opportunity
to write to you, fitly as I can, of the last
day’s events. Would that I could add
the observations of my twin, alas he is
no longer with me, but somewhere
on the bloody brow of South Mountain.
I know a prayer for him is leaving you
even as you read this.

I have been brought to the Antietam
Ironworks as yesterday our pickets
advanced this far to find the enemy
run off. I do not expect to be among those
in pursuit on account of my diminished state.
Neither do I wish to give in to hope
but if I understand what I have witnessed
of others similarly afflicted, I will soon be
worn to hospital or returned home.

I should note that as I write, it is evening
and the camp is besieged by a noise
as I have never before heard. There is a manner
of frog abundant in these parts given
to plighting its troth well unto dawn.
Some of the men complain of poor sleep
and palsied concentration. Indeed, I must
struggle to steady my pen as it tends to vibrate
with their withering songs.

My heart, though halved, hungers for news
of you, but I cannot say with certainty where
I will be in the time it takes for your response
to find me. It seems the essence of war
has become the burning of maps.
Perhaps it is best that you send word
home. Perhaps it will draw me there.

When We Lived With The Bomb

We had a room in Queens with a couch that opened
into a second bed. I baby-sat odd nights, your father
worked from home, proof-reading phonebooks, some
days leaving only for cigarettes. One night I found
the two of them playing cards. Look who I met
in line at the Larry’s Liquor. And get this, it knows
my hometown. Later it said the same thing to me
and I was from somewhere else. Did you ever go
to the light house? it asked. Ever take a boat
on Misery Bay and wonder at the dead of 1812?
We knew it wouldn’t pay its way, clean house,
or make its bed. Maybe we needed the noise to hide
our silences. Maybe we needed a louder silence.
Anyway, we kept it—bought extra food, extra tickets.
If we went to the movies it sat between us, on the train
it stood and swung, if we fought it took no side but
stayed in the room. I recall thinking we should hide it
from the landlord, then watching with your father
when the landlord met it on the stairs, the way
it nodded confidently. Do you know the old Belgrade
station? Do you remember the woman who sold
fortunes there? She told mine, too. Eventually
we got better jobs, moved to the village. We said
it could stay on the couch, but it begged off, made
excuses about pride. It knew you were coming,
that you would cry, and how long.

The Need to Leave

a dog is barking
a woman is sleeping
a man is old

the world of this world
is what it is doing
everything else is night

a candle is finding a road
a long coat is wearing
a boy is worn

one shoe is untied
two buttons are missing
five coins are a bowl of soup

but a village is ferocious
the hours of this hour
will not intervene

a cow is eating
a barn is sulking
a window is burning out

someone is coming
an open door is an open door
a mouse is gone

a knife, a bag of clothes,
a photograph of a horse
the need of this need

travels with us

Letter II ...
..........................To a ‘hand gonne’ (first known handgun),
..........................from a double handed broad sword -
..........................London 1450 - 1490 ?

To hys worchepful master be thys delyvered in hayst

Black lamb, black bleat, thunder of the bullocks foete!
You are borne makeless ynd makeless you growe.
Cease you never now you are comme.
Cease you ever, No.

I am callyd Great Swerd, Great Swerd.
I Flourysh. I smyte. I stryke downryght
with a dragonys tayle. Double rownde
ynd double rownde then I stroke home.

Gaynward the sunne climeth ynd longe nightes
coureges dark, I sett my poynte
sofftley before you on the grownde.
I stoppe the morne you are comme.

White horse, wyde chase, melodye of the moony fayse!
I singe smalle werds fore you comme slowe.
But stoppe you never now you are comme
ynd I, Great Swerd, Great Swerd am go.

Short Cut

.............................You go down here
for a little way until you come to
a sign, something red and quick.
Then you turn and go straight
for a spell.

...............When you get to the ducks
keep going. You’ll see a bunch
of houses with people standing
out in front. Some of them will
have sad faces

...............................or will be crying.
Don’t stop. It’s nothing you did.
Just head for the cemetery. Five
or six graves in there’s a statue
of Clio, the muse of history.

.................Look where she’s pointing.