#2081 20090906

Studying the ground
Scattered randomly
    on the grass
At the edge of the hedge
Wandering
Pecking
The males' decorative
    head feather bobbing
Occasional scampering
    body still
    with feed racing
    like a car
All adult sized now
Playing
And false alarms that
    reveal they know where they came from;
Covey of quail.

Sleep All Day

behind the wall:

the sunny wisdom

that stone house

of avatars

and the spirit in the fields

under the wonder dust

with the dark red sleep escape

where the ugly untitled carcass

blushes green…

admiring insomniac…

someone the object

of industrial nectar

rotted under the texture

of weather…

the Absolute playing

solitaire

washes eyes and ears

in a sea foam castle

of the coming rain

running on peacock feet…

stars snow…

charcoal masquerades

as a shortcut…

the blown jazz

from far away

bounces off his shoulders

(those unwelcome mats

before the door of

night)

that sleep all day…

*

The Beginning of Everything

now I think I will bite the blue ice in the toy box

with an ocean of maturation

cat whiskers in chains

a bridge from the harvest to my face

that storm tossed ghost ship

the solo cobbled together

with tales of longing and few clouds in passing

wish wish wish softly sister

the mad world is a light dancer

colors fall into the red lake

urban homesteaders fly by in a fog

shaken lovers stir the city

with a loaf of bread in full bloom

baked with dynamite

what time is nighttime tonight?

tango with the black widow

or the ventriloquist in the mirror

it is sunset's day off

it is the beginning of everything

again

Anywhere

Yes.

We are anywhere

On the way to anywhere.

What else can it be for us

A cup of hot tea in a cold basement coffeehouse

Intellectuals frowning in their certainty sip their 5 dollar lattes

Berkenstocks over wool socks pierced ears and poney tails on bald men

The ceiling fans are still

Seen through the small leaded windows

The wind blows dead leaves down this side of the street

And the low clouds, iron gray, spatter big drops on whatever earth

Low innocuous jazz music plays nothing doing here or anywhere like here

And I shuffle back and forth and back again out into the rain blown by the wind

Spill the drink

Stumble into the cold

The insects are all dead or dying

Such a short murderous journey of blind instinct

And In my mind I still hold you close as we strip naked in the graveyard

And make ferocious love over the last resting place of an 18 year old who died in 1836

~William DiMichele 9/09 (this is a poem written by my older brother, in response to my poem: Thingless In Wonderment

Thingless in wonderment

the gleam of chrome in the light

against the dark background of the industry

that produced it…

but let that go…

the sea is in the air…

everyday of my childhood pulls on my boots…

I can see in the dark now:

even into the shadows at the edges

of memory:

the mimosa that didn't fit into the neighborhood…

the huge moon that lured me to the ever receding

horizon…

the solar eclipse glimpsed through a pin hole

in a paper plate…

the most beautiful woman I ever imagined

came true…

now I know

a musician in who is teaching dead puppets

to dance for their lives

and a woman who paints solitude

in a room without windows…

ferns five million years old still

tell about a star

that is written in stone…

I put on a hat and become invisible…

the net of my longing opens its mouth

and I am free…

with nothing to nowhere…

thingless in wonderment…

anywhere on the way

to anywhere…