Speak!

True words aren’t elegant Elegant words aren’t true

(Speak!)

Place your right hand on the bible do you swear to tell
the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god?

When I use a word,' Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean - neither more nor less.'

Don’t speak to me I don’t believe a word you say

Speak! (what is there is there to say?)

SPEAK! I cannot say it I cannot

(Help me)

Speak.

I am frightened, I cannot-

S p e a k!

...

I speak but do my words have voice?
I shout my evils to the sky.
I speak and silence trails behind.
I bleat the lexis,
then I sigh unceremoniously.
I speak and on the ground they lay,
the multitudes unspoken

. . .

I speak I speak I do not speak!
I have been wordless all the week!
My words give false hope, penniless, ill chosen.
They are least and oversized, they are nonsense, unsensational lies!

They twist upon me, unrelieved, and in my wordlessness,

I grieve through pouring.

More tremendous are little declarations,
the quiets
find no conversation,
they are small small small.
They come as wisps, escape as smoke,
the outed breath that thoughts provoke.

How tiny talk manifests no mind,
ear flaps tune excitement and decry
the constant flux! such flimsy fluff!
(now that’s enough,
that’s enough
Shhhhhhh…..)

O speak and lie speak things and die speak poly-tics and film speak prisons and pain speak capitol-ism I ain’t ashamed to say I believe in the Lawd and His angels

Hallelujah!

Speak calves and sex and rubric of love, speak niceties slow and undoings quick, speaking all the more might do the trick to make it real, so prefer the sham to the uncertain and speechless marvel that rests navel-height and… and…

severe

.. . .

Speak at me close and I trust not those that easily come.

Of fickle words, actions leave you most settled.

So speak by aimlessness and art,
by default there is no part or interest in the being-time,
and so by riddler’s right, it seems
That in composite, in between,
we are fewer and fewer of these that leave,
and further said by those that stay
silent, in the distance,
searching,
to hear less the turnings of those words
and more of what you have to say.

...

to M.S.

Across Thick Happenings, A Novel Rise

...

Generally, the nights broke phenomenal 

through the window

east, the din of gulls made known 

the clamour of day

none too gently; blue opacity 

of the sea’s plateau

eventually wound its way thru all the senses, 

the new-scrubbed Seattle grey

valenced in bulk 

to a crescendo 

that demanded  

eyes, provoked nose:

a wild 

earthly wheel’d shock 

of a land-locked  

mariner’s legs exposed.

 

Let’s say,

 for once,

 that this morning 

was different, whether

yawl or pitch of the wind 

lifted something else from blue

nothing to the sky above, 

or perhaps the weathered

nymphs, in their tide turning,

 knew (what had changed), and 

 

decided on that breaking 

to say something different.

Assuredly, I was not 

the only one to behold the

 

vivid spectacle, in new light, look 

on what was wrenched the night before 

into the Insatiable Darkness- we, suspended 

through Its vaporous demeanor 

on wings,

soft droplets of surface condensed 

to ephemeral stream.

...

...

August 17th, 2008 

Morning, after

Snowdrop Tulip Walker Festival

...