Dear Rob

I am afraid I might not be of much use anymore,
having given up on trying to fix my life.
And I don't think yours needs repair,
in spite of the great unhappiness.
You see, I've found a new way and
I feel a new joy. I've given in,
surrendered to things as they are.
And all the pressure people put on me,
seems now to be comical, even funny.
I've given up on money. After all the worry,
all the sweat, I'm still in debt but not very
bad and I live a good life, I have a good wife.
And even if I didn't I don't think it would matter.
Things take care of themselves, you know
what I mean. I heard a friend say that
the universe supports everything. It knows
what it's doing. It's kinda like God has a
plan for each life. And there's something there,
like the air. You can't see it but it keeps you alive.


Cheers,

your brother.

Conquered

Bruce Springsteen wrote,
"now I'm trapped,"
but he was conquered.

Bruce Springsteen wrote,
"the poets down here don't say nothing at all,
they just stand by and let it all be,"
but they were conquered.

And Rilke wrote,
"don't take my devils away
because my angels may flee too."

And you my dear may conquer me,
steal my soul,
eat my flesh,
take my will and make it one with yours,
steal my eyes,
breathe my breath,
digest the thoughts I think.

I will sleep with my head on your belly,
with your breast on the nape of my neck,
the warmth of your womb
will sink me to sleep.
The softness of skin
will cause me to dream in your dreams.

Denial

Sometimes,
I want you so bad
It feels like I'm sweating
inside my teeth, like I'm an
hourglass emptying grain by grain.

I'm
losing myself
in muscle's constrict
that restrict the flow of
blood to my brain and I leave
myself who's quickly going insane.

I wander
as a spirit about
our town, leaving my
body with you. I don't know
what he'll do but I don't really care
because I'm not there, I'm wandering
moon and star, listening to cars on the smooth
pavement, observing young men, loud and obnoxious,
the firetrucks pass, red lights igniting the night, sirens screaming
someone's plight and I return to one sleeping as dead, rejoining the thread
of life.

The Bruin

Moving slowly, always alone, solitary being.
Five foot tall and three hundred pounds,
he can lift a wheel off a truck,
he can wrestle a bull.
Some say he once delivered a child
in a snow storm, when a car left the road.

He saunters along, one foot a bit twisted.
Listening is not his strong suit,
you might have to yell.
He can't see very well,
but he can smell you coming a long way off.
He's always sniffing the air.

He sits in the bar with a long cool beer.
He smiles at children but doesn't say much.
He stays in his basement
for most of the winter,
smoking cigars,
drinking fine scotch,
listening to Tom Waits
on his old record player.

Meekness

Does what I think

when I think about you

become what you think 

when you think about me?

Strange reality.

Or is it inverse proportion;

what I feel changes you

but in the opposite fashion;

a nut with a screw?

Explains how the meek

inherit the earth.

It's now how it is.

It's just how it feels

when I want you so bad

it offends and repeals.

There is no attraction,

just a string of bad actions,

oh my god, here we go

again.

The Rapture

Time for a discovery,

something unabridged,

a longing called out.

To stand within voices,

constraint banished

to the darkest lands

so that all that flows forth,

a gush like blood,

(who has seen it?)

an artery severed,

a skull crushed 

or a child born.

You can't sanctify this,

it is as foreign as war,

as death by a mercenary,

as the stray bullet 

that took the child.

It all requires worship,

a protestation before 

such, such, such,

opening a soul

as dramatically as a body

so that new life is born.

Is that what you wanted?

Yes.

Or

Or

How, oh how

many times have I said

surrender.

It's a big word 

and it takes and big mouth

cocky and brave

to say it.

Until the next round,

life serves up the punch,

ribs, eyes, and ears,

until something splits,

oozing clear liquid,

blood and then what,

resolve?

To go back in,

taking your chances,

going down for the count,

just throw in the towel,

walk away in the night,

admitting you're proud,

or surrender

with grace.