the sky is not bearable without the sun and songbirds.
the sky is not bearable without moon and million suns.
June 11, 2010
without title
June 8, 2010
meeting today
I’ve a noon-ish meeting today that will accomplish everything it needs to accomplish. I still don’t feel like attending. It is raining outside and it started right after I awoke, had it began a few minutes earlier I would still be asleep but this is not the stars alignment this morning. As it is I’ve been awake for nearly two hours and have done little more than stare at the bedroom ceiling and the blank composition screen on the iMac.
plans for today had included mowing the lawn and the whacking of weeds with a freshly repaired week whacker, (I enjoy large engine repair but loathe small engine repair, I was tempted to replace it with a better machine.) this is now postponed until tomorrow when the sun will be shining and the air will be thick with new mosquitoes.
I found this poem in a publication from ten years ago, I had forgotten that I published anything then. I was sure that I was still wearing sunglasses indoors and angst painted on my boots, but apparently while searching my old pen name I came across about 40 published works – most of them are terrible and this one had a little revision but it very well may be kept. I’ve had this experience so often and it remains true to many stages of my life.
hospital room
Hospital room
3 a.m.
can’t tell if I’m awake
or asleep.
Two clicks to on and
I watch the talking head
No sound,
blurry and can’t
Seem to locate my glasses.
So it goes ‘click’
and off.
I press the call button
3 or 4 times
and the R.N. opens the door
I tell him that I just wanted
Someone to chat with until
I got sleepy but said nothing
And never got sleepy.
– Hoc Scripsi
I’ve been writing poetry most of my life and all of my adult life but I failed to see it more than a small thing for many many years. It took not writing anything other than haiku poems for awhile and a life altering event to awaken the urgency of poetry to me. Now I regard this as my calling, I am a poet and there is nothing more important to a society as that. I long to be assassinated for fear of my influence – to me, assassination spells success even though they are 3 syllables different in length.
June 5, 2010
Federico Garcia Lorca, happy birthday.
06/05/2010 Federico Garcia Lorca,
happy birthday
They disappeared you
on the 16th of Aug
and assassinated you on
a moonless night one or two days later.
in 1936
you had died for all time.
fifty years later a memorial was erected
on the spot where you were killed.
in recognition of your talent
in apology of your end.
and while you weep for Ignacio, our
flood of tears are for you.
– Hoc Scripsi
May 25, 2010
ad infinitum
The only great part about waking at five am is the quiet abound in the house. Even the cats still stalk the bits of paper and toy mice in silence. The coffee grinder makes noise but this early it is brought to the garage for it’s duty.
I’m awake now because I was worn out early yesterday and managed sleep by eleven pm. The new dosages make my sleep sound and solid, they offer clarity for a time now and I can breathe slowly without malice.
I’m awake now because I’ve enough of dreaming, I’ve enough of the parallel universe where it is the only place stranger than here.
I’m awake now as if I wasn’t this would not have been written,
I’m awake now to appreciate the body of the coffee, the smooth nature of the crushed bean.
I’m awake now because time is immaterial and time is only linear if man is.
I’m awake now.
I’ve had clarity these past few days and it is good, though I will doubt my own veracity tomorrow when the diseased mind takes control.
I still write love letters on her birthday and other hallmark recognized holidays, this is a failure as I should write them more now then ever as I am harder to love on a daily basis.
I am haunted by old friends whom I do not call anymore, I see them standing in windows looking on and through the corner of my eye, in the room with knives out.
the madness of poets is measured with a mythological ruler bought from a store called romantic bullshit.
today I will put holes through the words that failed to align properly and a memory that persists but asks for death and the mercy of a bullet (the papers are taped to targets and not my brain).
I’m awake now and can keep writing and writing this until I fall asleep again tonight.
so I will stop.
ad infinitum
my hair is dusty and I need to
take a shower.
I’ve been busy but I guess I
don’t move too much.
the sky has stopped falling and the
tractor has been repaired.
I’ve noticed that sex dreams only
get better with age and
experience.
same day same thought procession all in time
ad infinitum.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 