40 Years Old Today

Four poems for four decades

Advice to Self
Gargoyle
Remindin'
Love

Advice to Self

You try hard enough.
Give it a rest.

Gargoyle
For Larry. Forever.

The gargoyle often makes his perch
on a cathedral or a church
where, mid ecclesiastic style
He smiles an early Gothic smile
-Oliver Herford

It came to conscious mind
That somewhere
Deep in time
I was hiding this thing.
Me moving around it,
Orbiting as if it were god.

"Destroy the idol. Purify the temples with holy water. Set relics there, and let them become temples of the true God.”

Babe was hungry, tender, susceptible.
His throat morphed into a spout.

“So the people will have no need to change their place of concourse, and, where of old they were wont to sacrifice cattle to demons…”

They grabbed and moved him
To a spot where his nameless,
Faceless god could be destroyed.

“…thither let them continue to resort on the day of the saint to where the Church is dedicated, and slay their beasts, no longer as a sacrifice but for social meal in honor of Him whom they now worship."

His throat…

…soft, brown.
Now, a spout.

And they set him atop of the castle,
Their place of worship to remind everyone
Of the conquering, and the conquered.

II Manchild

I remember the pain; it’s all I can
Think about.
So I know my days are numbered.
I tried to blend, float
Make my heart beat like theirs
Didn’t know the rhythm
Or that I could never know.

He started to grow wings, long
Feathery Apollo-ed wings,
Attached to his back.

Anger swelled in his father’s throat.
Daddy knew the fire, choked it down, down deep.

Two spouts now.

Rhetoric, meteoric, flying full into the face of the young child.
He knows they lie.
This and only this will save his life later...
If he remembers.

His throat…

Feathery wings turn brown, petrify
He bends, his plump haunches sigh and rest
On the perch.
Protects doctrine he doesn’t believe,
But has learned to love.
Horns grow, puncture his forehead.
His large mouth opens, a lazy tongue flops out.
His throat…

III. Thenowthen

“If anybody asked you…”

He sat withhimselftoomuch.
Sawtoomuch.
Toomuch.
So everything he does smells, looks, tastes like
Feels like
Hurts like that.
A four-headed snake attracts him,
And he sleeps with a goat.
Why does he even bother at all?
It will make no difference.

But it happened, he says.
To every single face he sees, every breath
He takes reeks of then,
Nothing makes sense without the sorrow.

IV. The Holy Circle

The gargoyle lifts his head
Petrified, captured live
Where, southern style
He lived among the trash worthwhile
-Negronius

My consciousness wrecks me
With thoughts
Of wholeness
Deep within me
This thing.
Me moving around it,
Orbiting
Because it was god.

"Destroy the idol. Purify the temples with holy water. Set relics there, and let them become temples of the true God.”

The babe remembers…is cradled, warmed, protected.

His throat…

“So the people will have no need to change their place of concourse, and, where of old they were wont to sacrifice cattle to demons…”

They let him go
He let himself go.
Their arms collapsed
Replaced with sweet something healing
Breath.

“…thither let them continue to resort on the day of the saint to where the Church is dedicated, and slay their beasts, no longer as a sacrifice but for social meal in honor of Him whom they now worship."

His throat softened,
Blood renewing voice renewing
Thought renewing idea renewing reason
Renewing skin and light and curiosity and tone…

…soft, brown.

He stands up
Rocking the castle’s foundation,
Threatening.
A reminder to everyone
Of the failed mission,
and the unconquered.

*-Pope Gregory's instructions to St. Augustine, using pre-Christian practices and symbols to facilitate the conversion of pagans to Christianity.

**One reason for the scary and often bizarre appearance of gargoyles is the belief that frightening figures could scare away evil spirits. The stone guardians were put on the outsides of buildings to keep ghosts and malicious spirits out.

***Gargoyle comes from the word “Gargouille” and it means “throat.” A true gargoyle is a waterspout.

Reminding

I am everything and you heard me.
You read me; watch as these words bounce, bounce
Break into a million colors
Dip and dive and plunge into your heart
Rush circulating swim absorb swell throughout your body.
You and I travel the day, night and throughout.
And I am not afraid anymore.
You are: no longer my enemy, I know that now.
I am: no longer the thing you use as difference.
I ignore your frowns and offer you my smile, because
I know it’s good.
I know its love.
I know it’s about the eye.
Remove my blinders; turn me to face the sun.
Best self throbbing right here now
With you.

Used to wish for death.
Didn’t know the chrysalis was breaking open
That soon enough I’d get my wish
Ambered, missing, but here, whispering no.
In the meantime, in this moment
Me and you kissing,
Holding each other
And being each other’s breath.

But even that wasn’t totally it, you know?
When I finally, finally materialized
Formulated, congealed, solidified in my heart’s eye
Peace and serenity came.
And it didn’t matter what you thought
Anymore. Couldn’t.
I split your chest open and grabbed back my feathers.
Fly high above you now,
myself looking down at me
And laughing.
It only mattered when I forgot.
It only mattered when I forgot.
It only mattered when…

and

Love
(for Larry.)

It is a privilege to love.
Spit in my mouth, tell me different.
You can’t. Here’s why:
In loving someone, anyone
You offer delicate things.
And may never get anything for it.
That’s what scares you most.
But that doesn't matter because
Nothing feels as good
As loving someone.
You know this.
I know this love.
So do you.
It flickers
Dances like a boa
On my neck.
Licks your thighs
Reminds of you lemonade
And summertime.
Skin glistens,
Laughter authentic.
Words useful.
Heart swells.

Here, I dance in slow motion,
In his arms,
Until I die
When it all ceases
When there is no flow.

Friday, January 13, 2006 @ 05:59 PM