Prologue to Part TwO, Part 4

13.

with FlowerS yet, Jack laughed 

Glimpsed, here

Hero indeed-- !

Though the fool in Carnival HaT 

Was just as good!

that was a pretty good painting 

at Bryce Canyon.

such a complicated place 

with too many parts 

Crispin was looking

for a simple whole 

to represent it.

Nevada dread-- 

was Achilles mind

There was the black and white behind 

everything, remembered,

and this Western 

Jaunt, thing--

She made fun of,

All Together turning 

into a bright Heraldry

of Red Villa Wall, 

The SimplE GolD 

OpulencE of the SuN,

Against a Night in the 

Studio coming on,

A Mountain ahead 

elicited hope,

the Majestic Sierra 

covered still in snow.

14.

He would teach them,

to draw a thing or two.

From Head to Toe.

Who is that woman 

that naked Man?

We sought ourselves. 

In Memory

or Ideal, 

informing a Present, 

NoW.

A dreamer awakening 

to irony of--

of the just world 

we just lived

“Just,” was the problem 

Jack couldn’t let go of.

HA! He would lead 

that figure 

out of the woods, 

a shaft of sun 

penetrating, would 

enlighten some

a seeming spirit personified, 

SOme Music 

here, da Duh, da Duh, 

da Duh, 

was the soundtrack of a life 

The wonderful simple being--

da Duh, da Duh, da Duh-- it went on 

with a Monk’s chanting,

the Reverence of

Crispin Achilles, walking back 

into the headlights.

They stepped aside, 

the frogs in full force.

Brexx--Krexx, 

15.

Art brought these frogs 

to Coal Oil Point and here, 

through Aristophanes,

the Clouds,

This was the world made by the Walk.

The Allegory of Allegory,

A doubling beyond and

Around the Lagoon.

The world became this but 

then it all depended--

look, not much by way of example 

here--

I am a part

what of a whole? 

Crispin sought

He wanted to write the poem 

on the wall.

Henry and Jack in conference thought 

they were getting somewhere, 

and a story

line would bring it finally together, wed 

with symboled level 

of kaleidoscopic TumBlinG

he had seen 

how the Rothko’s 

stripped of their story 

faltered, they had stolen the Myth, 

the Fire

from within them

and now they seemed decoration 

16.

for some Buddhist retreat, 

Their own physical power 

diminished, 

So Akilles would continue the path,

many thought the wrong road

the story, the walk, around the lagoon.

WeSterN LagOOn.

Yes, JacK, could make it up, This Allegory, 

of, what was behind

or above, or Below

In feeling-- “The sky, he said, 

paint the Sky!”

Divine Madness, she said, 

of the Seventh

inspiration from negative parts, 

she never saw

much or maybe evaded, the stuff 

that joins-- things, the tumbling

Blue, Oranging into Purpling 

slate-- and stars.

He had only glanced at the paintings 

haphazardly 

against the wall 

they would try to stop-- 

were held up against the night,

shored up

against-- life itself, well 

bring it on, he motioned

Jack wasnt completely sure.

As he had nothing 

but this poem to lose

OH, and the paintings 

stored and stacked 

away, That was NighT too, 

It was all related 

to the two Henry’s

He put them on the computer 

and revolved 

them round.

NIGhT STUdIO turning round--

17.

to blue silhouette,

some genius of the sea-- 

maybe Ideal shade

FigurE that puts it all together,

and mimicks, the EaRth

revolving, through.

Prophesy 

spoken! --that he had opened his mouth,

Mysterious shiver and shake,

No SpookY, 

remembering, 

the lonely anxiety

of moments, 

to SinG and

passing, alone, here

providing the motion, to turn 

carnival atmosphere into

Mexican night,

death and beauty.

Achilles/ Shield and--

clap of hands, there!

It was all in an order of BeautY 

Floating, shifting, meaning, 

if any at All.

NOT WanTing To LeaVE.

There the gOd was!

Crispin was Off--

stepping out!

A journey of Profane 

Chaos, and Error-- 

searching for the sacred moments 

passing the Temples 

creating the Altars, on this long

 and lonesome road.

You FoOl, even YoU--

Jack saw the BeAutY.

The BeauTy created the BeaUty. 

That you were here, 

missed the Day-- 

THE BEAUTY

Prologue to Part TwO, Part 5

18.

the Sun coming up ahead,

Tree growing on the Right 

Mountain Height to the Left.

This has just been my life 

a New BiBbLE 

of sorts. What could be 

maybe again now.

This scribble, Jack wrote, pecking-- 

with single stroke. 

The whole feeling

from this part here, 

and over there “that--”

the change, 

a UniverSE of DeaTh

breathing life, in and out, 

this Gaia eaRtH

the object writ LarGe, this Earth!

Ourselves.

That!--Whole broken glimpse, 

Blue figure running 

round and through, the reeds

Jogging in the evening light, 

stepping sideways 

to avoid that striped 

snake writhing in the grass.

That made a place.

Here an altar of words 

to make that PlacE.

It would be indulgent but 

he saw the formless shape 

gulpiNg after the formlessness.

moving flashing,

the chAnGe

A Thought Revolved.

Then he looked back 

19. 

the Earth from SpacE.

Slow motion, revolvin-G 

CyCLinG.

Orgin of Indian design.

Giving it away, this pulsing 

revolving idea,

INfluEnCe from The StaRs.

He said Thank-You, to someone.

They had provided a way into 

that wonderful amazing Place.

“why is it yet unfound?”

It seemed the relation between 

the things Jack couldn’t 

quite make out.

Crispin wondered if his life 

was beyond him 

now. Explaining what was.

He thought of that bird 

the black and white wings 

of memory 

propelled him forward 

past his Red and Yellow head.

Crispin had seen 

that friendly bird,

it had cocked his eye

to spy Cripin fella,

mimicking the FUZZY Apricot 

it was pecking, 

ripe in that orchard, 

a reflection. 

20.

Achilles was beyond that now, 

just wasn’t an art to him.

That figure would represent 

his imagination 

and be a story 

of how Jack 

got there.

He bent over 

to pick up the FloWeR.

He held it up to the SuN.

A figure ran through it 

CeruleaN 

like a dream or imagination

and was GonE.

He felt in the cenTeR 

oF thE WorLD, 

in SaCreD time, 

turning.

Sacred, hmmm. the souL --

contained in an invisible 

Ideal? the spirit 

which filled the soul--

This is all very interesting, as long 

as that controlling beard

the really hidden 

purpose, of thAT Party

which had sadly forgotten “it’s” soul 

never to create the Ideal future

mirroring 

a government 

which is us, the Ideal word

 Democracy

then pretty good, 

to see the god 

like meta[phor, 

contained in all of us.

Walt had that right, 

the body 

the poem, 

America 

21.

A bad ending

There was this chaos, a red 

stripe organized it.

An order and direction 

one could feel 

again, a good idea, without 

pre destined, 

curtain,

He painted the dead tree, wondering

on the way home, 

then he arrived to 

the first sunflowers,

on the side of the road

they were the figures, 

or ideas, 

the representations for 

Achilles journey, begun 

ChAotiC round, Every once 

in a while

 these glimpses 

of what now was the blue, 

more cerulean-- 

nude, flash 

of an imaginative sort, 

meaning 

something, or pointing to, or

some oblique reality

the walk around the lagoon, 

he had already said 

it depended upon.

Coming 'round again, Part 1

1.

The paintings were a stab 

at some final resolution, 

put in place, 

he could move 

it around later

coming 'round again, 

maybe it would 

be right this time, shifted 

somewhat, Oh, geez. 

The shopping Mall, 

and that corporate sky line

now blocking the vision,

Did you think about how vision 

could mean seeing the whole, 

the order 

making it, one 

But it had to be true 

somehow 

had to hold a lot in one’s head, 

the weight 

was worth the struggle, 

beneath,

that corporate plan lacked, 

The suburban was the plan 

to lull into a submissive --

these wanderings 

more pressure 

the reality of it all 

to bull doze Jack, tumbling 

in the black garbage bags 

down, rolling head 

over heels, 

cartoon like--

of course it was hard enough 

without the backache and stressful 

cold sore, and we were human, 

all too--

That water over the dam, 

just continued 

into a beautiful, 

slow motion catastrophe 

of loss, now even the ice 

out of order Koyanisquatsi like

Green World, melting.

where would Jack salvage

2.
this or 
these 
thoughts, and stick them 
where, 
to file them, 

stacking the next,
Painting, it seemed 
to stop something.
Jack hugged the sheath 
to his chest 

it would get him through, 
he thought, his thoughts, 
which he loved 
from a distance, tumbling in like 
fashion 

tumbling the new work, in 
likewise jig saw 
and juxtaposition 
and cycle revolving, 
fragments 

in the evening OranGing Sky.
He was happy like Ariel,
Jack thought about a painting of 
the Sneakers, 
icon like 

Vincent’s peasant shoes,
and what of a hat on a stick? his 
walking stick?
 that Staff the one, 
a leaping flame.


3.
he was out on his walk 
around the lagoon, 
the blue spots, 
glimpsing--
Alex was passing 

Jack on Mercer St 
his White Bucks and Over sized Sunglasses 
another Theater, 
I enjoyed 
another Fashion 

of sorts. He made 
a picture of it all.
Crispin thought 
he’d take that simplicity 
and break it  

was like the lost sun,
and it showed the other simplicity 
of merely circulating.
It all went round,
and it was behind 

what happened 
and then there out in front 
and it changed 
the perspective on he saw 
what one was doing, 

radically,
and NeW.
They were shifting in their chairs 
by this time, another left to the rest room--

Exaggeration and Surprise! 

4.
Ruin the Sacred Truths, 
Ironic , Hyperbole, what a great word
That transposition.
made it's mark, erased

and drawn again 
and erased, 
they had decided that they would 
never know,
tossed out the results 

as no result,
Crispin would make it up 
beyond that heap over there,
Achilles was gesticulating with one arm 
dragging that corpse around 

with no self consciousness.
He had recognized Billy-- 
out there in the distance, 
his gaudy scarf
gave him away,

The whole contained 
the opposite,
and that was where he was headed,
this was just the second PaRt
He hoped he’d make it

Well the gardener was gone --or
really there never was one, 
someone had put in some work
though 
it had been forgotten.

Coming 'round again, Part 2

5.

Rational thought did a lot 

for the situation,

But then they were hectored 

and cajoled into quitting. 

Just thoughts 

and a good direction, 

Just seeing 

Well, rolling up his sleeves 

he picked up the rake,

He felt at home,

Akilles dream of California 

was on the Wane,

 the Nature Lovers 

had no conception of an abstraction

 on which to hang their love

so it was no love 

and in vain, 

Crispin picked up his pen 

as they hadn’t seen the mountain.

It was his to climb, 

and NaMe.

He Read his poem, 

to the wind,

curled below, 

there had been a spirit 

named Gary and his friend Allen, 

and Ken who introduced them.

That old guy Jeffers 

was mad, he got it mostly wrong, but

beautifully wrong.

Seeing What? They play their

word games 

missing the beauty,

Here Crispin meant seeing 

any order


6.
creating a Hierarchy
somehow the idea was abandoned 
there was nothing else to Jack, 
no white man 
owned it, surely not me, 

or you 
or all of us-- finally 
was the only soul 
that there was to have 
the vultures 

eating ones heart out 
seemed so elementally violent, 
by now it was a selfish greedy affair,
Jack was surprised he felt 
no sympathy, 

required no payment
then, we all partake 
in this violence of being
if we see this rigor, 
this harsh, almost mean 

meaning base is the spirit 
Patti had allowing her the delivery,
to speak of Love 
was not a word 
Jack used much like, 

Light, 
just as hard to define 
and maybe too illusive, it was 
what meant, though maybe 
the stars held a similar fate 

7.
but, well
he had to get on,” it was nice 
to meet you,”
That Western place had inspired the JourneY, 
OnE 

of the troublesome words
but he had identified 
with the HerO 
especiallly the one 
with the Hero’s hat, or head or

He did want to say something here. 
The StorY 
held the parts together 
and continued 
to make these PartS

meaningful, 
not just decorating the space--
but each a piece 
of a larger puzzle.
we might never know 

what it meant, as NO 
MaN sHalL sEe thE ENd.
sounded pretty final.
what it meant 
was this search, 

would turn up 
not so much, a nugget here, 
or there but
man, Crispin here was 
the final thought, 

8.
On his death bed, 
well lucky for him 
the universe still twirled 
above 
and that seemed enough 

to-- that word was, “suffice” 
it would do to just be part 
of that somehow 
that chaos or grand whale 
of error and --

We'll, see just here again 

on the way to the temple,

steps
building oneself 
out and up into some, 

Ha! he exclaimed,
Lets make some music.

That’s what we need 

some pleasure 

in the abstraction

in that it changed 
made a start, 
we needed some rhythm, and
Well, a sad music, 

the saddest in the world,

         was very funny--
They just didn’t understand 
serious, thought AnGrY,
it had an element 

of WoRld WeaRiNesS.

Geez, John was gone 
and all he could worry about was where 
everything was, 
he didnt want to lose anything 
on the way out. 

Coming 'round again, Part 3

9.

His styrofoam cup of juice, 

and plastic bag of odds and ends.

Mary told me that it was my idea, 

that reality was just 

everything there was, 

and Bob 

said it was all GoOD, and

so I thought you meant--

we always knew ThIS?

Well, that created enough 

of a WoRlD to operate in -- here 

again as PaRt

TwO, So what else 

do we need to 

keep going

again here see it doesn’t 

really matter what 

one especially 

Jack, Achilles, or Crispin, 

thinks, Oh, and everyone's forgotten 



10.
Achilles,
he was home,
he had a table,
 the relics sat upon it
through the streaming seasons 

of snow and lightening, ice and pouring 
thunderstorm, the wind 
that snapped 
the Cottonwood.
Jack had planted it ten years ago now.

The Hat. The Sneakers, The Walking Stick,
that cow’s pelvis, 
a strange narrative
and some Sunflowers 
He’d dug up along the road,

and Jack draped the prayer flags
over it all.
Crispin couldn’t remember any more 
Why they had chased out 
that heroic fella,

Crispin no, 
I think Achilles, 

 or was it, Siddhattha 

Gotama boy or
that other one--

the cycle 
was coming round, 

and down

and the hand,
and the birds flew,



11.
planets gathered,
peacocks, cried
the grackles glint, 
the 8 bells,
waving to America’s lost poem.

It was all about the Hero, 
In The SuN.
to Crispin, 
the weather, my mirror, 
Jacks upper lip

Ha! his dress and 
GauDy SunFloWeRs.
the Sun was at Noon, 
that height, 
and Heaven 

was an Idea, 
worth a line
in Poetry, what ever you called it.
All things passed,
and it gave a color 

to the exploit,
falling, 
curling wave,
continuing, fall to tripod 
and Thetis 

touch to forehead, seeing 
the Aspen eyes, 
silent and blinking
all tumbling into western sunset 
of wild lagoon, 

and glimpse of blue,
dreamed of, 
seeking surface 
to relate it to climbing
zoDiAc

12.
turning
rising sun, spinning earth, 
solar, wind 
He’d see the moon coming up 
and remembered 

the last evening too
Venus was there beneath
in the south or was that Jupiter
it all returned
from a deeper deep 

grasping for a, surface
Boon!
and Just to See and wondering 
what did that mean?
It WaS aLL OrDerEd aRound.

as it looked here, 
a decorated thing,
musical chairs 
changing places, it was 
Crispin’s new poem 

and it was getting late. 
Jack was whittling it 
it kept changing shape 
he’d chop here and chop there,
How could he decide 

on the importance of this over that?
Wasn’t that part of the rigor
to decide 
again in a second thought
the Authority of--