He'd filled it uP, Part 4

13.

of life and fragmenting, release-- 

new life from dreams of winter

shimmer shake

there was a HerO that cried that 

he was dead, 

that his adventure had failed him,

and ComediaN genius,

cartoon character

and hieroglyph

Oh, glad to be back out here

in the SUn

Snowing, though there were no cloudS

starS Bright

Jack was sitting having a quesadilla and jalapeno

over kitchen sink

the ConstellationS were revolving round

out the window

thinking about the size of the painting

that last judgemenT 

thing, he had on his mind

the nearing final reality, he thought

nearing, he hadn't been up to the 

pRaYeR flags in a while

he watched the health 

of the Tree at the center

he stood up there reading his poem

the SSnaking river below

the cycles would lift him above

he was thinking on Beauty 

he was thinking on deatH

it was his mOther 

he thought about.

He was WobBbling down 

the lane on his bike.

Another painting ahead--

It was GobBlinG him up.

14.

he would say he cared most 

about the abstraction 

the shapes and colors

that line which drew.

The black and white lagoon 

the depth, is where he started

in mystery

which now the surface 

that the two colors make

in the beginning is a hint of the end

meeting, this reality, a religion 

of sorts or poetry of

reality, he said instead of 

this empty idea they all worship

Unless you meant what 

was older, he had an idea 

for that older unnamable

which was reality itself--

all together, Achilles here, a part 

of that whole thing

The TrumpeT blarE, like air raid horn,

now, here, the sun height

Orange square

depth in the PurplE square

all over form of starS

tHat out there, in here--

He’d said or painted the feeling before

so many times, though

the leaves were ongoing

He said "fuck you, if--" 

A JoKe, well, I’m not sure about breaking it all

the leaves are enough and the

cartoon shape

no man shall see-- 

Odysseus

15.

was puzzling it all together 

that fast surface

he leapt out the window

cold stone sober

what he saw-- 

SufFiceD,

a spot of time, here

repeated through a life

through a broken breeze

painting the lives,

through which leaves hopped, skittled 

and over days, hours, a moment

here--the brush of a fore head

warmed in the blond sun,

that obscure glance

just looking for the outlook 

that would be right

this poem that took the place

of a MouNtaiN

each day passed-- 

in adventure of some kind

sacred moments, which slowed

were looked for and recognized

a patch of blue

giving way

up there on the mountain side

he saw the full moon rise

I mean didn’t they felt badly

knowing the moment had passed

they were teaching now

some relation ship

that the nature we had lost--

never to dance 

with the DaffodilS--

dancing

16.

in the WinD.

Something I saw once--

everything dies everywhere 

and is born of these moments--

this profundity of an inner 

and outer reality, which 

blazed on the edge between.

He wasn’t sure what that meant

Crispin liked the reality seemingly between.

What he meant by JuxtapositioN

Those paintings were finished 

and now feeling at some height, 

he resumed, the stacking

more?--he wondered? the two Henry’s asked

how much further?

Say it even more simply, Jack said.

The different view now

The New, New, he was seeing through 

the words now and there 

wasn’t much more to say,

it was the goings over

he was coming home

here was a garden, 

he could manage--

he held the idea 

in his teeth 

it was the flower 

he saw in Zurbaran

there was a moment when

  all metaphors became one

in the sun.

He was thinking of the old certainty

even if not a reality

what we expected from our intellectual

refinement, what we made up

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

Coming 'round again, Part 4

13.

why there wasn''t any more-- 

PoEtRy, someone 

might take a lead

seemed an Existential dutY 

or CoMmoN SensE 

Strong Poet.

Crispin wasn't ashamed 
of what he saw, he took himself

to a Promised land, 

he’d glimpsed

in the CeruleaN

it wasnt what they thought

one had to give up 

one idea to be free.

He wasnt tellin’

he’d find this or that  

saw some interesting hint 

extrapolating some idea

towards, then revolving round that,

coming to some Whole.

Cyling round, then

now in dark spinning into the light, 

the morning, HeRo!

arriving, that saintly 

luCkY FellA,

he’d Remember.

the work was getting done, it looked 

better in the coffee house,

it was growing beyond him

large, an epIc fashion which--


14.
anyway, it was Crispin’s story.
Jack looked up, 
what had he missed, 
He had just woken 
from the dream

had he forgotten 
something
Nothing was quite strait 
but then it all went together, 
besides he was leaving 

 for the road, The RoaD,
the shelves and the cabinets
could wait
something strait 
would be out of place,

besides trees grew that way, 
it was the crooked timber,
Jack was out in the 
Sun, Wind and Rain,
he swerved, from his thought

as he looked back 
a bobbing head--
the turtle crossing the road 
he remembered, its aged eye
the first one-- 
first one he’d seen 

in the book, Jack thought 
like a Benton illustration--
Oh, and that magazine he’d stopped to see,
flipping in the road, these spots 
of time and flesh

15.
in the rear view
floated through 
and gave a flavor
that he was, Tom Saywer
Becky would always be.

He didnt really have to figure 
anything further, 
organize the parts,
 the whole might be the big 
what it all added up 

to surprise 
and, he’d looked at the rope 

hanging there 

and cringed 
at the sharp thought 

that extreme, 
jerk 

would be 

and so far

from the form of 

Tom’s white fence, 
all slick 
and new in the Summer Grass 
gleaming Green 

and that it really would turn out 

safe in Texas, 
safe as Texas, 
safe as Texas in Texas,
David’s father would always be madly 

in love with the eaRtH


16.
magical wand of 
Presence
here, and Gone-- Fort DA!
everything is somewhat the same 
and 

floating in Heaven 
of thought, remembered
in a dance in firelight
origin and 
Time lapse of-- Bang! and 

the evolutions 
towards our own moment
all crashing 
in a rapids of river time 
up over and down
Really explosive 

time a continuing Big Bang!
so why did I think this rough exaggerated 
approach 
worth--, 
the style

Jack liked, seeing how it 
was all hammered together.
organizing the content of 
one’s life in a form which
related.

skipping along, keeping aloft 
on the peaks, the stones slipping
away falling to that dangerous 
Mother gulping 
after formlessness,

Cythonic woman of Eternity,
stars behind,
stars ahead.
my back ache in bed,
never to arrive.

Home before Dark, Part 4

13.
credence
somehow purchased with funny money
our president 
finally pushed us to action
we railed against 

the vice in his --
Well it was all dead 
we went through the 
litany of all the dead things
on the “Road”

Beauty and it’s poetry were an irony
just words, 
this death became a new beginning 
though few saw it as that.
They were too busy 

cashing in--
“our desire became too difficult 
to tell from despair.”
at least Post was over
Terminal Classic ahead

the romantic wanderings 
began all over again
pre something
all the paintings were lined up, there 
seemed simple truths between, in 

the moments
seen
memory and conscious
what was that big square 
blocking everything

14.

He didn’t like that 

didn’t understand

Jack said he needed to know 

more of the story 

that he should read on

It was the opposite 

of what he thought

it was sacred time

which meant it was an eternal 

presence 

and being here Yes, part

it did block maybe the constant,

constant,

well just thinking 

on it was what it meant

to think the present, or not just 

ideas about the thing

there was so much 

more involved 

Crispin would miss.

Achilles, was Dyonysian, 

he enacted the change. 

He pursued and never let up.

So you might not like the square 

blocking 

what you thought to be--

to be out there

it was Heaven really

why should it just be handed to one?

Maybe a Bang! 

15.

and a turning--

Crispin thought the differing aspect expressed

it best and none were perfect or 

Ideal or transcended 

this process.

Jack thought of this 

entering the west 4th Street Station

he had a pocket full of drawings 

the Subway drawings 

they kept this thought present 

and he felt a bit of a sage, 

like crazy mad,

Prophetic

talking to the guitar guy 

he thought he knew 

from the Mudd Club, maybe

it was a continuing

somewhat dangling 
conversation

there just wasnt any audience 

any more 

like when he had the crowd 

listening to him on the soap box

about the Woman’s House of Detention 

they wanted to tear down.

Jack was disappointed 

just as his mother said he would be

and he fumbled around in the 

dark church on 42nd street 

as the day wasted.

16.

but today was new 

and to and fro and to and

these repetitions he made

an abstract structure and routine

his life

he would make a picture of it, 

a painting-- that man with the walking stick 

said, to be respectful of

maybe just what the painting implied 

a structure or order 

thought of or lack of--

Eternity all toc and no tic

this forever left 

abandoned

Jack was a part

of the world and it 

was dying all around 

that tree at the 

very center was fine 

but he’d look up 

worried that it would be gone a 

good sturdy Ponderosa Pine  

Jack would draw the genres 

morphing together

into something else

Akilles couldn’t see 

any transcendence 

at death, 

still dragging Hektor 

by the hair around the arena, 

except for the meaning 

in the word.

life had been such a glut

he was trying to be beyond that weariness

of the next,