He'd filled it uP, Part 5

17.

that fiction Jack spoke of, saying it worked

over and over

it was artificial anyhow

that heavy feeling had grown thin

and gave way to the light and air

that seemed strangely--

Well, felt good, after the weight

A New ReaL, many didn’t 

want to know

another reveled in the accident

Crispin made it up -- mostly

satisfied with that.

Jack didn’t like the seeming bad faith, 

life was in it’s moments 

too good to be true

At this point he was always, too

sincere maybe just too lucky

Jack was facing 

THE new aUsteriTy plan

to ReducE

and Radical-IZE

Akilles was trying to remember that

then finding it in the paint,

like the jumping out idea

they never got there

the figures that walked 

on towards that vase

the island behind 

the LeAvEs unfurled

 in their positive and negative 

aspects

trampling through the garbage 

of fragments shored up to protect Crispin

from an certain

ruin

18.

these future moments

the ongoing remnants, The great WinD

GO NoW! his compatriot exclaimed-- 

shaking Akilles up from his GaRbAge can, and 

stepping out-- it was gone, Crispin had changed

a different perspective

Jack was doubting the poem

not as good as the drawings 

which came in similar profusion.

though there was little illusion in either 

what it was pretty much 

what was There

would he want to hear it again 

though, remember the ShapE

or IdeA

adventure of mind

he splayed IT-- out, to amuse

wanting to feel it all had meant something-- 

this wandering about.

Never really--

He underlined that

in a YelloW markeR

like out of the forest into 

the meadow into the sun

Crispin was a figure catching butterflieS--

never painted, Achilles, was in the desert

he went on talking to no one

of dialectics and Hegel

He’d married the woods to the flower 

and superimposed the Orange Square

repeating a HeaveN

remade a simpler, kind of ReaL 

seen aLL at ONCE!

So he made these bluebird houses

19.

each idea , interpenetrating

the depth and the surface,

what Jack wanted at ONCE

right NOW!

who He, wE were

and what hE, wE made

he was starting to see the difficulty 

in equating the experience 

and continuing 

to hang onto the Idea 

of a separate ART

there was an abstraction and then, the image 

kept jumping the gun

and who cared except his inborn conscience,

Crispin knew it from the beginning.

The flat design made some icon 

of the idea's space beneath

Did he say that?

This is finding it in the paint 

as they say. They were betting 

on the market and he lost interest, 

his wealth was buried he wondered if

they would find iT, that

He missed Christophe 

and that, Grand Idea of Art! 

and the extravagance 

that seemed plausible

for we were on the cusp

of the new time

There was still an ideal

There, in the Newman, 

in the Indian’s blanket

It felt like America had a belief

at least an idea of-- and

the Sun was CominG uP, 

20.

and would again, 

and the same FigurE arriving

It was a long story, now

lengthening, 

snakinG 

along

it needed an image to accompany

Jack, and the two Henry’s-- 

he had better keep busy

make that painting 

which would

remind him--

Why he couldn't remembeR 

to keep-- Busy, busY

because, Achilles was out there, still 

far in the distance

in the fence post ticking depth,

He was painting the sunset. 

He was late and it was getting 

cold, and 

soon it would be dark, and 

He’D be painting 

The Stars, waving with his arms-- 

twirling ‘round

in the StarS.

Prologue to Part TwO, Part 1

Prologue to ParT TwO

Part Two

1.

It was later than he had thought.

Every thing was needing attention, 

the never ending stance 

stabbing at the Opposite 

the moments what we saw, 

the real world, of night and ash, 

the Snowman 

wasn’t the whole story

but then the melt 

 and the ventriloquism 

of Spring

“the Virile Youth,” Young 

Poet at Summer Height.

the passage was enough 

everything passing, 

the irony 

in the poetic 

pass, pass-- 

Don’t worry it will pass,

the hope, 

towards the Ideal

beyond the insult, the pressure 

of this real

Chaos which we tried, like here 

to order, 

into Temples, 

the five lines, envoking

O Muse! Crispin called, 

Jack continued 

the mental traveler--

Achilles-- 
No, he would say, 
 Henry! this madness! 
let no one frighten or flutter us. 
there were, the rivers to cross

2.

And it was only his will 

this kept him alive, 

Henry was washed up

He stared upward 

from that Beach

Jack sang that long ago

Ha, Gregory Singing! Still-

Akilles into the Night-- 

the distance 

and the death

that Romantic scene of Instruction!

all passing, all arriving

all at once, 

can be scary, a Big Bang! 

Another day tumbling

around as zodiac.

Decorating his moment, 

best as he could

that world revolving

above and around his bed,

 the dreams,

the memories, and reflections

the existential beginnings.

breaking against the flags,

The Colors of Flags, 

a sun--flower, here

and twirling shells 

through projector beam.

He’d get away with it, 

He was an Artist, 

Jack had made it All Up! 
Would again 

and again

swoosh-- and do it all again!

Making it all happen at once.

His life passing, 
continuing on to that further 
death's bedand passing lexicon, 
of Jean Michele like symbols, 

King’s Crown!

but he was gone,

Too early to matter.

Book of hours 
revolving 



3.
into the next and--
he twirled the flower 
between fingers 
into the blinding 
unnamed SUN

the echo, still 
blare of Tibetan Orange
forest of words
big game hunter amongst
SymbOl CrasH.

Lion --
of Red Reality.
Jack was out there painting 
but he was trying to tell
of the underneath

structure, Coupled with the Ideal, 
a conceptual painting
of Imagination, he willingly believed
in this fiction of knowing
He didn’t like spooky

He substituted a rational thought
diving, deeper, 
the flower in his teeth 
ExplodinG to the sUrfacE. 
Outlined in black, diving again

A rhythm,
A butterfly stroke,
All the evolving parts 
were coming together.
It was becoming an order 

of Crispin gods, 
spirit memory behind and Ideal 
Reality sought, His spirit 
and soul--
Might suffice.


4.
Some end of what this mind 
could comprehend. Jack hoped it 
would be remembered.
Jack was on his way,
he tried to tell his Father 

but when he got there
 it had all changed, 
he’d brought back something for him
Though he couldn’t see.
Crispin bathed in

the waves of diurnal motion
It is the Mythos and Poetic 
parts, not bad words. 
The SublimE 

he felt had failed him

That mystical moment, the
still rustling in the woods. Again
he would heighten, 
The moment, 

or drive it to depth-- 

he would keep on

till this poem’s stiff neck 

would give way, Yes, 

he was interested 

to a degree in this mystic-- 

way, it was poetic 
anyway, How does that bird 

arrive to, that same pattern 
and behaviour
Anyway-- well the complications 

Prologue to Part TwO, Part 2

5.
in Allegorical doubling
Jack read of Achilles anger 
and the Emersonian Bibles
we should all write
He was drawn to that darkness 

of Nietzche in the desert, piled into 
the intimate emensity
of Bachelardian space, 
and a Mythic Hero 
with a Thousand Faces, 

in Eternal Return 
and cycling 
through the Sacred
and Profane and an Anatomy 
of this structure

would become Anxiety, 
a poem of Crispin
Achilles was kicking up dirt
on the Mesa, 

his bed pulled down 

and pressed to the clear pane 

Orion turned round
He saw everything 
behind--

It located Jack 

on the Earth.

He was camping by that wreck 
of an airplane she called, 
“...a broach.” He gave way to 
that aesthetic, 

but would notice 
the Bluebird flitting round 
the fence post, the shards scattered,
That dog, just stared .
Into the distance as she would--

As Jack read her the poem.
day, night
before night,
after-- and round 
the stars

6.
death before me,
death after me.
It was called the Heavenly Fable--,
Crispin was feeling good 
he was wondering of that poetry

 --was it as good as any 
ol’e lyric on the free formed radio?
The best part was 
it didn’t matter. 
As now it was all broken 

and he could toss 
another log on the fire,
making some blaze,
in the turning night,
there would always be that glow,

The first light in the morning.
Wave after Wave, 
of memory erupting 
The Mythic memory 
of earlier day,

That bird again, I mean 
these colors 
make some sense 
but then that dance,
and it worked, 

all the girls 
looked up and moved along,
Jack guffawed 
at that, he was looking 
for the Ideal BeautY, beyond

7.

Yes, he was amazed 

 He guessed it was 

the Second ParT

Jack thought putting 

it all together was some SublimE,

after all, it was all beyond

The explosion, 

we were all DeaD

the changes happened 

slowly-- the cow hip, pelvis bone 

breaking  

apart on the still-life table  

set to mark the change, 

it was decorated by the Tibetan flags,  

fluttering

and the vase-- 

containing flowers-- 

If they came again,

or last years remains

They were still a reality,

and he remembered, 

the shells 

as that was what 

they were, the bones

There was the wind 

the resultant weather  

a large part,

Jack watched it all, 

and he felt like home

in the mystery 

already there 

in the words, Such sHadowy 

slipPery stufF

but I’ve sworn against the SpoOky

mind-- Oh Natura, 

like tree, the thought of tree

like figure, like thought

barren, in winter--

then full in summer

Spring and AutumN


8.
He was off on another round
Whenever Jack was unsure 
  He went through them all, 
The pictograms balanced 
everything into a Vortex, 

out of which 
he slowly spread his wings...
and to think some of us 
have never seen 
the BirDs.

The genre mimicked life--
as it was a reflection of Achilles MinD
He’d go out to see--
Jack was taking off once more!
that Lucky Fellow!

Like now he created Jack 
and Henry,
the two Henry’s actually.
He wasnt crazy, just Mad 
about-- a divine metaphor

He knew what Home was now, 
So could come--
back, a retreat. Which made going out 
even better,
to write it all down, 

to paint some sense, 
into it all-- the ordering
Crispin made, just made uP
strange how they were becoming 
Heiroglyphic, 

Prologue to Part TwO, Part 3

9.

like the meaning 

was already there, all along

in the rocks he spied, at the 

Mesa ridgeline,

He thought, 

probably Moses 

had gone up-- to see

I’m on the Path, 

I’m on the Path, 

he repeated hoping, to get back

by evening fall

de Kooning was 81

in 1985. That was 

kind of Incredible 

to Jack, thinking 

there in his studio 

in his overalls 

scratch, scratch, 

trowel, trowel. 

He’d stand back to see.

“I like dat--”

He’d make it back

somehow.

Achilles was just worried 

of coming down 

that hill with all the tumbling rocks.

He picked up a stick, 

and noticed

the FUlL MOOn 

aRisIng aboVe the SierrA!

He had made a metaphor 

to ward off

being gobbled 

up, by that fearsome 

woman, the UniVerSE.

The world had become scary to Picasso 

and some thought never 

to write a poem again

And it is true

we face even worse.

That pink tinge 

somewhat menacing

there were many gods older 

than religion,

WhO was in charge of this GaRdeN-- ?

But ourselves

 it made more sense 

The earth is complicated 

like us maybe able to HeAL,

FOR INSTANCE 

ABLE TO GET RID OF US

those MEAN ONES, 

This WoodeN ChurcH 

of misled words, 

now a politic

For sale, to the highest biddeR.

There was always the 

simPle DreAm 

of what we could be-- worthless--

He kept saying, 

Reduce and Radicalize

Not that simple.

He had some strange faith,

It was going to complete itself. 

If Jack just kept on

11.

Crispin saw an evolution in a 

Western direction,

The fragment had become extreme 

and created some motion rolling

in negative capability. 

Achilles was remembering how 

much the abstraction 

was a part.

Jack was friends with Monsieur Matisse 

and Senor Picasso 

reading along in the books 

Bill’s painful reality.

The scribble, the painted square, 

a zip

Crispin traced an American Imaginative 

Disney like comic cloud 

over 

this Frederick Church, like reality-- 

of European decent. 

Is there an Original spring?

What matters?

But then what is “what?”

One foot in one world, one in another

going forward

“ out of the woods and into the meadow.”

Orange SquarE and NiGhT

StuDiO!

unexpected combinations,

Bang around 

and CyCLe,

12.

Forward, HO! Hoo, HoO! 

It’s Summer again 

as Jack turned the page.

The thunderstorms at Monument Valley 

were already closing in.

The coffee and book shops 

in SoHo were gone

mixed with the loss 

and intensest rendezvous, 

ThE sudden BeaUty.

Jack kicked the old rusted beer cans 

down the road past Mexican Hat.

The Indians did their best 

to wreck the place, 

nothing worked 

it was part of the Religion, 

Jack guessed, as he

shivered in the cold shower, 

he hated the tourists too.

Achilles was on that road where 

he thought he found 

the whole cow’s skeleton 

and the black 

and white warbler flew straight

through the scene

it was an amazing 

green grey valley 

of Sage and Lupine wild flowers, 

Crispin never found it again 

as it all had changed.

Jack picked some Lupine

and hung it in the window

he noticed how it went with his 

Blue GinghaM PatterneD shirT

The Hero Crispin! Ha!