The Doom of Taking Shape
by dj moore
This plant would like to grow
And yet be embryo;
Increase, and yet escape
The doom of taking shape
--Richard Wilbur
soar ye elephants above green-crested waves
the ambivalence and substance of your flight
puts lovers' fingers aflame
we can't all of us you and me
stand beside oak skin
and touch the match of begin
i grow so old i'm double eleven
soft delight of translucent echoes
you're desperate to soak yourself in
distinct eve and all is stellar
the divisions commence yet somewhere
surrounded by divine sea the Matriarch
becomes more significant in the face of
and she rises in the stars before the infallible
sweet barnacle for oven
let's let the leaves decide
whenever you see me let me know
i'll notice you forever until day
we'll spit on those that spit on us
and life will never
until boundaries are no boundaries
so let's and why not let ourselves
take the sunshine to the sunrise
little you will be and me like an atom
we'll leave the earth behind in half a second
and explore the universe which we'll expand
the gods will wish they could be us
so small imperfect ignorant and free
sore bones and grasshopper guts make
twenty-two years retroactive bad luck
tear me apart with just one hand
i'm buried by thy drop clear while
you're divided and i'm a prism's reverse
the rain will dissolve the walls
can't we be one seething mass? (we are)
9 September 2000
Cradling my infant soul, the body
Hunts for nourishment and devours
Everything that might contain a
Rubric of peace or law of
Understanding. My spirit shall wither
Between worlds if it has not come of age
In this one. Snakes now slither,
Maurading upon the desert's sands which are
Stark as a grave yard in November.
Anon the starving trees descend into
Nether lands as you stare
Despite the destruction of the Standing One:
Another fox chews on another hare.
Flies watch no resurrections in the sun.
Last night a fly buzzed intentionally
About my ears. I could have ignored its
Mere report otherwise. After I swatted,
It dove into my palm, its little life in my hand.
No movement as other hand advanced. The
Gentle fly wanted to die - thus I let it live.
Style of neglected skins
Withers to dust again:
Ophites predicted these moths. We know
Return is impossible how we know the
Demiurge invented clothes and the need for clothes.
18 September 2000
Bathe the tenth generation in unsalted tears.
Sprinkle salt across the parking lot.
The children of insest will grow up to be cowboys
But rainbows will never hold their weight
For they form shaky legs.
This came out first
But went back in.
The twins strive over the river's babel
Not struggling to emerge first
But to submerge the other in air.
Dogs spend eternity on a dying leaf.
Once in awhile the angel
Returns its sword to its sheath
Yet still not long enough
For a dove to rest her feet.
His eyes red with wine
And his teeth white with milk
The Filiarch knows we die tomorrow.
Ritual does not know the pathways of the heart.
Bellum's ass sees what Bellum is blind to.
The dove is still searching
For dry land unto this day.
Too much blood on one soil
Too much money/garbage on another.
Several lack food and entertainment.
Her wings can't beat forever.
Are there no shoulders of giants
For her to perch on? No.
The children of earth can't wait
Till her little heart bursts.
27 September 2000
Pull apart the flesh; unravel the strings of clay.
The most tender heart flexes as skin melts away.
And when the mother could no longer hide the son,
She laid him down in the river with slime and pitch.
Ribs close like jaws upon a darkness you can feel,
Then Zipporah took their son and with a sharp stone, peeled.
He looked this way and that, and when he saw no man,
He slew the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.
A murrain of frogs, lice, flies, boils, and locusts.
Sum ergo sum. Tell them that my name is I AM.
20 August 2000
I somehow manage to slice
The tip of my right ear off.
Platelets splash from the roof
Onto my thumb and great toe.
The butcher wanted to make flow
My inedible blood,
To make me surrogate corban
For his private debt,
Yet now he cries "Unclean!"
And sets me free.
I avoided the knife's bane
But not its cough:
Down the road I hobble with a split foot.
I cross the street
And nod to those I meet.
No one stares, points, or shouts at me
As red juice fills my boot.
The spit will smell another's savor:
The sweetness of ashes and soot
Within the eternal flame.
I chew bdellium not for flavor -
While dragging my hoof -
But to ease the pain.
I also eat - what is it?
That small round grain
Like a coriander seed
Hoar frost white which tastes like honey
And fresh oil. Then I witness
A cloud rise up from the gutter
Amid slight shaking and a miniature fire.
30 August 2000
dingy destroy me
(make me like you)
I don't give what you take
(& you take me to the circus)
we won't allow
one two & two
for the world is different
& much greener now
than it used to be
I
want for
the world
& who thing string
isn't
semi-detergent
1 October 2000
Her hands were upon the threshold;
Her soft voice would no longer sing -
Yet bruises told a stark story.
He had taken her from home
And retrieved her when she returned -
A choice mistress worth the journey.
Now horrified by bumps and welts
On what used to be smooth skin,
He strokes arm hair the same direction.
The man then divides her in twelve
To reveal the excess of hospitality.
With butcher’s knife he writes her story.
The fixed voice of remnant recalls men to duty.
Chariot abreast chariot and sword against sword.
Arrows rain over the walls and burrow into mud.
As under red feet, the dirt lips kissed
Insinuated itself inside each inbetween
Until vomited like a black conversation.
The Book is a grim sandwich:
Underneath dust mingled with blood
The child corpse speaks:
“Amid muddy rumors aqueducts run dry -
Forever life blossoming into a new hue -
The day’s diversions sometimes send water uphill.
“There are no more dams
In the trenched lines of your face.
What if my shadow were to disappear?
“I’d break my nails on a cherubim’s skull
And hide myself in a Philistine’s camp.
No more manna or creamy milk.
“And O how my mouth waters
At the memory of paternal protection!”
But none answered.
24 November 2000
"I saw gods ascending out of the earth."
- The Witch of En-dor
Preface
An edict was nailed to the tree, a rubric really,
full of grace and rosy in color as it was defined to me.
Anyway, the leaves fell and everyone went inside because it was so cold.
The tree stood solitary vigil and still does unto this day
rising hundreds of feet into the heavens, naked and pathetic.
By and by, we could all see it was going to fall
but didn't know which direction so we stopped ignoring it
for a few decades to figure out what to do with it.
Wars broke out concerning how to bring it down.
The tree caused much more destruction than a tree should.
Invocation
We will sing a thousand songs, underwater gaffahs,
for we must needs die,
are as water spilt on the ground,
which cannot be gathered up again
except by thy roots, O Great One.
You bring us together and we collide for you,
our burning foreheads and boiling blood
heat the moss growing from the back of your necks.
Elevate us within your branches, make us babble,
only your height gives us the ecstasy we crave.
We want the same fate as the Father of Peace
who was taken up between the heaven and the earth
alive in the midst of the oak. Such floating
removes us from the cares of either world.
Father Tree, we would float in thy branches forever.
Meditation
This giant of a tree,
spawn of angels, food for worms,
will it fall before me?
This giant of a tree
can't be felled all at once -
it would crush the roofs
of homes and the skulls
of kittens. Its sudden death
would be the death of us all.
This ancient of a tree
has seen civilizations rise and fall.
We must prune it little by little.
1 November 2000
I awoke to a shrill scream -
thoughts of motion, my body prone -
I pulled myself downward into dream
until the weight of suspicion had grown.
I had to know what cried,
so I crept to the window and spied.
Three children in a snowball fight
scampered among diamond dust.
In the half-obscured light,
eyes sparkled with the force of lust.
Another bone chilling cry
sent shivers up my spine.
It brought me into a large place.
Delight's jejune mania
warmed every crease in my face
down to each porous tibia.
My spirit soared with each of their cries -
never had I felt such lack of boundries.
7 February 2001
Life is a distraction: Behold
the swift mechanical movements of a small bird
which perches on a branch long enough to survey its surroundings
then bounds off to another destination.
The wind travels its circuit;
the river returns to its origin.
The eye is not content with sight, nor the ear with sound.
I get so thirsty that I could drown and not be satisfied,
yet the unquenchable thirst is more desirable
since after fulfillment, all is empty.
Here is a proverb: he who flinches is happiest;
he that loves silver will not be satisfied with silver.
Empty, empty, everything is empty.
The rich man finds no profit, the idle man has no time.
One event happens to the wise and foolish alike.
Today will be forgotten by tomorrow.
Therefore let us celebrate! Let us drink wine!
Nothing matters because nothing is all there is.
1 April 2001
As I close my eyes
I see something new.
Flashes of light strike
from the far corner of each eye
and branch out across
my field of vison to intertwine.
This intercourse is but brief
and once again I'm in darkness.
The lightning comes again
and I'm twice struck
yet there is no physical cause
for this illumination
which begins brighter
than any light ever seen
before fading again to darkness.
This is mystery.
Once again, I have a reason
to continue to live.
1 May 2001
1
In Kibroth-hattaavah where love lies bleeding,
a solitary brontologian tolerates the intolerant
while the tip of Sothis is licked by lightning
giving lie to the continual chant
of peace, peace, when there was no peace
and love, love when wars never cease.
2
The tomb of joy is the sarcocarp of a peach
which rots away during an accidental fast;
the trefoil of the trinity is forever out of reach;
and the most sacred cella cannot last
saying peace, peace, when there was no peace
and finding joy in wars without cease.
20 May 2001
There are far too many people in the world
for me to love them all personally.
Why, O Lord, did you create so many souls
worthy of love and make me only one man?
Why, God, did you plant so much goodness?
I could travel my entire life and only
see a fraction of a percent of the total number
of rose petals, blades of grass, and clumps of dirt.
There is too much nature for one alone to enjoy
and I complain to you, O Lord, of it.
I have infinite love to give, but so few
objects of creation upon which to lavish it.
Why fill me with so much love
and create a universe so small?
I love each star with more than its weight in feeling,
but I have megatons of love left remaining.
You created the universe too small
and I complain to you, O Lord, of it.
Lord, you have given me bread to eat,
but far too much. You've given me
too much youth and too much time to enjoy it.
You've given me too much age and understanding.
I've become a glutton of years.
You've revealed too much of your wisdom;
I have become bloated with learning.
You have given me too little labor
so I grow fat and satisfied in revelry
and I complain to you, O Lord, of it.
You have given me only one life -
It is not enough to sing your praises.
I could have thousands and lack time to rejoice.
You have not given me enough trials, so I am weak.
You haven't given me enough sorrow or suffering
and thus I do not know full happiness or pure joy.
You are as cruel as an ostrich in the wilderness
and I complain to you, O Lord, of it.
1 June 2001
Son of man, eat thy bread with quaking
and drink thy water with trembling and with carefulness.
--Ezekiel 12:18
If I were perhaps a more interesting person,
I could go to parties and make friends.
Instead, I write poetry, a bitter emulsion
which no one but my future self will read.
It is so heavy, this self-confession,
this prattling on without meter or rhyme.
I should instead get a job at the local delicatessen;
after all, a new sandwich artist is needed at Blimpie.
O why should I wait to see how it ends?
I know my ending: I shall die.
What purpose is there in waiting out dead years?
Why live a life of routine and unhappiness?
There is no good reason, and perhaps I'll leave early,
but I know with every thread of my being
that I like fresh strawberries and stale grape juice -
I love rain showers and Hollywood flicks.
I'll stay a year, maybe more, till
I've tasted each facet to my fill,
then I can smile with a life full spent
and empty myself by cuts and nicks.
I'm happy when I learn of one who died young.
The corpses of children have not tasted regret.
They live a life of wonderment -
their spirits shine bright and unbroken.
College was an epoch of joy.
Never again is superfluity a goal;
never again is life worth living for itself;
never again can we delight in the useless.
O God, when you still existed, how happy were we!
Every breath we took was a gift most precious;
every minute was a lifetime of momentous decisions;
every bacteria's life had a purpose!
Now, our greatest accomplishments are piddle -
our momentous discoveries are but a moment's distraction.
We are no longer impressed with nature,
the work of our own hands is mundane once again.
Why live in a world so devoid of excitement and wonder?
True, I once watched a motionless spider for an hour
fascinated by its bare existence.
I wanted to be that spider, so small, ignorant, and free.
The examined life is not worth living.
The spider gets through the day, every day,
by not thinking, not thinking, not thinking.
O that I were a spider, or a child who died young.
I think, therefor I am miserable.
I can't find the cord to illuminate
the damp corners of my mind
and when I do, silence is all I'll find.
13 June 2001
purple and robot
he had alone
like a tulip
's stem pressed
between black fingers
dietosleepsleeptodiedietosleepsleeptodiedietosleepsleeptodiedietosleepsleeptodie
burn the past and start over bright and unbroken
the morning star not planet and swallow
we stretch telepathically into knives
the book what it say:
fill me with blood till it squirts out my eyes
I urinate tears for the blue skies
sweat drips from the tips and slips through the rips
I'm dumbshaken to fall
the harness of your cunt is dry not just curious
I shatter my brittle ploughshare
a curative spell Paracelsus
and not just damage secure but aloof
I cough up my spine because I died before
rent is red and blue (I miss you)
the car-skulled bug detrimental to bipedal unicorns
You lek? I lek.
My servant, the BRANCH
will take away blood from his mouth
in the time of the latter rain
Open thy doors that fire may devour thy cedars.
that that dieth, let it die
(let the rest eat the flesh of another)
A Villanelle:
I sleep to die and die to sleep:
There are no other secrets to keep.
15 June 2001
Unpredictable rain is one of the great joys of life -
the cloud of Orrin Hatch and others like him.
Once I was lost in a sea of glass -
there were twenty gates of bronze I couldn't pass.
burn my eyes like sponge delicacies
you see it wasn't a part of in me
until the triple rooster incident
which was unavoidable and innocent
on the part of my part
so you can tell I don't need
poets to put tears in my eyes
it all turned out six degrees
which it's beyond us all to betray
15 October 2000
twist too tight skin her feet
subtle stagnant thorn between
what toes what hidden flesh
surrounded clean cuticles neatly sharp
stench of sweat leather shoes
whose sloppy tongue laces tight
envelope subdermal itch with red
point of tension belies a blank sheen
18 December 2000
He that is not against us is for us.
--Luke 9:50
He that is not with me is against me.
--Luke 11:23
A Quarter snaps my thumb.
the
itty bitty thumb bone sticks out
its
little brittle head and breaths in pure fresh air for the first ever time:
"Ahhhh!" then "Owwww!"
"Put me back in!"
That's how it is.
Freedom is exciting . . .
then frightening . . .
then exciting again.
Stand still till you hear the "Hey!"
Ted Berrigan looks like you'd expect -- completely ridiculous!
I can't cough up phlegm before
I wipe it away with toilet tissue --
Really any poem is a Sonnet 14 lines or not
So there was this Jesus guy
Who told the big time religious guys
"The publicans and the harlots go into the Kingdom of God before you."
(Publicans being the IRS and harlots being the rest of the government)
The big time religious guys called him drunk
because his eyes were always red with wine
but the whole point was to be drunk & happy & in love.
Life spins around like loose coins
from a freshly shattered jar of change.
I smile because I'm confused.
The spider who may or may not bite
is more frightening than the spider who does.
I could fall in love with
anyone who's wearing the right perfume.
distract
distract
distract
dist rac t
After Jesus died, they buried him alive with a corpse
& killed his followers
and that's why there's no Christians alive today --
just religious people.
but that's okay. I still believe
when footing slow across a silent plain.
let us all be jealous of dead leaves
the lilies of the field are richer than Solomon
If you want to be perfect,
just give everything you have to the poor.
Mary Magdalene was Jesus's #1 Lady
She caressed forever like a plum.
Sometimes I wonder if Paul was right about
"Love" being the only commandment.
When you love everybody yr perfect & yr always good as long as yr in love, but
badgebadge badge
rundesirerun
The Hollow says "fill me up again"
& that's love
s t a t i c
t a s i c s
b r r r r
me me
newcommandment
&
blue
and blue
nothing but questions and answers
That's why Jesus said,
"I came not to judge the world, but to save the world."
25 July 2001
This is the first line of my poem titled "God is Love."
You are now reading the second line.
(The Bible is kind of messed up.)
I forgot to put the quote at the top, so I'll just put it here:
God dwelleth not in temples made with hands
Neither is worshipped with men's hands.
--Acts 17:24-5
And so that's why God is Love.
God is the little fuzzy puppy that wags its tail when you come home.
(Dog saw I was God.)
God is a mother giving milk to an infant.
God is a nurse bandaging wounds.
The first breath of adolescent infatuation is the slightest glimpse of God.
God is... well you get the idea.
Let's give this magnetic poetry a try:
disappear into shadow observation of
hence be make as salient
she was fair, turgid & tantamount
I'll not be an ity character
shall every gall woman slather?
see every space ebb find
tinge wry beauty up taut
endevour follow understand crass nefarious acme
plunge represent trenchant deft & limpid
no know no or d ly fill d after
see? everyone can be a poet (just not good)
sev love evolves
evolved dev love
Temporary 3845
"I've done the math enough to know"
deliberation
#@$%&^*()+_! @+! (#@$*#)%*@_%*$#)^%*&@$)%*@#_*@ $_%*#@@#*%_$ &%!#$@_#)&%@#_($&@#(&$#
i 2 can count
19 August 2001
The World Will Come to an End Sometime in the Next Trillion Years.
Until then, people will be people.
Humanity will never outgrow war
Since without war, peace has no definition.
- that something that's beyond war and beyond peace
- that which is neither, is NOTHING
- this is our ultimate destination, the only goal in the end
God is this Nothing
For God concieves and contains everything
Both light & dark, hot & cold, good & evil --
- these opposites exist only when divided
The combination of light & dark is Nothing
Remember, the Tree of Knowledge taught both Good & Evil
Paradise was unknown before the division, Adam and Eve knew nothing.
25 August 2001
