Airport, Alone -- Jcagney the frayed petal of his text message krinkles in my palm: I caught the wrong flight to los angeles now we’re separated this leg of our journey. I stand in the lobby of the airport, lonesome staring at the words as if they might change while being read. …
Continue reading "Dreams; Tarot Paintings of the Subconscious"
My golden-throated friend Dorian Spencer has produced a gorgeous song that's probably the best response to TM I've heard to date.
Memorial Lighthouse, Trinidad Civic Club, Trinidad, Ca. -- JCagney Bone spur of the lighthouse Excavated from the hillside By diligent shovels of weather Stands purified under the administration Of the sun; overseer to an ocean Of scales flashing white and green. An old man sits at a bench shepherding the wet painting of …
Hold the Phone - Jcagney There used to be one in every house with its own end table or altar. ours was a wire stand crammed with phone books-- the first internet. if you remembered to clean it you'd wipe it down like a baby – its umbilical cord would braid itself over all the stories …
After Life with God - Jcagney The other side of the white light is a stage light. God’s monologue subsides as the last breath eases from my chest. Relatives gone on before now sit in audience cheering my entrance. God’s hair is a tsunami shadowing a beach, cresting over remarkable brown eyes. He’s in …
Cathedral Keeping monks hours, I arise at midnight to a false dawn where the sun pauses at the horizon and creeps sideways like a crab. Our crew chief materializes at the door salmon roe dripping from his palms. Midair, he draws the sign of the dollar. Then, I am Lazarus summoned and …
Who was it said Poems are never finished, they're just abandoned? I begin writing a poem after I assume some understanding about or appreciation over what I've just seen, experienced or remembered. Sometimes the poem comes out in one chunk and I let it rest for a while, then go back and tidy it up: Remove, add, clarify. Sometimes …
Last Christmas I visited Mumbai, India. After the walk I mentioned, I came back to my room and typed a slightly different version of this letter on my cell phone to my best friend back in the states. A few weeks ago, I planned to read part of this on stage at my last reading, but its too long and …
Mid Morning, every workday for more than a month, I've ventured a few blocks over to St Mary's Cathedral to pray. Initially, I began going there in the name of my friend, poet Joanna Spencer. I began going because her son told me she was desperately ill-- having a broken hip and staying in a nursing home …
How does one write something where all the characters understand the point being communicated, but no one speaks? This must've been my introduction to zen. Don't let me re-write the poem as introduction, but maybe I could clarify something. I spent two months on a fishing processor in Alaska around the mid 90's. Its a shit job. There's …
The Dirty Rat 