POEMS BY: ARDEN GUY
A Whatnot Fallen
Enough time has passed. The
echo returning carries the silence I
sent forth under moon making
a sound, familiar. A pregnant exhale
rushed over the wandering range of northern
live stock. A bubble in the blue steel movement
pushed through the veins of some frigid brook.
Within the journey
lies the whisper. Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
There is an exact millisecond of total isness.
A whatnot fallen from
the stowed black bag stashed in the
cluster fuck of a closet. My cat
in all of his predatory highness –
paws it into the corners of my home until
it is lost & stays undiscovered somewhere
'neath the green couch on which
i nap most every day.
Las Vegas from a High Rise
In front of the clear wide pane
he eyes the neon circus. Multicolor
movement going this way & that.
Traffic below going
back & forth searching, seeking some
destination.
Stopping for lights & accidents only.
Going on & on stretching to
the darkened edges of the valley below.
A semicircle of life. An
upturned bowl of reality dumping thin
stimulus into the ever-hungry mind.
Out there, walking on bent knees she
blows him off, dusting the memory. A curio.
Dead to her now.
She is filled with this death & her center
echoes with soft, hollow moans.
A Little Relayed
All great prophets emerge weary from the dessert
-there is nothing to do there, but
look inward nothing to see in the outward sense save
sage, sand & cactus turtles, so:
The eyes turn backward seeking the Big Deal
placing bets with reality, saying:
There MUST be more, there MUST be
a string, an eye, some something watching
some plan unfolding! & lo:
The shoulders of the bare mountains shrug & tremble
quake awake from deep seeming slumber the
dusk clouds split & yawn spitting birds
singing:
-See me my rays shoot straight & Earthward be
humble ye prophet, ye questioning source the
time is as spectrum as is
this
light & in an instant
all is gotten & consumed & yet
so little can be taken away & relayed
by the man to us the masses unwashed. |
