The Long Count

Sometime during the 13th b'ak'tun
Jack Dempsey floored Gene Tunney.
The long count...

There is nothing left to bet on
but what time it is.

I drive my car through a time zone.
My phone lets me know.

Someone is reading endless magazines.
My phone lets me know.

I have the death app now.
I miss my quiet immortality.
The long count...

She said de Chardin's noosphere
is not just full of knowledge.
It must have experience too.
Wouldn't it?

Are we at war?
My phone lights up.
Traffic fatalities today...
Worldwide or local?
Choose.

Transport me to that place
where everything is opening,
where I am standing
on the horizon
and I know it.

The Conditions

The conditions showed up with briefcases.
They looked like average guys,
laughing and bumping each other
while they acted like they were talking.
Briefcases clicked and out came
parts of a bigger thing.
The parts formed a box
that I found myself inside.
"Inside?"  I questioned.
"No,  just resting,"  the conditions responded.
Time passed and I received layers of help.
An image arose of a pineapple upside down cake
that made me so hungry

I missed the cake metaphor.
"No matter,"  I said
as the cake slide out of perspective.
Entertainment arrived,
brightly colored hand knitted forms
that appeared to be partially finished,
or unraveling.
"No matter,"  I said
as I wrapped one around my head.
Finally word came of what was
happening outside the box.
At first I was so happy
for the word
that I didn't notice
it was one word
repeated over and over.
I asked for a sentence
but accepted silence.
"No matter,"  I said
as I saved the word.
The light changed in the box.
I noticed a bowl of
blue opinions by my feet.
I chewed on one while
pondering my word.
A pit was all that was left.
"No matter,"  I said
as I sucked on the pit.
Eventually it softened
and split in two.
I stopped sucking and
noticed where I was.
I remembered the sharpie
in my shirt pocket.
There was just enough light
to draw a conclusion in the box side.
I exited.
The conditions were nowhere to be found.

Louise Gluck

Celestial Music

I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
Brave too, able to face unpleasantness.

We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it.
I'm always moved by disaster, always eager to oppose vitality
But timid also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
According to nature. For my sake she intervened
Brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down
Across the road.

My friend says I shut my eyes to God, that nothing else explains
My aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who
Buries her head in the pillow
So as not to see, the child who tells herself
That light causes sadness-
My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me
To wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person-

In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking
On the same road, except it's winter now;
She's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial music:
Look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.
Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees
Like brides leaping to a great height-
Then I'm afraid for her; I see her
Caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth-

In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;
From time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.
It's this moment we're trying to explain, the fact
That we're at ease with death, with solitude.
My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar doesn't move.
She's always trying to make something whole, something beautiful, an image
Capable of life apart from her.
We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, The composition
Fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air
Going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering-
It's this stillness we both love.
The love of form is a love of endings.
~Louise Gluck