The Super Moon

Insomnia tormented me last night.
The super moon was calling out to me.
Her distance from the earth, its shortening
was like a magnet to my lonely heart.

The words she spoke, into my spirit pierced:

“Why do you lie in bed there wide awake?
What time you waste to spend your waking there?
Come dance beneath my shining rays so bright.
Beneath the light that I reflect at night.

“At first wear clothes that warm against the chill.
You know your body warms with dancing act.
The warming of your body, temp’rature.
Must shed your clothes, dance naked ‘neath my face.”

Instead engaged in this alternative,
alone in bed amidst electric night:
I thought of you whom I have not possessed.
I thought of you, that other cure I sought.
The cure I visit by my fantasy.
That other cure for night-time wakefulness.
I thought of you, specific memory.
I thought of you, of you, I thought, of you.

Bhagavad Gita: subject of this verse.
My only privilege: work, that I engage.
I plant a tree, not certain it will grow.
Not knowing it will ever bear its fruit.
The fruit is not what motivates my acts.
To outcomes, my attachments, I release.
I’m ceaseless in my planting industry.
The Lord, unto his name, perform my work.
Desires with selfishness, abandon here.
I harvest bushels, or my saplings die.
Results are what the universe decides.
Not failure nor success — let affect wane.
This equipoise is Yoga, Karma named.

The cockroach crawled beneath the yoga mat.
She spotted him in time, in downward dog.
In time so that there would be no surprise.
Across the floor, her mat did intersect.
He went beneath the edge to take a rest.
The girl was brave, no panic did she show.
Was hidden from our view. Did he proceed?
Did he continue course across the floor?
She waited and then tapped the edge with toe.
She hoping tapping motion might compel
the roach to move in fright from secret cave.
The last I witnessed of the roach who crawled.
I never saw what drama happened next,
to see if he proceeded on his way,
or if antennae over edge did peak.
My backwards view diverted to the front.
Direction of instructor, forward lunge.

Don’t make her give an explanation why.
Your actions, can you always full explain?
Your motivations and your rationales.
It’s not that she could not, a reason, give.
It’s not the fairer sex who reason lacks.
Nor is it men who have the upper hand.
If you would walk as peaceful in your life.
Those women in your life whom you would love.
Attraction is a matter of the heart.
Its workings, pumping organ, mystery.
Don’t make her give an explanation why
unless all truths of self can tolerate.

If you accept all truths about yourself,
including those that you would rather not,
those things about you, you would rather hide.
What are those things, reluctant to reveal?
The fears, abuses, burdens from your past.
Your secret lusts, your hidden fantasies.
To her, you whisper of them in the night.
Shared moments, conjured, intimacy bares
all of the naked self to naked self.
Don’t make her give an explanation why
her naked secrets, now, with you, she shares.

Confessions of a Fraudster

I licked your arm, the crime that we commit:
conspiracy, the state, we would defraud.
Much worse, it’s Barton Springs from whence we steal.
We thought the extra stamp upon your arm.
Like we had seen before, with spit, convey.
Press arm-to-arm to transfer the obverse.
It didn’t work. Conspiracy dissolved.
Our souls, most dissolute, what we reveal:
our willingness to, blessed springs, defraud.
That we might honor geographic place.
As sacred, holy, church that nature made.
Our penury, excuse, like Jean Valjean.
The sin of man, admission must be charged.
Like Jesus, I would overturn their tills.
The climb-proof fences, tear them all in two.
The temple curtain no more separate.
Except for bargain that I made with state.
Its balance sheet, much bigger far than mine.
With resources it has, it can preserve
the lives of sacred creatures of the springs.
No, not the crawdads, fish, or even eels.
(Their lives all sacred too, undoubtedly.)
Each time, three dollars paid as resident.
I might start paying extra as a gift.
An offering of love, not to my god
but to the state, my interests, it protects
sometimes, the salamanders whom I love.

Dollar Bill

The dollar bill I found in Barton Springs.
Was eight feet down. In meters, maybe three.
(My buddy, Loïc, forty meters, laughs!)
The money random patron jumped in with.
Inside a pocket, then forgot about.
From frantic kicking motion was dislodged.
Worked from the pocket, then in water swam.
Like me, immersed completely in the springs.
It turned and floated halfway in between
the surface and the bottom, where it sank.
Half covered by the flora underneath.
My watchful eye, unfocused as I swim.
Most recognizable is currency.
Those patterns trained, familiarity.
An object handled almost every day.

The motivation that I had when but a boy.
To swim down to the bottom with one breath.
In pools, was mostly silver that I found.
Tried to recall the most I had retrieved.
In tens of cents, my treasure’s measurement.
In man-made pools, it’s easier to see.
I’d never found more money in a pool.
(Once stepped from car, 140 bucks
upon the ground, in dusty parking lot.)

Would have preferred to pluck from fish’s mouth.
A crawdad might have held in pinching claw.
Each sparrow dead, I know I’m not forgot.
Assurance of the taxes that I owe.
My Lord and Savior, to the depths directs.
When Caesar sends his bill, I must respond.
That Peter might have paid the tax for Christ.
The price that Jesus paid exceeds by far.
It’s sacrilege to make comparison.
I walk the earth, not yet gained full release.
No death-wish do I carry any more.
Still worry of the government that rules.
In fact, would tax the dollar that I found.
No more this poem serve as evidence.

Next time I’m swimming, to the springs return.
Will cast the dollar back into the depths.
To salamander and the slipp’ry eel.
Can take the money, use it for themselves.
Can buy a snow cone from the vendor’s stand.

Dragonfly

A healthy dose of skepticism have.
Would I believe the insects would obey?
That you would enter into covenant.
With them whose consciousness is dubious?
As I walked toward the Greenbelt for a hike,
thought of mosquitoes living in Peru
with whom you bargained and had made a deal:
if they would never bite, you would not kill.

Like random drones, the dragonflies through air.
They were quite large. This kind are hard to catch.
I tried before, occasions multiple.
For kids, one time I purchased special nets.
Some jars and chemicals, pins, mounting board.
Collection large, together that we made.

One fly flew different manner from the rest.
Was falling through the air, more motion made.
Sometimes flew up, but mostly downward path.
At last it fell. Upon the ground, I saw,
like helicopter that turned upside down.
Upon its back, was still and grasped in legs,
a smaller dragonfly that was its prey.
The focused hunter, legs, half-dozen grasped.
Fight to the death, the outcome was assured.
The captured’s desperate movements, urgency.

The ethics, entomology I think
it’s place in science is legitimate.
My interest solely in aesthetic arts.
A study for a child may justify
the killing jar, but doesn’t so for me.
My curiosity regards design.
Take pictures rather than live specimens.

When I picked up this hunting dragonfly,
held gently by the tail but prey escaped.
With prey released, sat perfectly on hand.
Demeanor calm. (Of course I held his tail.)
A perfect perch, I looked into his eyes.
Great domes, the million lenses all in blur.
Some conscious interaction did occur.
Released his tail and to the sky he flew.
I begged forgiveness that I lost his meal.
My curiosity to satisfy.
He will go tell the horseflies of my act.
They are the ones with whom I must agree.
The horses bite, the dragons eat themselves.

Sickness Unto Death

Then this, the formula which I subscribe.
This formula, the state of self describes.
That state of self, despair completely gone.
Despair eradicated from my heart.
When I look unto self, what I desire?
To be myself, at heart, is all I want.
I ground myself, identity perceived,
in power of the universe, declared.
Existence, mine, as part of its design.

Death Metal Lyrics #4

I have taken control from you
The moment you understand
That I have decei-ved you
That I will now bind your hands
I have taken control from you
The moment you understand.
That I have betrayed you
To capture you, I remand.
I have bound you in prison.
In a prison that you have built
Now the wardens they have you.
The wardens now those you jailed
They will never release you.
They will preserve your life.
Only sustain your torture
They will sustain your life.
They will sustain your torment
They will sustain your torment
They will sustain your torment.
I have taken control from you.

All statements that I make addressed to you.
Attraction for the fairer sex, express.
Can comment on the features you possess.
Of course, some beauty inside and on out.
In present instance, commenting on out.
“Your body is so beautiful,” I say.
Next question that I ask, I ask of you.
Against me you might hold so many things.
I hope such statement won’t be one of them.
In fact, would tell you: my infection, cured!