Medusa Coaster, Six Flags Discovery Kingdom
Vallejo, CA
A SHEAF OF EARLY POEMS FROM 1966
—D.R. Wagner, Locke CA
(some of these were first published in A Book For Barb,
published by Undermine Press, Berkeley, CA)
you think because
there is a yellow
flower
in your hair i do not
know you
but i know
you from the way
it presses itself
against you
and is
believing it
does not know me
also.
published by Undermine Press, Berkeley, CA)
you think because
there is a yellow
flower
in your hair i do not
know you
but i know
you from the way
it presses itself
against you
and is
believing it
does not know me
also.
*
I move slowly
so that I light
up my glass
with my own
movement
and will not
be surprised
if I should
one day walk
off the edge
of this world.
They would have us
say:
This is a wall.
and place themselves in the web
so many crushed stars
unwaxed moons
we would be afraid
to put our hands into
the leftover water
for fear of creating toads
or fish without diamonds
for eyes
deer roam outside my house
now / i see you moving across
the room removing cages
chains
old ropes
this atmosphere/
melts
glass
I think I am going
to continue this architecture
using my lips to touch
yr pillow / with tiny bells
behind my eyes / with plays
of lights dancing / with words
that band and wait
for you to see me.
*
She is alone
except for
a waterglass
and a failing
war.
she feels my
love grow
inside her
its words
lamed beside
this waterglass
this failing
war.
*
This new night
I gather in my
hands shatters
into breath candles
when you bring
me fireflies
telling me
they are stars
and build jeweled
cities where flowers
are fine houses, where
people are all
legends.
in the morning
I will bring you bread,
Wash yr wounds, comb
Back yr tangled hair.
This night cannot be
so proud forever.
*
No place to think work
drifting
—Gary Snyder
first late dinner
then walk six miles to
out of town
walking
into car headlights
almost falling on basalt
and limestone chunks
cross the road
hitch hike—no ride
asleep under bridge
near stream
awake at
before dawn
car tires
night sounds
I am not Basho
Your lips
froze wind.
I asked:
how is tonight.
no answer only
a smile and all
night high mountains
in yr hair.
*
As we are standing
from each other's doors
we can speak inside sleep
as floors to water of music.
Oh this light clear I wear
is your lips splashed to fill
the world. I walk in bare feet
no longer tired from the sounds
of being god inside you.
I am this morning.
This morning
you become me.
________________________
Today's LittleNip:
—Medusa, with thanks to D.R. Wagner for today's fine poems—hoping his email returns—and enjoying these anonymous photos of the Medusa roller coaster ride in Six Flags in Vallejo (there's one in Mexico, too.) Scroll down to the red Webilicious feature in the green box at the right for a bit of a you-tube rollycoaster ride!
April 2: Day Two of National Poetry Month
