grey white morning give me strength
give the breath that frees
from death
ice white snow. milk white glow
give the light of life
on the day after the day of Holy
innocents
on the day after the day after when we repent
and when we are born
strength of hibernation
be with me
strength of mother fur roll with me
power of forgetting be in me
all in my furs
all in my cave
jesus came to save
be sending us in
to the deepest of sleeps

i would rather have you than silver
i would rather have you than gold
i would rather have you than any of it
and love and praise and smiles
which is to say: i would rather have you then
bullshit

it is here in the wreck of the thirty ninth lost
love that i have found you
and that just tells you what i'm like cause really
you were finding me and
i want to make this my story
about how i found the ship and crashed
the ship and wrecked the ship
how after all the shit and the
crying we plowed into the side of the church
and then shakign it off we left
with a locust and some honey a
crucifix and a book of mormon
and we went to live in a cave
and in the midst of this
turning my back on the
fire and brimstone falling from the sky
stopping my mouth from another lie
i blinked
and there you were

i have no time
but you have begged "in my time"
i make my plans, but you offer your hand
living with my views, you lend me your eyes
and we begin again
everything is so mundane when left up to me
and i loathe dependency
but you pray depend on me
and out of my poverty has come all
my liberty
you are always with me
when i choose to choose nothing else
because of who you are you wished
on a star
and came to live in a stable
and sit at my table

i want something new
that is i suspect something new
i know now we are on the advent of it
i want to be invaded
i am preparing for the entry
i want to be bent over and fucked by it
undone by it
duck walked by it
and i know with the stiffness
of my cock
that its coming

i have as many lovers as i did this time
last year
and that is none
i have not nearly as many
fears and more friends
i have, i have
i have an addiction to progress
and acquisition
i still believe that A can lead to B
i still can't believe, though I have seen it
how we invent connections
and how its really happening altogether
and rather happening all over again
so that you'll be lost if you think it
happened in Bethlehem
in another millenium
here, down the street from the grocery store
and the tired, smiling cashier
its happ'ning all over again

the orange candle
the handle on the coffee cup and
the shine of the tea pot, of the glossiness
of the mince pie is telling me something
i want to hear very great things
at jesus' birth i need bright things
and i ought to no better by now because
i have stopped going to church since
every year at church, at midnight
my sight is burned by lanterns and
candles and my ears hurt by trumpets and
i think... no
no... you wouldn't do that for a baby
a baby needs quiet and so i
a baby's only message is a breast
and mine is one burning orange candle
and a steaming slice of mince pie

before christmas

you walking monkeys over there
are not so far from bears as you would like to believe
nor am i, poor hairless chimp
now is the time to climb into our caves, candles,
little little
fires burning
the yearning, to be wrapped in furs and
frus of God and press our ears to the furry chest of the mother
there is a reason the son of man was was born in a cave
a cave like tomb
a cave like a tomb
a cave like the cavern where bruins brood
because, because he knew Brigid was there
her air is just another word for fire
and retiring is just another word for rebirth

no, it isn't the sex
for your mother had sex and look how
your father turned out
no it isn't the simply orgasm
for you gasp and jism every morning
in the shower
and certainly not bed and all the strange
places, but rather the excitement or--what is more
that like those sexy whores on screen--you
will be excited
you will be interesting
you will be fantastic and arresting
but the problem with porn
the problem for you is, well,
you see...
and the problem with me is i am always
taking it just one step too far
but you will always be yourself
and you and me
we... well
you can only be yourself,
and that's your problem

CHRISTMAS POEM THREE

i am practicing and practicng in the hopes that lines
i write about this season of your birth
-which by amazing coincidence is the seaon of my own--
will get a little better
and perhaps by better i mean rhyme more, flow more
and perhaps, no dcertainly, i think the best way you
see, to make poetry
turn out is
honesty
and honestly i start to feel that being there is
half of what redemption is, and actually tasting your
coffee is salvation
savoring this moment, this taste this fascination
and i wonder, a little bit, if part of the
darkness the son of man delivers us from is
simply the realization of a hey
and a hi and an ohhh...
you see, the dark last only a little bit
and things aren't quite as bad as you think

in the cave two

christmas is a pagan thing
teach me to sing the songs i do not
understand
teach me to light the candles, different
colors, that command
the spirits of frost and call the ancient gods
Mary is an ancient mother in a cave
and all the gods were in New Grange watching
her give birth to save us from our
winter time madness
at the creche, at the candle and the yule log
neath the mantle all the gods lean in
and warm their hands
to adore him
so Christmas is a pagan thing
with wine and mistletoe
two golds rings
partridges and pear trees

in the cave one

tonight, today, this afternoon
like afternoons for twn years past on this night
we light the candle
on this end of day we sing the songs
the son of God is eternal
and so we should not wonder that this feast took place long before
he was born
he was born in a cave and long ago thats
where we came
to await a pinprick of light, lacing to the stone
covered in whirls
and he was rolled the stone away
on another day
and revealed worlds and revelations
with hesitation i come to this ancient ancient
feast that knows no gospel but itself
and has no hope but the basic lust for spring

just remember, my dear...
you're in the army now!

MEDITATIONS ON SUCKING AND FUCKING

i wanted to do it for you
and you wanted to do it for me
and so we gave to each other
and we shut the door because
in this selfish world nobody
understands
and you put your hand on me, so gentle
and even when youre fierce there's love in you
even when you take the power you take it
cause i give it and i give it cause i love
you and i love you
cause you love me
andso i open to you
and am filled by you
with a bruising
stretching fullness
and i love this giving
and receiving




you gave this to me
anyone talking about dignity
does not understand the humility required
to lay down for your love and longing
and you on your knees
were a very great king
as you gave this to me
and you took me in and then
i shuddered and spilled
the secrets you desired

BALLS

oh
for his balls
and for the fall on your
knees glory
and the end of stories about
keeping for fucking dignity
get on your knees
and go down
and i have found
the length and girth of
your cock is the trip back and forth
to heaven
and every ounce of vanity and leaven
leaves
when i'm on my knees
with you to the back of my throat
and that's all he wrote
shit, yeah...
that's all he wrote

ASS

ah, for his well turned ass
ah, for the touch of it, the feel
of it
and even for the smell of it
for the reality and
sweatality
and the living momentry
of the body
for the juice of the living
and the living of the flesh
and oh for the striving
and oh for the loving
and after the loving
the gentle admiration
the tastification
and strokination
of the back of my hand
against that round and firm
well turned ass

you have surrounded me in
doing
in blossoming, blooming
and i have made room for flowers
now that i've thrown out the trash
and the act of living is the act o
sorting and the act of sorting is the act
of knowing what is good
and what is not
and looking over garbage to take out
the gold
this is the goal
and the goal is a prayer
and the prayer in the life
and the life is the strength
the strength of beauty...

i come like a bird
more than like a lion and
i hope that maybe there is some
sense in me now
maybe there is a bit of the owl
after all my night flying
god knows i've spent so much time on
catching rodents
but, rather,
to be a blue bird, light and
flitting to you
coming on a wind
a wind that is your hand
that is your breath
that is your longing
knowing it is your gift
and not my strength
that has brought us here.

not yet with the fire i wished for in
days long past,
but rather with a gentleness, freshly
out of sleep i come to you
and not always with a passion that
could burn down hell
but with a resilience
through the samenesses of life
to the blamelessness
and the blessedness
hidden in every day
i come
every day to
you