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Evening Song For The Earthworm
I.
Burks backs away from Freddy Garcia
runnin high & tight fastball……clips the second clear button
on his home white trimmed in red & silver,
reflexes slowed to crawl…….take your base.
tomorrow the box score will show Ellis Burks hitless in 3 at bats,
hit by pitch in the second, erased on fielder’s choice
score it 4-6
McLemore to Guillen
submarine flip,
side retired.
shortstop runs away with the rally.
dad sweats out his grey sweatshirt cut from neck line
down to breastbone opening up to white chest hairs tangling
turquoise crucifix hung of silver chain
this morning, the chipmunks feasted on seed
hidden below tall blades of grass.
tonight, only earthworms.
poppa drags off his cigarette
waits for the smoke to pass & gulps down a clot of water
held in plastic cup
placed atop pine roundtop
around which he & mom end this day
watchin’ the poison ivy ripen and
sparrows windmill in birdbath.
flip off the knob
radio falls silent.
cut the engine and spill out from Jeep to see dad pokin’ at mom’s breasts,
contorting his mouth to train whistle and runnin around in circles
screemin…..toot! toot! Toot! Toot!
Ah!
Norway Maple nearly dressed in broadleaves
leans over back porch railing
offering lowered bough
for the broken winged gold finches
who tied up with the carcasses of crows
&
burdened with a legion of Neanderthal skulls
make welcome unto the beggars cradle.
beneath us
underground
runs aqueducts of tree roots,
hollow-hearted dragons tearin’ at each other
zig-zaggin’ all around in pocket symmetry.
that terror
we witness
only when grass
goes
brown.
Wicked Spider man Iktome is jealous of Rabbit Boy.
trickster
that eight-legged, eight-hearted prankster
wants village girl for him, for his eight-cocked soup pit minister.
Iktome say,
No go Rabbit Boy!
no go to that stranger from another village
for there is no other village on this still young Earth
Iktome wanna cut him up, tie him to tree with rawhide thongs
& CUT HIIM UP CUT HIM UP
CUT HIM UP CUT HIM UP
Gonna put Rabbit Boy chunks in Rabbit Boy stew
Gonna put Rabbit Boy chunks in Rabbit Boy stew
Ewwwww-ewww-ewwww-ewwwww
there’s a lot of chunks to be stewed,
then we’re all gonna sing the Rabbit Boy Blues!
Gonna put Rabbit Boy chunks in Rabbit Boy stew
Gonna put Rabbit Boy chunks in Rabbit Boy stew
Ewwwww-ewww-ewwww-ewwwww
there’s a lot of chunks to be stewed,
then we’re all gonna sing the Rabbit Boy Blues!
So sing tied to a tree did Rabbit Boy,
he sing his death jamboree……
friends, friends
so I have raised fists to the sun.
he tried to burn me down,
but he couldn’t burn me down.
I raised fists to the sun
and counted coup on his
fiery head!
Still those blades chopped up Rabbit Boy
And dumped those chunks into
Rabbit Boy Stew!
Gonna put Rabbit Boy chunks in Rabbit Boy stew
Gonna put Rabbit Boy chunks in Rabbit Boy stew
Ewwwww-ewww-ewwww-ewwwww
there’s a lot of chunks to be stewed,
then we’re all gonna sing the Rabbit Boy Blues!
Then a storm arouse
and doused was the victory song of Iktome and his castrated flock!
Grandfather Cloud crawled in front of His Sun
& the still young Earth grew to quiet-chest-bone
white beard beat out the death drone
upon His drum
Gone were Rabbit Boy Chunks!
Gone were Rabbit Boy Chunks!
no Rabbit Boy Chunks, no Rabbit Boy stew!
carried to heaven on strawflower sunlight,
cooked in Father Blast Furnace
Rabbit Boy done come down on that blade of inferno
&
marry him that pretty little village girl.
Father Zen, I thank you,
Mother Mahayana, I thank you
Iktome
sang his death song
to the moon
tied to a tree with rawhide thongs
he sung his death song
to the moon.
Father Zen once told us unformed people delight in the gaudy, and in novelty.
Cooked people delight in the ordinary.
ewwww-ewwwww-ewwww-ewwww
Gonna put Wicked Spider chunks in the Wicked Spider stew
Gonna put Wicked Spider chunks in the Wicked Spider stew
he sung his death song to the moon,
so gonna put Wicked Spider chunks in the Wicked Spider stew
iii.
left on an island of brick that borders driveway from grass,
I find
the robin’s feast.
earthworm, torn at the stern
needlepoint pools of blood sparkle
amongst flecks of shale, sandstone & limestone -
our rock brothers
360 million years old
left on this island of Mississippian outcrop,
Paleozoic era some 600 million years ago.
their Mother
scared off by wide-browed grunters & ice-fisherman.
Left on an island of bone rock,
scared off by my too-loud-radio-broadcast of Tom Hamilton
delivering Wednesday night’s sermon high above the diamond
or the roar of six horses galloping up riprap,
the robin redbreast abandoned
feast.
Earthworm, torn at the stern –
slugs off into the grass
broken & bereft of half his body.
robin,
back he comes as I leave his ground.
three-pointed prints cast in blood……..
all that is found.
iv.
Father Zen,
what is lost one day be found
by future children
coming over the mountain.
Mother Mahayana,
those I’ve left behind
have no farther to walk to me
than I to them………I hear your pleas
Father Zen,
way’da go old man
you’ve come around the scene
with some Master plan?
Mother Mahayana,
how’d you let Him
loose of your grip?
Corporal Death, leave your battalion alone!
it is not their choice to come with you this day!
Way’da go old man
Father Zen,
you forget
your underwear too?
The ministers of treason sleep under the same moon
as the lambs of Chenrezig.
She does not turn her face
away
from Bin Laden
nor towards the Little Mothers of Vallambrose.
Mother does not turn her
face away
from Hussein
nor towards the monks of Tibet.
Mother turns not her face
away
from Kim Jong-il
nor towards the Order of St.Francis
Mother turns not her
face
from Charon
nor towards the dying earthworm
She does not turn her face
away
from Milosevic
nor towards the orphaned Kurds
Mother turns not her
face
away from those that fly, creep, hop, growl, crawl, run, grow, chirp or bark
nor does She turn her face towards
those that fly, creep, hop, growl, crawl, run, grow, chirp, or bark.
Gather with me
Father Zen
Mother Mahayana
I call to you!
I sing for you all!
Father Zen
Mother Mahayana
single moon
single sun
beings that fly, creep, hop, growl, crawl, run, grow, chirp or bark!
that strange locomotive whistle smoke down the gnarled skeleton of asphalt bones!
I sing for you all!
I tune my flute
for you all
to hear.
Dear friends…………..how quickly
these thoughts of war
become
empty kitchen chairs
how quickly these thoughts of war
become
locked bedroom doors & boxes filled with empty clothes.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
family shankin’ each other across the lines of empty streets
in Ghost-town America
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
videotaped be-headings,
laurel wreaths & American flags draped over chestnut caskets.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
mass graves
dug by the dead they house.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
men with half-blown faces, women who carry the still-born against their warm cheek,
& children with no eyes.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
CNN viewer polls, patriotic bumper stickers
& Top 40 singles.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
handshake deals to re-store what was decimated
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
drunk soldiers shaking in civilian clothes hear the bullets
watch the open head fill with worms
how quickly these thoughts of war
become
Wall Street opening bells, the sun summonin’ rooster call,
car horns fraggin’ one another in the demon of morning commute.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
bound with pace-makers & steel lungs
how quickly these thoughts of war
become dust
as we do.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become forgotten
as we will.
How quickly these thoughts of war
become
the teardrop
single moon
single sun
Mother’s future tribes
begun.
Aurora, Ohio
May 14-15, 2003 303 Dwapara Yuga
7:30PM – 4:00AM
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