 | Michael McClure. Poetry.1990th |
|
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from Simple Eyes (1994)
________________________________________
THE FOAM
IT IS BRAVE TO BE THE FOAM
and sing the foam
IT IS BRAVE TO BE THE FOAM,
not really!
Inside is no place but an infinitude
of places
-- positions
becoming everything
in there.
THIS
is
THE FOAM
LIFE-LIKE STARS,
they too are the foam.
The deer antler fallen on the grass within the yard
is foam
as is the dew that mottles it.
Thousand foot deep clouds of one-celled beings
with shells of silicon and waving pseudopods
in oceans in another time and place
are foam
as are the uplifted peaks of shale they leave behind.
The visions of William Blake in future caves of thought
that are meat and plastic-steel are foam,
--as are Whitehead''s luminous dreams
--all foam
Matter, antimatter, Forces, particles, clouds of mud,
the wind that blows in cypress trees, pools of oil
on desert floors.
THE BOY''S EYES NO LONGER SQUINT, LOOK DOWN
and there is nothing in his hand
nothing in his hand that''s everything
and he stares through squeezed caves
of blackness
at a man''s eyes
that shape a photograph of him
upon the fields of war and appetite
for iridescent foam of nacre-red and green and
MORTAR
THUD
on beaches on a wave-lapped shore
WHERE HIS MOTHER/FATHER SCREAM AND
SHOUT
and throw each other on the floor
and
HE
HAS
! ARISEN !
ebullient
from this exuberance
and wears his red Y upon his woolen chest
for it is his
--as is the future state
THIS IS NOT METAPHOR
but fact:
the green fur forest just beyond the sleek
and glossy plastic edge; shrews in their hunt
for crickets, hiding in moon shadows
underneath a rusting ford. Blue-black waves
beat on hulls of ferries. Light moves
from one place, or condition, to another!
HE''S THERE NOW AND EVERYWHERE
____________________________________
HE''S THERE NOW AND EVERYWHERE
as are the covers of detective magazines
with evil scientists who scalpel-out
the hearts of large-bosomed virgins
strapped to beds, then implant
the pump of chrome that sits upon
the operating table;
as is the broken toothpick lying
in the rain; as are the
HUGE
HUGE
HUGE
PASSION THAT HE FEELS
(shaking in his boy''s legs and cock
--And those are the stuff of stars
that are the flesh of passions that he spins
into this rush of neurons and of popping foam.
These make immortal perfect shapes of the moments
that hold copper-colored leaves or twigs within
their hands,
with each foot upon a war and each arm
and every thought in one.
AN ANIMAL IS A MIND!
--A MIND--AND DOES NOT KNOW WHERE IT STOPS!
--Knows little of bounds or limits or edges.
--Goes on into all times and directions and dimensions.
--KNOWING ONLY THROUGH LIMITS THAT CANNOT BE KNOWN!
--IS A BEING OF SHEER SPIRIT!
--IS A BEING OF SHEER SPIRIT!
--IS A BEING OF BOUNDLESS MEAT!
--IS EVERYTHING IN ONE DOT OF THE CONFLAGRATION!
IS EVERYTHING IN ONE BARE DOT
IS EVERYTHING IN ONE DOT OF THE CONFLAGRATION!!
This is war that he is, and melts in
AND
IT
IS
NOT
FOAM.
HE
IS
A
BE-
ING
AND IT IS NOT WAR,
HE IS A MAN
! !
HE IS AN ANIMAL BEING
A
MIND
HE IS AN ANIMAL BEING
A
MIND
through the windows of his eyes
fingers and his eyes