Walnut Street Creek

Existence is beyond the power of words to define:
Terms may be used but are none of them absolute.

-Laotzu

.

The word is

a pivot

willow branch off shoot

in that to turn within upon

tap root  dew drop  the shucked snake skin of summer

heavy leafs weep for the burned yellow

sunrise is

the black last of sunset

.

ninth month term

begins the fusion

of tongue breast milk flows displaces

core-to-core

motion-to-motion

cone/concave

flows

core

to

core

to

infinite

.

.

          Dear Heart,

and cowboys.

You belong together another era past and parted.

How i end on the same name, but then i contain within.

Long ago when rumbling herds of cattle roamed again

down Walnut Street past the glistening green of

the elm trees and the sensual creek

where one night i pointed my finger

skyward between silken thighs and cotton panties

and great god

the sky fell.

(oOOOo  WARM entangled arms mud creek

oOOOo   SOFT and wet is dew

oOOOo   FLOWING slowly like the green creek)

jesus

the Colorado rim fire

Hanging on the rim of the canyon is the sun

coming up

is the sun

coming coming coming comincomincomin

and i came back when i was 25

but the creek had gone dry

and the elm trees would not glisten.

.

(fragment)

Machine guns rattle in our throats.

I do not speak.

We skirt the hill looking for the assigned sector.

We fix bayonets.

We run.

Sound off.

We blast our blanks at the paper silhouettes.

We are exhausted.  and foam flecks the ponies

the sun reaches even into the stomach and hangs

there we struggle to the top of the ridge through

the loose shale and heavy sand the ponies quiver

we call up the Indian scout he lays his rifle

on a flat ledge of grey black slate

ahead of the distant smooth running figure is

a shadow shaped like a cheek resting on rubbed

walnut sharp in the sun as the crack in the still air.

.

           Dappled pony

                                        stamps

the shade.

.

Hoof beats the plains

     beside a wikiup

near the green waters the sky has poured

near the willow tree the wind

near the peyote-eaters ritual

rustles the thick hair frames her face

in waves the grass leaps at her feet

and she prays:  i  hand  bone  flesh  soul  foot  limb  am.

and the wind tucks/sounds murmur.

High as Nepal the high plains recoil

and it rains.

The peyote-eaters climb the steppes to the wikiup.

And in the grass leaps at her feet.

Out of the womb of matter

together Father Mother i

hand  bone  flesh  soul  foot  limb  am.

.

(fragment)

Pebbles pocked with smooth hollows

rotate in long arcs

about my tongue and sounds

while i ran a rolling gait

smooth as a cactus thorn

towards Mexico.

2 hundred miles of dry desert air—

bouncing from rose cliffs

sucking two small stones

rotating in long arcs about my tongue and sounds

each about each

in a pocket in my head

drawing tides from within

while i ran south towards

without water food

1 hundred miles at a crack

the universe.

.

         Dream death

                   slanted steps

to the green axis of time.

I FIND I WAS FOLDED IN THIS

LAKE LONG AGO

BEFORE MAN

THE DREAMED SEED SPRANG

AND THE LAKE EBBED

shadows in the sky

there are rumors and these i can no longer escape

god:man

all is said.

Fox hole in the evening heat.  Folded in

trenching tool, it is tin clanks stone.

And these are not wars but training for.  He said.

Buddha shoulda been Baptist and stayed.

Copyright © David Dwinell 2003