Herbie Mann Comin' Home

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

So Here You Are

The skin has holes in it

it breathes like cotton

protects against all things

except the universe

has a word to say about that.

The universe has a fabric

it sweats outward

you can't hear it groan

for all the flowers

the summer has around you.


Sunday, July 1, 2012


The woman on the moon is being forced to the earth

she's brought with her, cheese curds in her breasts

her milky breasts dripping tears of her temper --

Gentle Ophelia, she of crazy hormones.

Why not end a world with a cosmic bang

why not go down with a stymied prince

a secret assassination first, R and G, the stab

through the arras, you, he, and a whole world, boom.


The Leader H

Some have vision, architectural features caught

by the student lens

of an eye.  Walking the streets of a major place

like Chicago or Vienna.

A quick sketch of 'urban outdoors'

taking in a grassy knoll

a spot where grand things happen

and the spirit of history.

Like you or me, not needing the cachet

of a bohemian

of a prole let loose with grudges

letting the flick

letting the point of a pencil

mark the edges

of hard stone onto portfolio pad

just change a world

seen bitterly wrong because it angers you

subvocalizing first

building it all in short, sharp phrases

a voice of vinegar and piss.


I, Jew

And thinking about all adult men,

some of them quite old, refraining from touching the text,

only using a godly pointer whose term I forget if I ever knew,

I'm sure they must have known, somewhere in Talmud,

the way to bless the sprinkler and the time of day to turn the water on.

And whether to call the play gear 'monkey bars'

since the relationship between primates and 

cylindrically-shaped objects get governed in certain ways.

To them, my ways must seem like Hunter Thompson's,

a man adrift in mistake.  And whether to turn on a fan

in a particular weather.  It's all so crazy and sacred.

And they write about me, in the interstices and prayers.