DisciplineAriel

afh2012:

PEACE
[for Amelia, Wilson, Christopher & All]
By Paul McLean

TIME
comes
when
you wish
you had been kind
to every soul
whose path
you crossed
& realize
you had not.

Like the cinders
floating
on the wind
toward the window
of this loft
from the concrete plant
yonder
to enter
whatever you do
through the gaps
in the panes
into the lungs
of this small child
your beautiful son
Lachlan
who knows
nothing
of ash
disease
or dying
& wrong
& not.

Was it TIME
propelled the orb
or the orb
self-propelled?

Look out ~

She’s moving.

In that one
moment
…
the fire
burning
~ passion aflame
in Ithaca
to conceive
a child
& after,
to feast
on the flesh
of animals
in the midst
of loud voices
lights too bright
not knowing
not in your head
that

He is coming.

Now
this world
is ending
this calendar
is over

You can feel it
in you through
& through

your sense of it
is precise

It is precious

that much
is clear

like a day
after snow has fallen
& the the storm
passed

before anyone
has risen

you pull on your boots
you walk the trail
to the mountains

no tracks but yours
in the powder

hardly a sound
at all

but the crunch
of your weight
packing the snow
underneath
your treading
the incline

into the tree line
the Pondy pines
& cover

& you wish
you were light
enough
that your passing
would not even
disturb one
snowflake

each one ~
you learned
along the way
somewhere, maybe
school or church
or the TV
~ is unique

at some point
you stop
look out ~
upon the scene
the spectacle
of Nature
arrayed
a panaroma
far below you
[though up
& down
& all around
barely
registers, here]
where you stand
breathing
not too hard

the wind(s)
on the face

it feels good

the intent movement
has made you
warm

you could
go further
but you
do not

you reach
with gloved hands
to the sky

…

you were young
then
though it
didn’t seem
like it

you were thinking
of other things
you thought & behaved
differently
or not at all
& maybe it’s better
to not ponder
too much
the profound
mystery
of living
& being
alone
altogether
with everything
in the world

∞

on the Hill
you & water
became
relatives

by the fire
your relatives
become
blood

with tobacco
you dreamed
& pray
for everything
that moves
everything
holy

peering at the heavens
all the stars
& whatnot
you see
more or less
depending
on the song
you are singing
friends
standing beside you
singing too
~ same song
forever

inside it forms
like a halo
on an angel
in a painting
within your ribcage
or between your cells
a spirit
a mind
a ghost
dances

…

in the paint
you found it
& to not
make it real
is killing you
driving you mad
under the circumstances
because of conditions
beyond your control ~

TIME is the only object

Sure, man
but that will not
[as a subject
for discourse,
an idea,
a negation,
ultimately]
create your art,
for you,
& it is not all
subjective,

in quinacridone
red gold on redwood
from dead & down
harvested
on Morris Graves’
land, lovely
property
near the bird
sanctuary

you draw chakras
representing kundalini
about which you know
nothing, for certain
& the wood splits
& there’s an earthquake
or thunder
& the rending
cracks open
each one
at 3AM in the morning
or thereabouts

to the pema kar
the white lotus
at the summit
on the pinnacle
of your skull
between you
& the clouds

an Opening

out of the muck
a flower
a funny monkey
& Highlander
through & through
past the otherworldly
monstrous
& loyal guards
with barely a scuffle

to See her
Green Tara
on her throne

& you exchange
formalities,
such as
they are
there

…she commands
you
to quit
fighting

the only thing
action
you cannot do

so did Joan
years later

no mas
(~ Roberto)
righteous anger
she smiled
satchidananda

& you
born of the dragon
long ago
~ it served you

…

until the chill
morning air
& your shivering
wake you

your cold blankets
your clenching fingers
your hollow throat
your swollen tongue

no possessions

aching all over
your body

no one
around

you hold It
close to you

you weep
for Vision

& it was
always
this way

& will be
forever
~ Old man

- December 14, 2:51 AM, Bushwick

Wilson Novitzki on synth.

Adam Caine on guitar

Michael Barron on overhead.

PJM photo

Michael Barron projection

8:33