Portland Branch Newsletter Archives

You radiance in wind, concentrically weaving in and out of window frames in concrete and steel skeleton structures, whirl

toward my ruined orbit.

Help me to sprout coral branches of light

antennae of the Eternal, through the prison

of my skull. Lead my

resurrected INsight toward that mercurial

Sun-abyss where Archangels are holding council;

let me know those plans they’re

concocting for us down here. Let the eyes in your

photograph pasted to my wall, transmute to mine,

balance between Here and There.

Sweep, golden-angel-winged, into my monotonous

opacity, and spark that luminous

region near my heart

which, you say, moves to understand the stars,

that I may perceive Man’s spidery ties

to constellations:

And let my footsteps glide in tranquil three-time pace, during the earthly sun-period of my brain;

for they are restless

as a broken radiator; and I am angry,

and gossip about my friends, and write popular songs.

Let the squealing tones

of my voice deepen, and my tongue learn the folly

of useless chatter. Make me wise to choose

to shun the Trap of Fame

whose prize is a great hunk of putrefacted cheese:

For I sniff at the plastic lures of the senses

and forget it is enough

for God to mouthe my name. Let Promethean fire

fill me, though chained to a rock; symmetry not entice,

nor the rectangles of Albers*.

Beholding, let me face the blind of back alleys:

And guide the words I write to join your beacon to the Gods!

(*a reference to the work of German-American artist-educator Josef Albers.)