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The Blog Bog
The Mag Rack
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ALONE AT THE VINEYARD
Clouds over hills that roll
from my window
into the sea
gold finches testing
the empty feeder disappear
become sun-lit pieces
of memory
like Chilmark chocolate
ripening on my tongue
even in the grayest
of times
I think of you
my love
and lobster traps
bound by ropes still sound enough
to pull their weight
from the bottom
imagine the heave
of your breasts against my chest
as weather settling over us
which in the very stillness
of its season
rises from
unfathomed
depths
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SINGLE SUBJECT DESIGN
The cardinal back
in the crabapple tree both
blossoms into song
his red body
on branches full of red berries
form a single moment
that defies
the probability
of such a match
in nature randomly
assigned
suggests
categories
of correlations
that cannot be measured
or replicated
at regular intervals
under similar conditions
the cardinal's song
is not the same as the berry
his red a different red
but they seem to indicate
some harmony
within a construct
that cannot be
determined from
the variables as presented
how does one control
for the angle of sun
wind direction and
intensity
cloud density
and previous rainfall
none of which
account for
this threshold
created by a bird singing
on a branch
that opens
into the whispered
promise
of absolute
order
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GAY HEAD BLUES
Hide-'n-seek sun
on my way to Gay Head
a restless sea beyond
the dunes
listening
to Tony Frusella
playing "Tangerine,"
another junkie hornman
lost to the 70's
his lines follow me up the cliff
to point overlook
a winking lighthouse
on one side
ocean on the other
a patchwork of blues bounded
by an indifferent
horizon
that has nothing to do
with limits but
an edge
(more frightening
than true
proof
against the smugness
of numerical
design)
I fall
into
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BUDDHIST ESCHATOLOGY
Driving north on Palisades Parkway
glad to be alive in July
after a month of heavy rains
the greens are tropical
my garden
in Glens Falls
lush with yellow squash
three weeks ahead
of last year
after talking
with Bernie
about the anger
he harbors
at his fear
of dying
alone
in which he locates
the whole
of Buddhist
eschatology:
the terror
our species imposes
on the world
will bring
about the next
dark age
but realize one
may as easily die
into love
the heart at last
unbound
and fall
through years of grace
with my wife and daughter
into the heartache
of my childhood
dissolve happily
into the closing lotus
of my mother's
womb
a garden growing
backward
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