Market Report

i wonder what i would talk about
if i walked that same path.
your eyes found so much food.
would my eyes find more details of the cracks and stones,
the patterns of water and textures of stains,
the quality of echos against the shade?

your eyes in your head on your body
my eyes in my head on my body

we meet
in these gifts of such
sharing



by jerry gordon
4.12.2011

Exchanging Belongings

Yangjah and I played last night in front of the moon and Docomo building, thinking of Meri and all others with us in this world right now.

When we finished, a German man came out of the dark and told us his experience of being on the 30th floor of a Tokyo office building during the quake. His voice and eyes only hinted at the moments he witnessed. Speaking to strangers about experiences he can barely fathom he had. Telling of his need to smile and be reassuring to other people near his desk while at the same time he watched the ground rippling beyond his window and thought he would soon die in that building.

We meet and exchange belongings, leaving lighter and heavier in our movements.


3.20.11

A Race Between

Start your stop
watches, we are getting
going, we are counting
geiger numbers down and up
like it’s a race
between fear and hope.

Isn’t there an iPhone app for this?

Mirra’s in Tokyo
Meri’s in Tokyo
Lance’s in Tokyo
Sammy’s in Tokyo
Yangjah’s going
not
going
not
going
not
going
to Tokyo

Yesterday I called a friend
and asked my first
21st century question:
“Shall we cancel the picnic
because of the nuclear cloud?”

We didn’t.
We played on
on an almost empty
riverside.



jerry gordon
3.16.11
Osaka

Straight from Sky

I wish I could
lift the sadness
off the rain
so it could fall free
of river, stream and mountain peak,
so it could be ocean
straight from sky,
those two purest blues
facing each other
like depthless mirrors
shining in shining's shine.



by jerry gordon

mouth upside down needle blink wrap aggressive knit time move window

Within some blink
behind my eyes, I see
a woman knitting a window of time.
Her needles move the circles
of these moments inside of
each other, but the dimensions
of her work remain vague.

Will this warmth wrap us
for now or ever,
for a season or decade?
These questions only inspire a race
between fear and hope.
The fact is she is
continuing her work.

Her window's size makes no difference.
If we come close
we can see wide and far.

Some will aggressively say,
"This time looks upside down;"
I say, "When I kiss your mouth,
I close my eyes."


by jerry gordon
1.14.11

Yodogawa Poem

Smoke rises
from a mouth
as voices without meaning,
returning the needles of names
back to Time.


by jerry gordon
1.4.11

Behind Beyond

Behind your eyes is all
I must imagine,
but I feel no hope
to do so, to set my ideas
within you or build some city
of my figuring. I'd rather just look
at the windows
without assuming some landscape
or weather
or crime scene
beyond.


by jerry gordon
11.16.10

Each One

The wind blows
cold today, but
the sun reaches down
from beyond our heavens
and touches my eye
with its shine,
touches my face
with its warmth.

Like a carpet of gold,
10,000 pages of poetry
spread out at my feet,
each one describing
its own fall
to earth.



by jerry gordon
11.9.10