Particle Dregs

Your old hermitage of irregular-placed stone
stands crooked against the tallest pine.
--Chia Tao ending couplet


At the bottom of my cup,
the coffee dregs
that slipped through the filter.
I drink them down,
imagining the bowl you built
from dust swept off the workshop floor.

Each particle a blasted star.

Do Ethiopian grounds
make strong bones
or hard arteries?

The bitternesses of last year
still claw at my tongue;
my New Year's resolution
is to say "fuck" less.

My hermitage of irregular-piled stones
doesn't lean against the tallest pine.
It rides the train.



by jerry gordon
1.11.07

The Door Locks Open Behind Me

It’s just like that picture of Virgil
I drew in the dust on the mirror:
I find myself in a coffee shop.
And just as I’m about to tire of waiting,
the funeral starts next door
and I hear your voice whispering
across the heart of perfect wisdom.
The pluralled syllables punctuated
by touches to the chime.

You seep through the mud and straw between
and 10,000 tiny petals appear, decorating
this wall of thatch and scratches.

A garden of fragments of
the fragrant flower.

And, so, I know
all that’s needed is at hand,
here. Now,
with only two sips left in my cup,
I check that no one’s not safe
beyond the gate of calm
and repromise to never leave
a single being behind.

Thus,
the door locks open behind me
and new friends wave goodbye
without making the slightest
effort.



by jerry gordon
12.21.06 cafe amanto