New Now

I walk through this
world of intricate failures,
of 10,000 pages of poetry falling
from these invisible trees.
Climbing up into their boughs,
I want to work
handfuls of mud into my hair
and decorate it with these
fiery stems, my head
a halo of autumn dying of
this most beautiful time.



by jerry gordon
10.26.10

. . .

let the seeds fall
let the birds consume
let the forests fly



by jerry gordon
10.26.10

Ride in Night

Riding south to Namba,
the streets are filled with autumn night, thus
why isn't it impossible
to feel the sun's warmth against my back?

My fingers hold
the memories of knitting,
whittling and fingers. My mouth
of onigiri, anise and a flicker of tongue.

How lucky can I fucking get?

I offer this all up
to the altar of intricate failures,
as well.



by jerry gordon
10.20.10

Nili's Poetic Street Corner

From the overwoven
abstractions of sky,
birds descend to my page,
landing and pecking the paper
like nuggets of meaning.
Waddling, strutting and fanning
their feathers, they arrange
and rearrange themselves
in readings.


by jerry gordon
10.4.10

Dialogic

The Beauty of incongruity

Let's breathe in
Deep the narrative
Ruining our lives

Breathe in again
You look at me
I look at you

The ruin we see
Is the art
And the lie

Why do you stress so
When I contradict you?

by mjsalovaara



I contradict
lest I contradict
my nature; "the ruin
we see is
the art and the lie."

With so little time
to breathe in so little of
Time, I hold my breath,
letting more
of the moment's diligent chemicals
to seep into my blood.

It ruins me
in this delightful chaos
I recognize in the mirror;
the 10,000 mes I have memorized
climb the scaffolding of this beast,
tearing the terror from my eyes
as tears.

by jerry gordon



I too tear and tear,
scaffold or desire
we climb nonetheless

alternate universes
in relief or contrast
beloved, beholden
and with the stars
just so ...

despised and taut
this beauty of incongruity,
a hall of mirrors
or 10,000 waves
crashing, lapping, eroding
my King Lear reach

that plank you walk
is but a splinter
when you breath
too deep

by mjsalovaara



Within an echo,
the devil told me the way
to stand atop the tip
of a needle made of wood:

"Be afraid to fall."

Being a bad student,
I forgot the key points
of the lesson and found
my own way:
collecting particles of
smoke, ash and splinters
I build a bridge from ruin,
going nowhere.


by jerry gordon