Existence Problem

We have an existence problem.
We are not here,
Then we are born.
We are here but
Other things aren't quite,
Like UFOs: celebrity can
Fetch the mail with
His shirt buttoned wrong
And pictures are everywhere;
UFO can shut down airports
And cameras record fuzz.
Then we die and
Don't exist except
As fuzz photographed
Over seances.
Seance is a congress
Of disembodied souls
Like Internet discussions.
You can fetch email
In a fuzzy shirt and
Never get photographed
At all, which means
You are an unidentified
Flying celebrity
Or do not exist.

Wasn't Me

Scylla is an old
Monster, six sailor-snatching
Heads and the yelp
Of unhappy hounds.

It lives in a cave by the sea.

Scylla has twelve feet
Clawed into rock
Inside of me and

Overlooks the course of thought.

Doesn't mind destinations,
Care where they're bound,
Ill or well, canoes or
Columbus in his caravel

And lives in a cave by the sea.

Scylla leaves them
Derelict on tides --cargoes
Go where cargo goes
When no one decides

What follows fear at sea.

Goofy dog heads.
Goofy me could save them
All --barge, brigantine, ketch.

Throw six sticks from Scylla, then yell

"Fetch!" But in this cave
I haven't the heart to
See my monster rip apart.

Musee Mecanique

Under oak veneer and
Bevelled glass,
She is sad sometimes.
Complex, an orchestrion
Rattled, buzzing inside:
Something in dark where
Whippens work; something
Stirring in dark over
Maple pinblock and bridge,
Ridges and racks of
Brass and ash --spruce
Shim slipped from
A soundboard crack,
Lost levers veiled in
Danger and promise.
What dark entails:
Searching after a
Spring fails. I press.
A little felted hammer
Strikes no reply.
Sometimes she is sad
And can't remember why.

Arrival By Time Machine

Morning
Rattle of curtain
Rings, things
Beginning, doors
open, things begin--
Noise subdued,
Discreet.
Feet, issued from
A door, drum
Muffled down
A hall, leaving
Sheets rumpled
Into morning,
The future,
That's all.

Ductile Time

Melting points
Make crystal relax.
At ninety-nine degrees
A human may be drawn
Like wire over years.
Tungsten takes six thousand.
Dreams steam off at that.
Where do they go?
What current causes
Them to glow?

Love Poem

Does it
Change so much?
Memory touches hair,
Cheek unlined,
Lined, luminous.
One's mind
Traces shoulders, knees,
Murmurs fatuities
To time from all time.
No such thing as
Younger, older,
Only now over all--
Arms open under reeling
Stars return
Embraces-- open,
close, open into
Time, faces --
Her eyes, his.
Is love eternal?
Likely, yes,
I suppose it is.

La Poule

Dancing to
Armegeddon grimly,
Young, unkind.
I did not want to
Leave the dance,
Grow a mind in
Patterned chance where
Borromean rings
Rattle free but
Did, didn't we?
Remember dimly,
See it still--
Co-pilots at
Quadrille, partners.
Shall we leave
This festooned hill,
Find a farm?
Let us go then,
Arm in arm.