6 x 36 Nocturnes, series two, #1-18

[Cenacle]

On plane from Boston to Phoenix, August 2000

i.

Morning. Resurrection.
The least thought matters.
Morning. Desire.
Slim lashes of flame. Possibilities.


ii.

Night trips into today, unfractured
by the light, night unsanctioned in
this wild free run, night frail &
fabulous, there is something must be
done, a choice, a truth, a magick in
the night’s new rampage, a gleam. A way.


iii.

The collecting & scattering continue apace.
No assignment to instruct or contain the soul
Fecundity is the depthless meister
Fecundity growls & glows with wisdom


iv.

Origins. You wish to learn the first notes
of fowl & tree. Must existence mean
something to be beautiful? Must words
bead around its heart? What if meaning
glints from texts of water?


v.

She pulses. All that is, pulses.
Yet she pulses singular—why?—
Much unknown. Much troubling.
One feeds upon sunshine & girl.


vi.

Something from the past
careens on yet shimmer-bright
& desert-deep—a chiding energy,
a whipping-hunger—the hard fluid
of awareness & regret—child-high
with hope—sometimes greedy—
damning—nihilistic—jittering fool—
a cave, very deep, called Creation—
unsentimental seed—bullets for
the She-moment of first light—
thickening at the breach into new day—


***


Black Rock City, Nevada, Aug-Sep 2000

vii.

The desert receives her freaks in a ragged
metallic procession, with quiet cries of
greeting, with a merry trickster wind
with a language of dust old freaks
know—& new ones seek to learn—


viii.

The Voice said: Go home.
I said: I am.
The Voice said: You’re burning up.
I said: Tis my plan.

The Voice said: this Festival means you ill.
I said: what rages in the cities is real sickness.

Kill the radio
Joy is flaring here, now.


ix.

Not a sequence so much as a tribe
of weeds, weed-songs, live, inevitable,
wisdom pulsing from starlight

music permeates, music eludes

trusting not because the cosmos
is safe but because it
is home

music dotted with clues but perhaps
the answer must be pursued
to another dimension, through
death, past the loss of all that
is familiar, all that can be possessed

Not a sequence more a fire of vibrations
a dozen fires tonight, a hundred anon,
a thousand thereafter—

The tribe is gathering, some giving away
starlight again, some bouncing with
glee, many with plans, fecund with belief—


x.

Fuck it—just write—the music
manifests as mountains, the deep
love twists to be close but free—

a long time ago watching the
earth revolve around its clouds
this morning watching faces
crowd gently & funeral around
a salamander tonight perhaps
what colors survive in stars &
desert will explain why the heart

shivers hard with ecstasy, with emptiness


xi. To Zephyr

mountains beyond mountains forever
flow, just flow
flow, just flow
each day flakes away from rose to onyx
flow just flow
the meal we share, the tower we build
the exquisite loneliness that descends
with stars upon us when a new shiver
heralds darkest night—

flow, just flow
flow, just flow

release past like chimes dimmed with still
shun future for its paucity of rewards to desire

flow, just flow
flow, just flow
flow, just flow

begin in the mystery of what you are
doing now, continue by thanking mystery
for its ever-new child spirit, conclude
by marking all which seems impossible
for discontinued study—

flow, just flow
flow, just flow

flow, flow, flow

mountains beyond mountains
your message, your muse—


xii.

rhythm color writhing symbiosis
flaring silhouettes scirocco tawny
slither plan cirrus globe lounge—

words nearly denoting nothing
crush them quickly into dust.


xiii.

Moving toward immolation, dream leads
mind leads body. What matters most
is fear-mingled hope. What matters most
is fear-mingled hope.

You‚ll corrode in the sun. You‚ll break down.
Release. Don’t try. Release.

Give away what you cannot merely
hold in your hands.
Spread your dust. Better fame.

Moving toward immolation, soon beyond
fear & hope. Soon beyond corrosion & gift.
Soon beyond the need to believe.


xiv.

While the city rages I do not
not tonight not yet

I have no music to share tonight
not tonight—not yet


xv.

I don’t dream too often of cunt anymore
per se
while awake anyway
I dream rather of smiles, of curves
of laughter
of some vague form of cosmic justice
I dream of a place where cunts are
not covered, nor cocks, nor
fancies, nor the stranger moods of
gentle freaks

I dream of being neither awake nor
dreaming, not knowing which I am,
oh, in a way like LSD-25, in a
way like eating pussy, in a way
like perfect full moon nights but

better. Better

NYCity naked. United Nations naked.
President Next naked. Hospitals
naked. Judges with old-time wigs
but naked—

Maybe I’m dreaming of some other kind of cunt—
deeper—don’t laugh—vaster—truer
happier—when whistled at able to whistle
smartly back—

& some other kind of cock for that matter—
no less hungry—but more musical—don’t
laugh—sentient, nearly—

in secret places, I hear, cunts & cocks
intermingle without the usual buffers &
forbiddens—3 cocks dance along a trembling
skin—cunt & breast & lips & touch &
laughter—trees all around—the air
full of dreaming˜

a new dream. a bigger dream. No longer
a dream—per se—

I want to think of cock like 11th finger—
I want to think of cunt like Lawrence
did—joy! joy! joy! joy! fucking joy!

yes to cock!
yes to cunt!
yes to everything—every last thing

Leave your body & lick the stars!
Leave your body & seduce the moon!

I don’t dream of cunt too often anymore
per se
I dream of the liberation that is
twining my days & nights

I dream of smiles

I dream me more & more

I am dreaming you right now.

You are the most beautiful creature in
the universe—


xvi. To Karie

Dream. Sometimes a yes-voyage, sometimes
a no-voyage. Dream. Til rhythms wavy
& slow. Dream. Or just dance & let the
desert dream for you. Dream. Voices
undulate like water. Dream.
This universe a mist, a light, a shimmer.


xvii. For Ari

Remember you are beautiful
perfect overcast starry skies
ecstatic blue moods rising

all is good: remember
it’s all good: you are beautiful

Return to your beauty always
in the blue-black midnight of doubt
vampires hungering for your stumble
Your beauty is a new rise
a new language, swift & snaky

be well: allow yourself to be well
at ease you shine: remember

The desert fest is about to flow
& madness sweetness & loss
Comfort & fire. Symbology of dust.
Mystery of dust.

Shine: you are ready. Release
what is overcast. Choose to be clear.


xviii.

Dreams of dust deep in this cement city
nights duststorm-long, authentic,
the sense of real nowhere in a whiteout,

& still feeling the magic kindness of that
desert city, continuous festival, still

feeling what’s possible strolling nakedly by,

what’s so obvious—no rich man’s fancy—

money small & funny in that city where
miracles stroll nakedly by—

***

[Cenacle]

this afternoon posted 6 x 36 Nocturnes, series two, #1-18, this part of the Nocturnes was written while traveling to and attenting Burning Man 2000, an arts festival held in the Black Rock Desert in Nevada (US) ever Labor Day weekend (late Aug-early Sep). This was my second time attending, and I went not only to be with crazy lovely people in the crazy lovely desert but to gift out books from my No Borders Free Bookstore. As part of this project, I would write poems for people I met there, ones who asked. I'd ask each for a dream recalled, a favorite word, and a wish, and put down a poem for them on the spot. It was fun. I've now been to Burning Man many more times, but looking back at these poems is sweetly warming....

What is Burning Man?
http://www.burningman.com
Want to see my No Borders Bookstore project?
http://www.geocities.com/scriptorpress/ ... store.html

[Arcadia]

beautiful poems!!, I´ll check your sites!

[Arcadia]

www.burningman.com

crazy!!!

[mnaz]

the burning man burns...

some of his words may come due eventually, but the black rock playa will have none of that. almighty god takes a break and notes the unfinished margins and spaces of new, quieter days. i saw it in a quiet dream last night.

[Cenacle]

I've found some hours at Burning Man there were words, some there was not, I sought to flow, if flow can be sought, but my experiences in life tend to pass through words, my way of music, and Black Rock City is another place where this happens...

[mnaz]

Cenacle.... your vision is clear.

i've never been to the burning man directly, though i was chased politely from the outskirts of black rock city last time i camped on the black rock playa and tried to cross it next morning... early september of 2005, i think it was, purely by coincidence. however, i love every dust-choked possibility of the burning man. seems only right.

[Cenacle]

mnaz...what a funny story...that means you and i nearly crossed paths as i was probably asleep somewhere in Black Rock City that morning...now we cross paths again in cyberspace...

[Cenacle]

Continued here:
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