by Jerome Rothenberg

from A Book of Circles
for Arie Galles

TO DREAM INFINITY

1/
To dream
infinity
& know the time
draws nigh
never more near
than now

2/
the far look
of an ancient
god
his hands
ready to bring us
down

3/
there is
no end to it
the universe
escapes us
& another universe
takes shape

4/
open & shut
absent
a god
whose malice
holds us
too close

5/
still to be
free & clear
the deeper
image
out of our beck
& call

6/
seeing the others
fallen
entering the pitch
& blackness
figments of an endless
mindless world

7/
the beauty
of the neverending
freezes us
more spectral
than a dream

8/
how many circles
make up a universe
if only the eye
allows it?
nothing that the mind
can know or tell

one
two
three
four
five
wild circles

by Jerome Rothenberg

Coda to A Book of Dreams for Robert Kelly

O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself
a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

No world more clear
than what we see
in dreams
nor more amazing,
numbers bursting into
stars & stars
enriching what we learn
when dreaming.

It is no more than this,
to sleep & be
master of the universe,
not to be bound to earth
but gathering a trillion
other worlds,
to count myself
a little king
stepping aside for time.

Nothing is measured
that the mind can fathom
waking. In the way
her body beckons
when you turn to touch her
coming from a black hole
deep in space
& time. We learn to count
the deeper images
& those still deeper,
gods & angels
dancing on a pin. *  * a chip

Before the dream
turns bad
in which a pin* holds * a chip
all we know
& all we fear
I stretch out flat
to the Horizon.
I arch above you
like a lid.
I vanish & return.
My name is Death.

The word extermination
resonates nothing
escapes. The world
itself ends in a time
beyond all time
where time ends
leaving a residue behind
of mindless space
& still more mindless
images the nightmares
that the mind conceals. * * reveals

To run from time
isn’t a choice,
the stars we see
are overwhelming
& block the view
or bring up images
of light & dark,
a flickering
across the map
of time,
the flow of sand
in dreams.

24.ix.17

by George Looney

Goldfinches dabble near–comic yellows
around the eaves of what I think of
as my house. Despite everything, there’s beauty
in this world, my friend said. Nobody
can erase something as insistent as this
color collaborating with the sky as though
it were a music always surrounding
whatever pain might be trying to claim
it’s everything. The goldfinches deny
any world defined by nothing but loss.

by Gino Sky

The gluten–free cookies are made,
the LED lights are up,
the tree is still in the forest,

the rum is hot–buttered —
made the old fashioned way.

Jesus and his Mom have R.S.V.P.’d.

Coyote and the Roadrunner send their regrets,
as they’ll be entertaining the troops.

Moses has invited the Dali Lama to spend
Hanukkah with him in the Holy Land,
hoping something will rub off.

Buddha will bring escargot.

The Great Mother says she’ll play Santa Claus,
since she’s been performing that role from the
beginning.

The Big Bang hasn’t responded, but there’s still
time.