by normal

          “in the wind
            time walks”
                   — Nanao Sakaki

              1

i am building soft nets for death
by pounding poems into the void
feeling much i suppose like a carpenter
with the understanding that
his nails will outlast his bones.

              2

as an old man i’ll find myself
walking along the river considering
the same goddamned garbage &
dead carp drifting by as it did
when i was very young.
in spite of myself
there is comfort to be found
in the few remaining things
that are too stubborn to change.

              3

the chitter of morning birds
it is early, barely sunlight.
the earth for the moment
perfect. soon man
will awaken.

              4

this footnote to my personal history says
this morning
my pen passed over this white piece of paper
which at first looked like fresh fallen snow.
then came my inky footprints. they wandered
           off into the distance.

              5

i have yet to use a computer
i am a dying breed
i take limited solace
in this small &
insignificant victory.

by normal

         “in defeat there are no prophets and no magicians
          only the look in the loved and tortured eyes”
                    — Muriel Rukeyser — Seventh Elegy

the war raged
the monsters lick themselves
phosphorescence fill the air
the asphyxiated child runs toward the field
the field runs weeping to god

the war raged
your average day meets my average day
our average day meets the face of collective man

at night school children lie naked beneath
a psychopathic moon

in the morning, the sun is chewed by licking monsters
i see you there in my heart
i see you up there in the world
running in the streets, sleeping on your couch
what fish is in your beak today, kind sir
that would disdain all things green & shining?

the war raged
my better angels speak to your better angels
the rooster crows & the common man passes
to the left & to the right
& in our dream the children drink sweet milk
in the field inside our eyes,
among the turtles the fish & the lilies
where we have learned to accept our toys.

by normal

her pain devil ran so deep, her song
was just an exorcism in blues

maybe the boys back in port arthur were
as she said, that gawd–awful bad
maybe she caught the same virus off the
late 50s cold war yrs that i had

i never knew janis
i’d see her around often in those days
sometimes on the stoops of ashbury
sometimes wailing with the bands in
the panhandle

i once passed some wine around with
her & a few others on a corner of the haight
she laughed & swore a lot
i remember her saying “some day i’ll be
singin’ with ole bessie smith”
after the booze was done, she gave me
& a few others a quick peck on the cheeks
& was off

there was a lot of shouting on the street
that day
a lot of laughing

3 yrs later i was scrubbing crusted moussaka
pans at a greek restaurant in new haven
i heard janis had taken her song
to another room

maybe she is singing with ole bessie right now
maybe her exorcism is complete

by Gerald McCarthy

The first time I heard Mary Wells sing
The one who really loves you —

I was eighteen in a place called Tam Ky
where it rained for two months straight.

I learned how to dance there
in the rain, listening to soul music

trying to get my shoulders into it.
Soul brothers taught me — singing back up

doing the dap, the drop down, dancing
together. Now your voice brings back that fall

the songs I learned — too young to know
their lyrics would last, like loss & longing.

There’s that & the rain today in the wild roses
a summer rain this time & I wake up alone —