from one to zen
the moment has arrived
the moment is over
— Zumwalt (1998)
Archive for the ‘1998’ Category
hope takes a back seat to Fate
hope takes a back seat to Fate
this bus,
the first and last bus
of the bus stop
where I stop
to catch the bus.
you know it will be allright
it needs to be, right?
being is an extension of
what is about to exist,
of course,
for the best.
a window —
well,
didn’t get one.
the back window?
sure,
except,
why watch what has gone by?
what will be —
ah,
that will be good —
better than now,
passing on the left anything
gone on before.
Fate…
ignores chipper hope
and the constant chattering
but does not look down
on innocent chance.
Fate!
muses not
on circumstances
nor takes
viewpoints or preferred destinations
into consideration.
for Fate
it’s just a steady job.
nothing to get so
serious about
and sooner or later,
all the annoying nattering
will stop
and hope will get off,
long gone before
the end of the line.
– zumwalt (1998)
The habit of indirection
The habit of indirection
crouched like an audio-animatronic lion
on the destination end of a high hurdle
we find civilius misdirectus
the final evolution of a long chain of
isolated inattentivenesses
it feeds on marathon runners, steeple chasers
and pole vaulters
to fill the intervals
between its favorite meal
off the blocks
directed between lines that narrow into the distance
starts the one
that has carefully measured every step beforehand
no decisions to make on direction, distance or depth
no choices to meet, no chance;
no sudden unexpected moments of chasing the effervescent sparkle
with the distant dream so clearly in the sights
it doesn’t seem like a menace
chips and high tech paper-mâché
waiting patiently at the last of so many carefully counted hurdles
and it doesn’t much move
but civilius midirectus
was designed with one purpose
not to entertain
or even to be the king
but simply
and efficiently
with no remorse
(except where indicated by legal counsel)
to open its volumnous jaws
and direct a glimmer of personal existence
into a very dark stomach of
impersonal
but carefully audited
profit and loss statements
— Zumwalt (04/1998)
she started to stop ironing
she started to stop ironing
creases and wrinkles
pouts and interpretations
a phone number from Port Said
left in a pocket
Oh, how the gin fizzes stir
and music concurs
as veils drip like honey
Ah,
how the cover
stays low
so the currency flows
like foot traffic at
the dusty bazaar
“I’ll show you Egypt” has been her most memorable reply
but I doubt her intentions and so plan another solo excursion
hoping that
once I return
that crumpled, rumpled look
will be comfortably cool at work
— Zumwalt (1998)
the wreck of goodwill
the wreck of goodwill
every dime counted
seemed to count itself
but the pennies were the trouble spot
and the cost of all goodwill.
— Zumwalt (1998)
The relay
The relay
I know I must, but how, I ask;
I must understand that of which to ponder.
Action waits for thought,
and thought seems far away;
action is distrusting.
Is it this or that;
how does this impact that,
how does that get impacted?
Action’s fate depends on thought;
if thought runs too far or not enough,
action is disqualified.
-zumwalt apr ’98
The Sassoon Collection: i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep
The Sassoon Collection
i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep
voices wailing around the house
thud of feet and slam of doors
everyone singing
only the clocks wind down
around this small room
no sense of the hour
crowded with lemonade breath
high-pitched voices like hounds in pain
as clouds hover over my eyes
fighting sleep with the fork from my dessert plate
not yet ready to go where the dreams are built
where you take reality with you so as not to be alone
dragging it by its rough cotton shirt collar
the sweet faces become sweet voices
despite the liberty with so many of the notes
the lights descend and take colors
whirling into a vortex that kicks out dimensions
like KTEL reissuing fragments from the past
falling asleep
the hounds now cooing like herons drugged by too many Hershey bars
the darkness becoming home (but without any furnishings)
everything fading into peace
except for one small lingering concern
for everything unfinished
— Zumwalt (1998)
the wreck of goodwill
the wreck of goodwill
every dime counted
seemed to count itself
but the pennies were the trouble spot
and the cost of all goodwill.
— zumwalt (1998)
zumpoems 