Let long vowels be untouchable strings
of the Aeolian harp inside your throat.
Smooth the poem-stone with plain lingo
for the reader. Write into the meat,
your experience-meat—cut-it-up for them
to read. Make it easy, never hazy. Write
unique messages that outline what-to-do
if God just shows up one day
out of the blue. Spritz pomegranate perfume
like a little heart-throb
open in the palm of a prophet. Round
out what you say with a concept
to help a groggy man who has foggy-nothing
for a memory. Help Ralph talk to his wife
like his tongue is the first cinema opened in Alaska
& everybody’s jaw drops for the camera.
Try to make movies with your words, try to carve
Mary Magdalene from scrap wood, try to run
around the neighborhood & find sublime connections
in the picked-apart bird spine. Navigate the gorgeous
circle-of-all-experience. Listen to the beat—write rhythmic
chasms from the phantom in your plasma.
Pretend the world’s gone hazmat & you have to save
every idea-seed because one day it might grow
a watermelon—nobody remembers how to cut juicy
cubes, except you. Be sage with your voice. Give
as much as you can to the Hovering Guardians who keep
watch above us like the gargoyles coughing
rain off the side of Notre Dame. Save what you can
from the inevitable fires—they only want
to burn the Crown of Thorns. Keep honeypots
inside the pantry—leave your love-door ajar.