Today
crappola ticky pot.
Today
pray question where am I
shorted out electrode
trod on lightly
lightening cut in half
tone-deaf
no
toad happy
yea!
throw it all in a pot
& stir it up
I am-m-m a meditate
a medical no
a Mediterranean
meditate tones
over my head
all of comedy falls to the floor
today I mediate
between the warring factions
I am the warring factions
but instead of warring
I do my media trope
where am I when the sunlight comes
where am I
not in bed
the answer to both questions
is the same
I am that self-same thing
I am trying not to get into the lotus position
forever
prana
I’m full of it
it charges through me
like thunder cut in two
since my warring self
jumped on my opposing self
& devoured it
half of me is all I have
the half of a clap of thunder
claps the half of a bolt of lightening
and becomes it
blends into half its former self.
I’m drawn in.
Sitting on a futon
Western fashion.
I am out.
Never part of anything
totally
pravana
is another way to say
om
oh my
oh why
oh me
oh my
pranava Donna
don’t
intone
don’t
do anything
the donut with the hole
taken out
it was never the donut to start with
it was the filled hole filled,
the empty left over
I was the center of nothing
I’m a stupid American
who never fit in
I don’t even like donuts.
I like holes better.
Holes
I don’t have to eat
they eat me.
What’s left of me.
I can’t be Eastern
because I’m Western
and the two they say
never meet,
and besides
I’m half.
I want what’s over there
on the other side of the not-fenced-in
place.
But I am always here
adhering to it:
this “here” place.
A medical nation
Mediterranean
meditating
on not being
Mediterranean
in a terrain
unfamiliar
as unfamiliar
as here is
I bring my
by pouncing on what I
haven’t got
I haven’t got a face
prana
pranava.
The teeny half-ass force
I administer.
I’m bigger than shit
the half of me left
insists.
I’m outside something that’s disgusting
plus being what’s disgusting.
I transcend it.
So I’m centered on being diffused.
And there’s only
half of me all scattered out
left.
Which is enough
since it’s all I need
and all I ever was.
I was never
my whole imagined self
anyway.
I am the young thing
ha ha ha ha.
I am the force within
unleashed
ha ha ha ha.
The world does not revolve around
me
ha ha ha ha,
I am revolving around with the world.
The world, earth
revolves me
the world, earth
involves me
takes me with it
in a fit of continuance
thrusts me, unknowing
most of the time
along.
They say,
those who read their books to me,
those voices that read along in my head
when I read
all my life.
Half of my life passes before me
as if a dream.
Steaming
hot cakes.
Ha ha ha ha.
Tonight
a media trade off
silence enters in
what supposedly doesn’t exist
gives quiet space
to the entire history
of football.
Football conquers:
I lost.
I should have gone with the main force
but I was too thin.
They hit me and I fell down
the last to arrive
running around the football field.
Or was I.
Come to think of it
I was never the last.
I was always at least
half there.
I’m half the world
this undying egotist in me
my imagination
stares
back at me.
that’s
my real half self.
Here I am having gone west
in my family
until I’m here.
Done.
Half baked.
Turning outward
I was going to say
inward.
Tonight
I don’t fight it
I massage my cramped lower legs
and go back to bed
learning to lift up
from where I am
without levitating
which is disgusting anyway.
I left up in the half of me
which is all of me
in my imagination
anyway
and go to bed
ha ha ha ha
go back to bed
ha.
Hi prana
force that’s
chock full of it.
Pranava
om
oh my.
Ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha
tonight
becomes tomorrow
ha ha ha ha.
Centered
at heart half of it
thunder claps lightning
bolts thunder
comes each one
towards each other
thunder
lightning
we could use some rain –
without touching.
They just
bypass one another.
The two halves of my imagination say
which is half of me
which is all of me
left.
The quality of the feeling lasts
or the better half wins.
The lightning just passes over
the thunder
this is my rain dance I can’t
not being Indian
do.
I can’t do anything
I’m just a stupid half-assed
anglo
angled toward voice.
That’s not true
my self-esteem
steams over
and says I conquer
self-control
I am
self-control
I fuse into one
like a candle burning
like nothing you’ve ever seen
like a snow dance.
I can dream can’t I?
Cant.
It.
Chant by
enhancing
it.
Snow
blow
cold
meaning
into
close
winter
evening .
Moisture
hangs down
ready to drop.
Drip drop
the completed cliché says.
Snow drips into water
having first been rain.
Or was it mist.
I was mist.
Now look at me.
I’m human.
Half-human.
Watch out.
I might do it.
Don’t do it
my conscience says.
What is my conscience?
It’s my no-no self.
Outside my imagined self.
But my guardian angel
will protect me
ha ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
Throws me out of harm’s way
for another day.
Yes I do believe in you.
You who-who.
You who-who you.
You who, half who-who
are me.
My true half me
I am happy more or less
to be.
Or not to
bungle it up.
Bundle up
it’s winter.
And go to bed.
Get you out of my head.
There is nothing in my head.
Some one Eastern tells me
to be.
I can never be without the real
self I am.
So there.
Tonight
I am lucky
to be a part
of myself.
I am now
thoroughly happy
I am a part
of myself.
Finally
I do belong
to something.
Finally
I am that something
that something
that is such an
important part
of myself.
They don’t ever
want me to talk about
anything that has to do
with me.
So I won’t
I’ll show you.
I’m all out of myself.
I threw myself up
in the air
and was last seen
nowhere.
I am not there.
I am not there
are you happy?
Ha ha.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Let it
rain snow.
Precipitate.
Meditate.
I will learn to do it
tho it means
stretching half-way round the world.
Drip drop
I’m gone
into my want.
I want cold.
I want winter
I want snowpack on the mountain.
I want people to go away.
They won’t.
But it might
storm
and sing.
I sing the blues
for the truth.
Is truth still beauty
beauty aloof?
Is truth forever
aloof?
Or does it light down
a bird
those cranes I saw
flying in formation
so close over me
in the bosque cottonwood grove
of the river of my life,
dividing me
two & two.
No,
in two.
In two
I am
part of one.
In tuned.
Attained.
A peaceful
rain.
The birds I remember
migrating late in a warm winter
keep on going
as truthful as truth is.
Gone away
to come again.
May pleasure be peace
and beauty in the truth that we
come back again
to where I am no me.
Just what I know
stares me in the face.
The face I don’t see
unless reflected.
All I see now is
uncorrected.
I see what I do
and will be me
till I’m through.
I will be me
until I’m through.
larry goodell / placitas, new mexico /16dec
from Beyond TV, poems 1995
photograph by lenore goodell
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