Monday 8/29

Rush from Mt Shasta

through the dark to the white E.R.:

her unseeing eye.

She has sunshine green

eyes, I said in the ER:

shouldn’t have said that.

Tuesday 8/30

It was like a grape,

the doctor said, squished:

We will scoop it out.

Waiting room TV:

time becomes Southern floods, then

We saved the eye.

Destroyed retina:

kaleidoscope, rainbows-

focused inside now.

Friday 9/14

Grinning blond haired boy,

the morning paper’s obit-

and we are lucky.

Saturday 9/22

This pain with Tanya,

(giving up the planned future),

comfort: we all die.

No karma for me

I don’t believe in it: shit

just happens: cones fall!

Her recorded voice

at two years: I want to seeee.

What it means now…

Southern refugees

heading to higher ground,

immersed, I look up.

I’ve no right to whine-

She breathes, cries, laughs: not dead yet,

a dent in the fern.

In the waiting room

of the acupuncturist-

she rests, water drips…

The value above-

this vaunted serenity:

can it save her eye?

You read, ipod: wait,

one blind eye: left side darkness.

Daughter: here’s the moon!

Elevator man

asks: Who did that to you?

You: I wouldn’t let them.

White jeep flips three times,

now she tries to remember:

better to forget?

Wednesday 9/26

White jeep drift, turn back,

correct, overcorrect, blur:

hummingbirds shudder.

Friday 9/30

Waiting, 400 Parnassus

My heart beats, crazy:

little birds chase after a hawk:

nest in the cypress.

I remain upbeat

for her: who is there for me?

Self absorbed asshole!

Sunday 10/2

I bought the jeep:

ce n’est pas mon défaut. Je?

Non! Mais oui. Yes, me.

Monday 10/3

My eye is dying,

she said, her body whole:

the earth breathes by rain.

Tanya’s eye blindness

in that half light gift:

don’t deny the night.

I can’t stop the jeep’s

twisting, rolling, howling crash

in my mind, today.

Dense crush of metal

cries crunching sounds of message:

forgotten language.

Tuesday  10/4

When does one accept

a sightless eye, or fight it?

We are born to die.

Tuesday 10/11

I, along the beach,

sand between toes, praise the sea,

water crushes down.

Sunday 10/23

Art, monkey chant love-

now you talk to horses:

your blind eye listens.

Tuesday 11/15

White jeep, black canvas,

driven by my memories

of Alturas crash.

Wednesday 11/23

Wet green grass, first rain,

drooping shouldered statue:

black iron flowers.

                                                               Zendo silence, then

                                                  bing a ling ding ding cell phone-

                                                                                  wake up call!

desperate, they blow up stuff-

I think ewe army.
                                  -babusa

                       Maybe I’m helpful

so they won’t feel what I feel-

                                   feel what I feel.

                                                                          – babusa

Will ancient tribal quarrels flame?

                           My I-pod won’t work!

 
                                                                                   -babusa

           Perhaps happiness

is not fretting about it:

                        fountain of palm fronds.

                                                                        – babusa

 rain                        rain                           rain

  rain                        rain                           rain 

   rain                        rain                           rain

    rain,                        rain                           rain.

                                  rain                            

                                   rain:         

      Not ready to enter into ”Snow Country” in the late 60′s, babusa, in shame, because of youth, did not finish the novel.  Going downtown on the N-Judah, babusa remembers the novel, decides to go to  Kinokuniya bookstore in Japan Town and buy it, again.  37 years before, on the N, reading the early section about about Shimamua looking out of a window on a train, seeing a woman’s reflection, her eye in the train window, babusa had looked up from the book and seen a young woman’s face in the N-Judah window.  Now, going to meet his wife and daughter, he remembers both images:

                              I forgot about

bus window face reflections:

                          Kawabata rain!

         Finished Kawabata’s “Snow Country”, New Year’s Day.  babusa had heard him talk in ’69, maybe ’70 in Japan Town.  The sound of the voice is distant, perhaps kind.  He spoke of Japanese literature, history.  ’72 he killed himself.  Why? 

      Storms, floods: babusa

sick– ACHOO– Warriors win,

                        beat Dallas! ah, yes

                 Between Christmas and

New Year’s, between storms: shopping…

                                    where is New Orleans?

                                               – babusa

           They make good tacos,
clean yr momma’s toilet bowl:
              if not them, you then!

                             -babusa