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Show Pelee Roy BY DANNY ROSEN THE ZEPH YR/OCTOBER-NOVEMBER That High Africa | remember speaking It was on that high Africa mountain of granite red with wind and moringa tree standing up tough to the sun that I, sitting in the middle, with my grandmother. looked down the bootless past. Getting My Religion It Is About e ee All this hard rock and still the sociable weavers build their communal nest : in the lone Acacia in the middle of the river that has seen no water Curious boy invited by neoprophet in the shadow of It happened when eve ee ee Tae othe ne Ewe walking tere A gathering of young jews standing in history (with the promise of a free meal.) for forty six years until this day oe ae Tso oecduedock an ae ee Listening below the prophet: The wonders of judaism. Your heritage. Your people. In that moment of looking down and from this middle ground I felt the gravel air and saw the distant flat black rock meet the tumultuous red at that fourth point on the horizon darkening into the wind of the blue star future. Then I thought Ol cathe: chen Your our to the prophet and to the two boys next to him: quietly There was a hen to each other, "I like judaism. I like jewish girls. | want to feel their Jewish breasts.” Out in the yard That opened to Well you’ve been there The clouds were low The grass still grew It was more than a whim When the wind said who eee oe Canefo ell Nomot that there It was another when Another wh: Another ive ie: se In the desert You started to cry lasked what But it was clear ir wasenetony. ae : el it ee Gauhcd Ihave no idea But You know what I mean It was not all bad when IJ read Neruda aloud to the listening crystal of now. desti fe Lou licioned destiny. The boy listene Rane Acmelgaheat 2006 Drink that glass of milk, All these looking down moments, these peaks and valleys and rocks against the yearning trees, these volcanoes waiting patiently, these legs that know the meaning of decrepitude, this solitude that understands the piling on of sand that, grain by grain, can bury any Gone Walking Tree Speak wordy Her long breasts hanging down somewhere around the middle of her nebulous body, covered with that ancient smock, standing in the entrance of her cave, motioning with a dripping spatula. Urging me to eat: a hamburg, grilled cheese, fried egg. Some fish? You know fish is brain food. Look, we have leftovers. | don't want no leftovers. I'll give you a nickel. You must eat, you're so skinny. Always urging me to learn. | remember speaking with my grandmother. Nothing Nothing is not nothing -- Michael Turner, astrophysicist Like being busy with nothing, | ho messages on the wall, nothing to sing, working hard at no thing. Getting good at that one thing mountain. of doing absolutely nothing. under the blanket’s warm side, sleeping ma footprint on the african wide. That Curve Dreaming every evening, after the every evening Cross stare. This roaring fear is excruciating but I must get back to the coffee bar in concourse K, ' It drove her to jump. It made you take a dare. Your heart went straight to the tip. And in the middle, Mister Lipsandygo and the Soundsland Man went walking tree all across plain-eyed Africa where, dreamer and dreamed find, as I head off beyond Chicago, beyond this day. From the vantage point inside this skyward machine - I remember waking from last night's restless dream. I pushed your biology books off the bed and, reaching out for your skin, I found that curve where your hips begin. As my eyes anytime can be a long time sleeping in the thorntree shade. rolled back in my head, I caught a glimpse that the first, the very first, slimy sea creature must have noticed as it crawled out Poems Deep Field : by a Danny Three thousand answers in a sand grain in the sky. Revelation in a speck of light. Look close and closer still. With hand lens held close to your eye, Rosen focus into where we are, what we are, who we are: Many colored humanity along with the honeybee, the venus flytrap, the manatee, and dogs gathering all the information they need with their eyes closed. Smell the Deep Field. Touch the stardust on your nose, Hear the hum of a planetary drum, Taste the universe. Look close and closer still at tiny speckles that are collections of speckles. Tune in the vibrations in the core of every star. Turn on to the energy that cycles around endlessly, nebula, star, nova, and repeat, in every speck of _ galaxy. Now a vague purple spiral looks back at me as I stare down infinity, down, down to the bottom of a dream. The dream the universe had before the beginning. Twenty Miles North of Baggs Twenty miles north of Baggs, Wyoming we pulled the truck off the highway by a wounded eagle hobbling in the borrow pit. The animal woman cornered it by the fence, threw the blanket, told me, "The talons, watch the talons.” Wrapping her arms around the blanket she worked underneath, and held the eagle by the legs. | helped her into the passenger seat when the blanket slipped: My eye three inches from eagle eye. Black pupil on gold iris with black specks. | lost balance looking into such definition, : The dream the universe had before ae eee the first question. i eae Such cold flatness flying over this warm round planet spying, crying, listening to a distant heartbeat, fearing not the breath of death that is everywhere. | fell away, away from that eye into the sky, the clouds, the gathering darkness, the distance back down. Shadowy movements darted in the sage. The wind picked up. | settled in with a growing hunger. The dream the universe awakened from when we started walking on this ground, rubbing sticks together, rounding out wheels and gears, grinding mirrors, learning to look close and closer still. Learning to see into the heart of this mystery that demands a new mythology. Learning to see ourselves within this grain of sand in the sky. ele . 7 of the water upon the stromatolitic new land and The the the was overwhelmed with many things. newness of it all, the heaviness of the green, sky, the odor, but most of all delicious possibilities of that curve, that need, that urge to move up the beach, into the green, and get together with others of our kind. The trilobites before and the giant ammonoids washed upon the shore. Crustaceans tell the story dead in the shale. The shark and the whale. From the curves of diplodocus to the Irish Elk’s ridiculous antlers to you and me at O’Hare on a snowy day, having a cafe grande in concourse K. Gazing out at the airport world: The conference of employees what were they discussing? The de-icing operations, the droning workers driving baggage carts. All the airplane monsters. When a sassy-dressed redhead with loose curves walked past with an older man in nifty black leather, I leaned over and said to you, This is biology. This is natural selection. All of this... pulsating hallway, rotating walkway, elevating flyway, whirlwind window reflecting round plastic tables with ayroioas cups half full of instinctual green memory. All of this comes from that curve, that need, that urge to move up the beach. DANNY ROSEN can be reached and copies of “That Curve” can be purchased at: westskydan@yahoo.com |