The Magician’s Scarf on the Summer Solstice

The ebon night flows
sable silk
Not unlike her hair
Through his fingers

The stars
Tiny silver flecks
luminescent punctures
In the satin jet
above the world
The stars reflected in her eyes

Chips of diamond
Revealing . . . what?

Speaking Hope where there is no Light

The Magician moved
His hands a blur

He twisted Light out of Darkness
Conjured songs out of memories
songs filled words dark and true
and she sang

Songs of the function of Fire
the function of Rhyme
Speaking Love’s resilience
despite betrayal and spite

She sang
of the human spirit surfacing
from depths deeper than faith
where leviathans swim

of Order from Chaos
Life arising from the breast of Death

Speaking Hope where there is no Light
Miraculous deeds worthy of gods in times like these
New discoveries that lift the definition of human
like those of song and fire



My hands
colder now
but no wiser
Incant your shadow
of their own mind
Improvising where memory fails

My hands dance your oceanic eyes
Now they swirl through the brilliance
of your conjured hair
They dance your mystic smile
Dance your lighthearted laughter
The simple way you
Decanted water
into my open hands

Moving faster now
Even faster
Like the blades of a fan
they blur
Resonate harmonics
build within the whir

The Magician in the Harvest Moon

The harvest moon ascends
waning above ghostly fields full of harvest
Climbs onto the black velvet bridge
that arches between where her lover has gone
And where he shall rise again
The harvest Moon ascends . . .

The Magician sets aside his hat
his coat and his vest
Takes off his gloves . . .
The ebon night flows
sable silk
Through his fingers
The Magician sits as the Moon ascends . . .

The harvest Moon grows full and ripe
waning above ghostly fields full of harvest
Arches her back . . .just slightly
Paints herself with tiny silver flecks
luminescent diamond shards in the satin jet above the world
Revealing . . . what”

The Magician cups his hands
and appears to gather her golden rays
Lifts her to his lips . . .
The ebon night flows
sable silk
Down his throat
The Magician drinks as the Moon ascends . . .

Let me be Your Meta-Modern Magician

Then let me be your magician
Metamodern Metaphysician
By sleight of hand
Distracts your from you forebrain conclusions

See . . . nothing up my sleeve
Persto-chango . . . still nothing
But this is a different kind of Nothing
The Buddhist they love that trick
So much ado about . . . nothing

When you are in the house of mirrors
Close your eyes and feel your way out
And please remember
I am not the guy who sold you the ticket

See . . . nothing in my top hat
Persto-chango . . . still nothing
But it looks like a bunny . . . you don’t like the cute bunny?
The Philosophers love that trick
Kept George Hagel going for months

When you are in the house of echoes
Close your ears and deny the nonsense
And please remember
I am not the guy who sold you the ticket

And this
My final trick . . . time
I would spend this darkness with you
Would commit the heresy of bending clocks
Salvador loved that trick
I would wait . . . here . . . in this darkness
It’s the only True Magic I know

Ego, Isti, Id

and what is it
what lures the poet-magician
to this place?
this place of silence?

his ego?
his isti?
his id?

can’t be his ego
he had one before he became a real poet
(not one of those vice versas)
the task is his master
the poem without a signature
a less than perfect offering to his Muse

his isti?
not really . . .
his thinking mind is only involved in the latter stages
the finishing of the artifice
the polishing of the poem

the passion perhaps
but the hunger is not so much at her expense
the hunger is for her most pleased smile
the release of her clenched fist

and if the Lady should refuse the poet
if the Lady wishes for more than he can give
what is he to do?

is he the student of Orpheus?
stalking the Muse into the bowels of Hell?
is he the broken bird
limping as he sings a plaintive melody
of love gone wrong?
If the Lady refuses
he must close up the show
must sequester his cards
feed the bunnies
and relearn the ways of the Road

how can it be otherwise?