Suicide Four empty cans of lye rolled off the bed; The fat and lonely man first tried to pray. Within an hour, of course, the man was dead; At last he'd solved his problems, in a way. -Spring, 1964- The Kitten Slung encased in outworn net, the kitten squirms, bewildered yet. Dusty mirror could make it see the shape it was condemned to be. He teaches how to fall! He slices through the pall! He pierces with his call! He drops it to the sea. The surface changes to above. This is a callous kind of love. Lungs glow and heart breaks. The kitten dreams of birds and snakes. Something bursts in deeper parts: a catfish blinks before it starts. -December, 1967- Twenty-six and two thirds Coming into focus: eternal recurrence, a thought too abysmal to give reassurance. My life must be an open grid upon which I wander, ego and id. Grad school was a rocky trip. Chess has made my brain more hip. From now on I have a fixed stance: I am a man who wants existence. Still too banal is my Heaven. Next I will be twenty-seven. -August 26, 1971- Untitled The broken-backed horse welcomed the leather saddle. Of course it knew that the pitch-pipe was discordant. It felt good. That's why it worried little. Two bronze green hooks supported strong straps. Someone had mismatched the stirrups, and there was no end of approximation. Yet it felt alright, to canter around the paddock. Starlings made their sound. No one enjoyed it. -31 March, 1973- Quasar So far, far from the happy violet undulation that you called quasar, far from the voices and far from faces faces of friends, I pass my improbable time. My body cries out - it is behind me though. How do I turn to club the foe? How do you do? This world is strange to me, is it to you, who wonder what I am thinking, but buzz my eardrums when I say so crazy lonely sad. If time were light and words just sounds, this recurrent flight away would be like the doe is, stag on sticks. Numerous for once numberless I would pray to be resuscitated from this numbness. -29 April, 1975- Recurrence, Solipsism and Domination Rendition just an oval, pride's demand, yet justice is a concept, home-made bleach, to dab the too bright branches of mathematics' stand, the on and off of time, the un-Pacific beach. Because the span, reviewed, was thought to hold, it held, sort of, seemed natural, profane, and only when the public, being polled, said it was old, did it begin to wane. The members of the species make their trades, this linked gathering will not keep still, providing tree and arch and leaf, charades prove hardier yet than decimal's till. Upon this table, square, court of what I see, I don't, you know, pretend, this all is new, but competition's contradiction, true to me, is repetitious, despite its see-you-through. Then flat brand new images cross the air, the comrades rise demanding revived grace, like men on the moon who float on air, where trajectory turned touch to force to space. Rendition just an oval, pride's demand, yet justice is a concept, home-made bleach, to dab the too bright branches of mathematics' stand, the on and off of time, the un-Pacific beach. -31 October, 1975- Epicurus' Question The ship of breath's machinery Is nice to follow: one can break From his obedience, buy three When owning two led past the lake. But only if the System deals His benefits to wanting tongues Without restraint, embarrassed squeals, Should mind deny collapsing rungs. -15 December, 1975- Rough-Eyed Unfriendly whispers cannot squeak their bile Toward those disliking yet refusing hate. Accounts at dusk evolved from merrier state, Now liberty has chosen grease on tile. So vegetarian habits rope the wild Defender of my wish to break its back. The noble trash promoted to the rack, Recurrence is as consolation styled. The structured metaphors of science lead Away from modern city's half-tied knots, Give micro-meaning to each even-odd. But unpristine develops every deed. Our resolutions tend to clash in spots. The string is tangled softly on the rod. -18 December, 1975- Motorcycle There was a room when I was eighteen, not really A room because it was exposed to the airy public, But a waterfall poured down next to some light stairs, And the chairs too were restful slabs. Across from those stairs was a very wide area, Somewhat less shaded for refreshments, And the world of the country club extended, To the modern locker room or the mysterious stables. So I say this to my poverty's agents, Since turning thirty did not send me off: If the shape I am building is destined for hanging, Just seat me back there in that light restful room. -27 December, 1975- Motorscooter The cog is dunked, then put back. Soon risky tightening is submerged in oil. Right so-called bubble, that separate fact, Goes on. Pneumatics, try to roll. Holy cow, this is a lot of fun. I have never been quite here before. These pastel wires are well-crammed, Internally. Stoic, hear the choir. -27 December, 1975- Smokey Elastic My friend from prep school sent a cache: A box from pigments, for a latch An office-like elastic band. The latter grasps the corners and Diagonals slid parallel Cross lid and crease to pedestal. The thing is somewhat bright and green. It enters time again: is seen. I knew this selfsame prop somewhere Else. Someone else enjoyed it here. No problem with all this except The shoddy fumes maybe have kept A few professors back from quick Escape from smokey elastic. Imagine please some dry ice cooled By wettest water floating jeweled. The ozone clouds it generates Do satisfy whoever waits. Instead of stretchy lingerie, Play on the spring at torque of pi. Its elasticity wears out At rate that iron yields basalt. Such torsion raw and billows pure Seem like the steak before the cure. However: when yourself is what Has corners grasped, has tightened gut, One's wish is then for fantastic Excuse & smokey elastic. -15 January, 1976- Superstition Tradition wrong, then superstition spoils The show the cautious play, and anger boils Within the kettle of adaptive will, And puppets break their strings, and then are still. A chain of empty lessons, odd taboos, Are learned and followed, not unlike a goose. Perhaps they come on radio, in dreams, Or from the powerful, by means of hints. Here logic is the crux: more than the scare, To try both ways might be itself to err. "So what of that!" I heard the free man shout. I'm on his side, as were the puppets too. But sometimes we're outvoted by those who Would win, stay in, or carefully dance out. -24 February, 1976- Loneliness And solitude, if no one is looking, Is loneliness, or interest, or dream. The loners in rooms, more like lambs than wolves, Deepen, and harden, and envy the team. Each one was so cute as a pliant tot that someone like it liked it. There began Its set of choices: blind steamships alone On garbled lines, again circling man. One's image of the culprits, mirror laws, Is everywhere for all a chronic mess. Some say to set a goal, some say act straight, Or blame, or lead and follow worthiness. And it won't do, or else it would have done, For loneliness to turn its opposite. The change must be external, or time laughs At mule that would be horse, despite its writ. -21 March, 1976- Sonnet Along the wires the signals sprint and play. From woofers and from tweeters emanate Bassoons of lions, and the bright flutes say Their wings are quicker than the air's own rate. Beneath the sky the people wonder what? I think they wonder where to find the key Unlocking thoughts or car, to take the mutt Down for its weekly walking at the sea. Then footprints make their footprints unawares. But week end mind retains the numerous Sweet jolts of daily work, and how it fares Depends on whether life stays luminous. Zoo creatures hear the static and they flee, Through labyrinth of shapes resembling greed. -9 April, 1976- Wyoming City, you break, to see what I would do. I would to Jewel Forest, which I knew. The Airstream dream, married woman breakfast, their mongrel laughing honest in its fur, ragged teacher walking to the pasture must mend the spoon and wire where we two were. The man in the tin, inventor for sale, brings existentialism to the boys, and the serious, simple, stunning girl oft drives her pretty friend out past all noise. Some night on this already Western bay, books read story, and throw it way away. -27 October, 1978- Examine the Circle The season poured its syrup of sand drift on doors done down by irritable air, refusing releasing in silent shift of attitude to enmity from care. Stamp now the rude the just alike pass through to high parks and accurate talks or threats, ignoring backward claims a lie we knew which fed the hungry and eased our regrets. -21 September, 1979- Tiny Reason Before we start, elsewhere have I seen you harden, soft, our righteous fall of faces. No matter: the grass is blue between Half Dome and El Cap. -4 October, 1979- One More Rule The required course in narrative was solved and re-named Obstacles. We learned the code of oracles, making trudging wind productive. You grade yourself, so some resolved to get that that the least would give. An Asian result yet restive were you at one's, over-involved. -28 May, 1981- Rosebud We should have met at American High, you angular and critical of it. I'd have been glued to bright dark loyalty, your glass an ignorance of male divide. My deck was five times shuffled, hers was merged: the other night we joked over coffee. Then egoistic night outside researched with me the shapes that I had seen us say. Too ordinary is the worldly auction for Rosebud's close, high bid not to attend. I give silver up to irrigation of iron, wordy light on golden hen. -22 August, 1982- I Went I went to Stanford. Then I went to Palo Alto. And then I went to Washington, D. C. Then I went to San Francisco. And then I went to Palo Alto. Then I went to San Francisco... And then I went to Washington, D. C. Then I went to San Francisco. And then I went to Pittsburgh. Then I went to Washington, D. C. And then I went to San Francisco. Then I went to Oakland. And then I went to San Francisco. Then I went to Washington, D. C. And then I went to Pittsburgh. Then I went to San Francisco. Then I went to Rock Springs. -20 February, 1983- Poor Man's Jodie Foster Interstate cuts across a sunlit land. Winter-frozen mud has dried to rock. Traveler steps half-aware from Greyhound. His things are bruising his arms. From hotel room to rooming house to trailer, there's time and quiet to visit a cafe. Beneath a Fifties sign, knees at the counter, first names are served by generations. The immigrant hopes for nothing, bread for bread. Yet what is this? An active torso and glimmering of desert water interests us. Someone is so companiable in a nice room. As years go by we grow to bank on it: Only that one type is to be thorough known. The visitor's ship plunges in the despond. However, his impressions are fed by the acts. -8 April, 1984- Final Sequel The hope for brotherhood discredited, and midgets from Foundations on the roll - O dear Deborah of the free market, I'm sure that I, that you could save my soul. The pounding of those waves has washed the sand, and so I know your look, your walk, your voice. With time alone you'd lose the need you'd find, unless as woman you stay near my noise. The future's strewn with curiosities: my Ph.D., your Ph.D., or so. The world revolt ends that validity, and then there'd be your smile, some laughs, or no. -19 November, 1984- Fireball Forty years after the shock in Japan conceived my generation in the womb, a second blast sends me sprawling again, the firing vaporizing all my dream. The Japanese, defeated as the slaves, cried uncle to the awesome master race, whose bourgeois supervisors now have ways of flinging striving workers from their space. A few shadows found in the empty town were memories soon scuffed out by the great, like ruthless injustice subtly disowned, images of friends who had to retreat. -6 August, 1985- Plane Cannot Land On a green granite mountain of Japan, a Boeing jumbo has disgorged its trust. For half an hour a hero businessman wrote kin good-bye...cold air, uneven thrust. Hundreds buy seats for this captive screening. The crew takes time to provide instruction --the sky has mercy on planes careening-- in how a pillow can blunt destruction. We could not land: control was indirect. With engines working we lost altitude and sought the mild Pacific for the wreck, until we all recalled how things still stood. -21 August, 1985- Epic J. Doug Ohmans is my family name. In '85 I've no clue to the game, but my flesh hangs easily on my frame and, having some time, it's time for some fame. I live in small town Rock Springs, Wyoming, and every day I see six or eight friends. People here don't know Schiller from Schelling, yet near White Mountain my soul tends to mend. One day I wandered up the street two blocks, and Rock Springs offered me its next surprise: in four directions there surged up high rocks, and to this town's detractors, four replies. I shall reach 40 hardly having done a job for long enough to justify the claim that I'm a leading, special one, and so I visit sagebrush as a try. In Pittsburgh, San Francisco, Washington, a job would end, the linked list point to nil. So I'd buy onto Greyhound and be gone, but cities failed despite my acts of will. The only thing I've ever really done and plan to do, the default being fine, is to read serious books by the ton, so to write and speak I won't be lying. Chess got me through a decade of seasons. I primed on mid-games for the Institute, strolled down Market Street, one of the free ones, and tried out my cube for man to refute. There's also been myriad joints of grass. It has a pungent, selfish quality. Your verbal product will knock out your boss, but you will fit into reality. I've never wished to earn to procreate. That price is high to maintain difference. A woman's jaw-line is a fine delight, but not my fall to total helplessness. The best gift my two parents gave to me was, they never mentioned at the table that I should choose courses to make money. I'd just be the best, so went the fable. Thirteen-year old is on a bareback horse. Run round Dad in the center of corral. The horse is bitless, heaves the guy with force, so they hold his jaw to the hospital. At twice 13 we felt it time to go, already having leapt birdsong fences, to Canada, to New York state and home. I met the broke poor, in many phases. A torn old dollar buys a fresh new thing. This alone is our nation's valid pride. Yet somewhere--I forget--the cut still stings. The edge and heart of empire are denied. At 39 doc's blade carved the weak bulge. The day the bill was given, bosses hit. But, by then the volunteer could indulge in travel's mornings, decades at a stint. By day my jobs have often disappeared. I'm sorry, but: it's still the dreams at night which speak of an America now geared to ferret dissidents and teach them fright. -14 September, 1985- 45 Years Old It was the dawn of the 20th century. My grandfather, John Ohmans, was a young man. In 1919 ended the Great War in Europe. My father was born. Ten years later the stock market crashed and the Depression began. Another ten years saw the start of W.W.II. As it ended in 1945, I was born. Zoom to 1990 on the same day, and from here, make the way forward in great detail. -26 December, 1990- Evacuate Wyoming Occasionally peeing day or night, like filling and dumping a fine pitcher, one never gives even a passing thought to dripping drops down lip of catheter. You do not find them forming one by one: they squirt and dribble forth unceasingly. Unbidden the droplets flash down the tube - more are being towel-wrung faithfully. So scratch a dry scratch in cold abstraction. Launch it from a bed of warm commotion. -2 September, 1999- Average Two years after brachytherapy, PSA was way too high. It was the 21st of December. Everyone was getting desperate. Then thanks to selenium, the measurement decreased. That Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Days felt a little longer. It makes me want to jump into a well-conceived terminus. The good news is noted around Xmas. By Easter even the average must turn. -24 December, 2004- Better UU Mousetrap "De todos bajo el gran sol Surja esperanza, fe, amor Verdad, y belleza cantando, de cada tierra, cada voz. "From all that dwell below the skies Let faith and hope with love arise Let beauty, truth, and good be sung Through every land by every tongue." En todos lados del gran mundo, Humanidad con fe profundo Se va cantando espero por Beldad, verdad, bondad, amor. -10 December, 2006- Partner "O Doug, this is so awful, i am suddenly leaving you and everything turned out so badly, good-bye, good-bye." A rose in a bowl appeared, brought from a bar. -26 May, 2008- Made in Pueblo Her hubbie, father of all six, drank beer seeing the magnet I had brought for her. Another experienced the error of time. Both were deported to their fear. My in-law reaches out like a magnet whose counterpart is kept away by the stars. Each man expelled had had a counterpart, and she a suitor, Márquez said in part. But the old should be confined to the real yet deportation lets exception rule. -11 April, 2009-