.:wanderlustmedia+dot+org:.

where was th doorway
to this perfect world?
am i at fault
for arriving asleep?

who do i thank
and who do i blame
now that th devil
joins god as he weeps?

night like a vault
over clouds like a grid
& proud scars of pine boughs
that will not be hid

restless redeemers
conspire salvation
lighting th fuse
for th good of all nations

-while sleepwalking lovers
follow their itch
slow-loping seekers
wallow & twitch…

(con mucho carinyo para Nancy)

what is this itch?
dissolution thirst or longing return?
yearning to merge? lust for th heights?
hunger for worlds of circling appetites
that burn out our senses?

th moon strains to fill
la vispera de la primavera, tibia de repente
-night’s eve of spring, suddenly warm-
while junkyard dogs
relay their anxious bark

a slow crawling freight train
drags its mournful whistle
low enough to tangle down
th clattering pistons close
behind skeleton trees of winter
urging narrow gauge tracks
on, towards midnight…

homehomehome
questions- arguments- debates
nobody to reply from th fences

fiery giving, taken on th rocks
barren of dionysian sprouts

living deathwish? blows
from th elements…

el mar, de su orilla en retirada
hasta los horizontes que traicionan
(al borde inferior de oculto cielo )
el ascenso de la fuga conspirada,
miente bajo el bulto gris de reglamentos
-y encima de su esclava lluvia- el infinito

si rompen olas cada escudo de silencio
cómo brinda la evasión rimada?
si reducido a menos de un sólo lugar
cuanto pretendo dispersar enriquecido
ni un punto ciego asienta perspectivas
si encallado queda en mudas traducciones

(‘muga’ significa frontera o límite en euskera-vasco)

i cling to yr ghost, one true love
bury myself in our crumbling castle

attach, detach- reattach- surrender…
infatuation & lust, phantom limbs

desire is french fuel:
high octane essence
distilled from ancient tar

please excuse me. i’m so disorganized these days (HA), i forget who got what when if it all or whether

appropiate…abrazos, d=(8{>
To: Alexander Schachtner ; Amy ; Mark L. Williams ; Peter Schenk ; Jose E. Roman Garcia

at th risk of flapping my flimsy wings
over not a few bewildered heads
more like a pissy blinded bat
than a far-searching long-suffering albatross
-or cormorant or dark unrecognised migratory-
let me bring family & friends
strewn along any number of possible flight paths
up to date on how christmas threw
a spaniard in th works of my worst laid plans…
(to honor john lennon’s punning turn of phrase)

’twas th twilight of christmas
& all down las carreteras
young borrachos were weaving
high hasta las teleras…
cut to th chase:
when i made it back to vega baja i found th beachouse broken into & gleefully vandalised.
besides taking th expected microwave, camcorder, espreso machine, blender & beatup old mini-boombox radio-cassette

player, gone were my churchill bodysurfing flippers- both pairs- my rock climbing slippers & harness, my cheap,

beatup, politically incorrect, chinese hiking boots from k-mart, which had memorably torn my feet over th hundred &

sixty kilometers
of th Aragon leg of th Camino de Santiago in ‘99…
-& my backpack & my near-mint pair of levi’s 505s & my torn seat sweatpants & even
my walking shorts & t-shirt, ginseng & other new supplements including ultimate life’s florazyme & two cans of

Ultimate Meal shake-powder…toiletries bag with travel sowing kit
& antibacterial, antifungal & cortisone ointments…toolbox full of tools, pruner, hacksaw, clippers…i keep

realizing something or another is missing only when i look for it…
BUT thankfully, as i found out only nearly two weeks later when i finally drove into san juan, & was relieved to

find them at Dr.Dad’s house, NOT a couple of videocassettes with some valuable footage from ‘98, including th New

Alchemy Institute 25-year anniversary reunion
& th opening festivities for th newly redone installation in room 12C at th Carlton Arms Hotel, NYC…
so AGAIN travel plans are postponed…maybe i’ll fly by th end of th month, likely not before mid to end

February…maybe i’ll stopover in NYC to shop for shoes & a pack…
hugs & hasta la vista, d=(8{>

i fall awake until daybreak
again in my childhood bed

struggle to breathe
the dust i am made of
scraped off the skin

unless cats pass out & recover from oblivious unconsciousness like humans do, the black street tom is dead. i’m

not 100% certain yet, because i stopped short of prodding the prone,
still body… i was at the end of a good if draining, sweltering 50-minute run when i found him, & i jogged in

place at close proximity & gave a couple of shouts…
this is the third feline companion i’ve lost in a year: putxo disappeared as holiday season approached in 2001-

just about a year ago, actually; txori ran away as i tried to carry her
from my car on the last few steps to what was to be her first visit to the vet- last may if i remember right…
this nameless prowler- i would address him sometimes as ‘negro’, sometimes ‘feo’ or ‘flaco’- had originally

started coming by to court txori & steal her food. sometime after txori’s flight, el ‘flaco’ turned up again,

begging in a penetrating, high-pitched fake-kitten whine.
having a fair deal of catfood left & figuring a cat’s presence would at least keep the threat of mouse & rat

infestation- always a concern- at bay, i fed the guy…
he was something of a nasty piece of work- sometimes giving my hand a few gouges even as i’d finish laying food

out for him…schizoid street dude…
cut to the chase: seems somebody buried him under a mound of sandy soil right where he fell, & my neighbor

confirmed he had stumbled on the lifeless body, so that’s that…
strange thing, dr.dad’s own long-haired black tom- ‘lucho’- got into a serious scrape right about that time. he

only survived after massive doses of antibiotics: an infection got into his ear canal & his balance seems to

have been permanently impared & his head now lists to
one side- his handsome looks damaged, his self-possession & proud bearing gone…
a little sad…jeanette th cat healer- dr.dad’s friend- has ended up taking him under her
wing (??) -of course, it was thru her auspices that lucho first came to keep dr.dad
company right about th same time that ulda & javier brought putxo to the beach house…
& so/this is christmas…war is over/if you want it, to quote th late lennon…
…to all a good night- the very best in th new year & huggyhugs-
dabizzet.je=(8{>

‘words on a page or motion in space-
alles labor: degrees of effort, focus & purpose
to feed a contingent self, an isolated body’

th scaffold frame of a body
endlessly refills empty self
draining timeworn bloat

desire broken, whittled down
to solitary sober sexless lust

saving my burdens for you-
to freely surrender
my load of mud in yr eye

desde la orilla del mar en retirada
hasta un horizonte que traiciona
la conspirada y ascendente fuga
al borde inferior de oculto cielo
que miente su infinito azul
tras abultados reglamentos grises
-y encima de su esclava lluvia
(testigo cada cual de sus matices)

si rompen olas cada escudo de silencio
cómo brinda la evasión rimada?
si reducido a menos de un sólo lugar
cuanto enriquecido dispersar pretendo
ni el punto ciego asienta perspectivas
y encallado queda en mudas traducciones

(‘muga’ significa frontera o límite en euskera-vasco)