in this wind the sea is a constant roar
no ripping and lull of discrete wave
breaking peak to trough on the outer reef
exploding with mighty whiteness
into the sucking gray sea between our temples
and archival limbic systems

in that wind wave upon wave
furrows the mind as if thought
were a set of wild impulses
arriving ready made from a powerful storm
unseen but manifest with anvilled validity
incessant as a blacksmith hammering
evocative as a graven image
striking awe and fear simultaneously
catching us alway unawares in a doze
sudden drumroll yanking us awake
like the scream that jerks us back
to face the colorless car of death
we have crossed the centerline to meet


no, tonight the sea is a constant roar
dull forgettable reminder of local humdrum
no train or bullet or flash of light
just the insistent constancy of nature
blurred to indistinction by fatigue
such that sleep becomes simple
uninterrupted by wavedrum or hammer
and dream emerges like fresh red blood
from the deep furnace of a calm heart
forming internal long-obscured connections
untangling confused concealed logic
the endless patter and wash of experience
things occur that we could never evoke
people appear with words that freeze us
with clear understanding of our callousness
friends we have crossed off our lists
pull weeds in the garden of our mother
lovers pull us into libidinous embraces
and bite off our ears with rabid teeth
we dismember our fathers into bits
and feed them into the maws of disposalls