Law H. Fisher Poetry Part Two
I'm No Sacagawea
- No shout to guide you cross an uncharted lay
- over land innate to my being,
- nor Shepherd to show you the bravest way
- in time for all worth seeing,
- and trace with death-wish adventure
- an outback bareback by want,
- nor your manifest destiny of pleasure
- ordained in the hegemony hunt.
- Nor words are these to direct you
- down the path of grief and tear,
- beyond all of those who
- hate and doubt in fear.
- No guidance can I give, rather, follow not my foray.
- Still, I am my brother's keeper by keeping him away.
Faggot, Jew, Poet, Lawyer
- Aztec, aphid, seahorse and mule
bring suit against Christmas
then crawl the Internet
to get fucked by dick-size-measuring lunatics
as source material for your writing
warring against placid hope with a stubborn staunch
yet able to find love and make a serene exit on paper. . . .
emanating a light constituted from time reflecting on time
as the better gods of our being surely overcome
the worst devils of our nature.
Storms ComeLet the storm come
bringing furious rage.
Let it come
down over age.Let the storm come
wash away earth.
Let it come
about your birth.Let the storm come
as ever it will.
Let it come.
Wet DreamsIn a dream of clear water –
prosperity and happiness came,
followed by muddy-streamed misfortune in a nap.
A drink of dirty water in a day dream
portends bad things down stream.
Water falls in the deepest dreams.
Wavy steps –
whitecaps on the soul –
success when clear,
when cloudy, failure flows.
Danger from a turbulent current
rein the fluctuations of life.
Then dreams of being wet
foretell of pleasures in the night.
From playing with water sudden passion rolls
over rivers of the mind
and settles this plankton thought
in soggy sleep.
Borrowed Time, April 2005stupifiedin the morning hazeof the newmillenniummapostolic nomenclature asidehot guys everywherefeeling like one of themat 38never betteryou are the wordthe linethe way