end beginning middle end beginning... (after ginsberg)

in the end:
with raindrop style we shattered stone                   

the cankered guts   the brittle bone

of us whelmed.  gush    unclothed     unknown

in the beginning:
we were for each the other's Ruth
wild blankets covered spurring truth
abroad we danced with purling youth
traced river reach and rush and ebb
too,  surge recede   too, dry stream bed
conviction crocheted   spindled web

in the middle:
elaborate lacings tat by claws
stitched up our failings   netted flaws
gripped all our moonlights   all our dawns.
awake asleep in numb and sting
cold beast infested plainer things      
froze fly condensed to seep and cling

in the end:
i could have knelt   i could have prayed
on slated floors     i could have stayed
but faith was gone.    love came too late.

now: 
             blast implode    multiverse                 
anonymous   surrounding    first
on planes of string uncurled, emerged.

oh hello space:   you lift me high
and gravity throws down my sighs                              
in starry soup   this all    divine



*******

i thought i'd give it a swing and experiment a bit after reading some beat stuff and allen ginsberg telling his truth in a strict rhyme scheme, which i found odd and interesting.  so, this little scrap above is my interpretation of (one of) his styles.  i am not accustomed to working within the scheme, and find it tedious and near impossible to express without the rhymes sounding completely contrived and idiotic.  i thought it would be nice to get out of my voice for awhile, and this has turned out ok, but i don't really dig it much.  i don't think it sings.  oh well.  **you play you win you play you lose you play.**


also, as bob dylan did and said, he only practiced during concerts, so what people heard was his working away toward something new.  i think i like that, too.  i will probably be editing this poem after the fact, so this dog may have its day yet.   or not.  ha!

**added sunday 9/25--
one of the things i want in my writing, beyond the obvious, is to create something that can be universally understood, without spelling things out so specifically that relating to the piece--not liking it or admiring it or hating it--but relating to it, is only possible for a few.  everyone can have an evaluative opinion based objectively upon some established standard, or subjectively, and upon their own aesthetics--but relating is something completely different.  if a story of rags to riches is so specific that it may appeal to some in an observational way, that's nice.  it's nice to get a different vantage point of the world.  but if a story of rags to riches is told specifically and generally enough, everyone should be able to find some angle or some part of it that is theirs, and they should feel recognized.  this is difficult to achieve--often people assume the work is autobiographical (of the writer, of course) of one person, when what i am going for, at least, is a work that is autobiographical in a more universal sense.

so, all that said, my pieces succeed or fail toward that end, of course.

and, with all that said, i ask you:  what is this particular poem, above, about?  you can think about it yourself awhile, then i will give you some multiple choice offerings.  think think think think, now:

a)  the falling apart of a team/group of some sort--baseball, PAC, book club
b)  two people breaking up/coming apart
c)  soldiers in some theater of operations far away or close to home
d)  existentialism
e)  the aging process
f) none of the above
g) all of the above
h)  faith

**added later pm 9/25--i'm continuing to revise, and change this thing up, and am getting closer to "can do no more--for reasons of skill and will"...

***added 9/26--i am so done with this thing.

****9/28.  ditto the above.  maybe really, this time.
*****much later 9/28.  ug. ug. ug.  i may be done but this thing isn't.
******10/1.  i do not think i have ever hated anything i have written as much as i hate this thing.  a curse upon it, a pox, i give it my evil eye, HexHex!  i abandon this effort now, having lost the battle, and maybe will return later to wrestle again.

10/2.   i am done.  i am happy (-enough).  i couldn't stick with his style completely i felt like i was strangling.  i changed it a bit and have learned my lesson-- i should not try to shake my voice.