Nameless Collage

I wonder what God would choose for you—

There is a street to cross with your body cut-out

Plastered on the scene of flowing cars with an empty face

Where your mind should be, where you should be

And in the foreground more people are crossing—

What face will you glue on, and where are you going

Once you cross the street, if you cross the street

Because for the moment you are not moving at all—

Where does God want you—right where you are

While the cars careen over you to wherever they’re going

Or down a downhill slope off to fight Indian wars

Or in an endless tunnel chained magnetically to others

I wonder what you might want for yourself—

The Difference between Said and Did

“You have a rebellious spirit,”

My doctor leaned in to tell me.

“I’m only twenty-eight years old,”

I leaned back and told him back.

“You should take these and relax.”

Handing me a small yellow bottle,

Dirty as old piss with a white label,

He told me to find some odd jobs

For the next fifty-four lonely years.

I said “fuck off” and walked out.

I went home to my wife and poodle.

She said, “I want to have a baby.”

I said, “So does every other poodle.”

She took off all her clothes for me.

I said, “Can I borrow your fur coat?”

Since she wasn’t using it, I put it on.

“Walk with me to the airport,” I said.

“Like this?” she said, turning around.

“That’s fine,” I said and called a taxi.

“You can’t leave with a wedding ring.

You haven’t even cleaned the house.”

“I don’t own a house,” I said and left.

It was hard walking every stair down.

The Art of Being Dead

Once I am dead you can sell me

Not until I am dead, but when I am dead

You can auction off my life and sell me

For millions of worthless dollars

To people who will  idolize the dead

And who worship the value of the dollar

But who don’t understand the living.

Once I am dead you can look back and say

You either admired me or you despised me

But you will pay a high price either way

For something that is not me, but dead.

This is not about me. This is your vision:

Things seem so much more comfortable dead

Like leather shoes or a recliner for a big TV.

You see, what good is a living artifact

When you can wait and have it dead?

I might be just another man like you now

Until I am dead, when you long to be alive

And buy everything you ever thought I did,

So you can go on living and not have to be alive.

Collecting the dead and stockpiling them in museums

You can ask, “How many dead people do you know?”

And then brag about me to your friends.

You might be jealous that I will one day die

And become more important than you are now,

But don’t worry, if you don’t like me when I die

Just sell me off to an enterprising stranger

Who will then acquire the rights all heretofore said

With all that comes with living and with being dead.

Paris

If you dream you are in Paris,

then you are not in Paris.

If you dream you are where you are,

then you are not where you are.

Where you want to be is not in your dreams.

Where you are is not where you want to be.

Where you dream is not where you want to be.

Where you dream you are is not where you are.

This may seem simple or absurd to you,

but you should not be dreaming so much.

If you could be awake during your waking hours,

You would know better how dreams are.

If you could be awake during your dreaming hours,

You would know how dreams can kill you.

But you are not awake during your dreaming hours if you are dead.

When you dream that you are dead, you are not, in fact, dreaming.

Why would you dream yourself dead?

Why do you wake up and dream that you are dead?

Waking is the opposite of dying. Waking is being alive.

If you want to wake up, you must stop dreaming.

If you want to be in Paris, you must wake up.

If you don’t want to be where you are, you must wake up.

Your dreams will tell you to wake up.

When you wake up, you will know that you have been dreaming.

Your dreams tell you to wake up because you do not want to die.

When you are dead, you do not know that you are dreaming.

Only the living dream, but to know you are alive you must wake up.

If you dream you live in Paris, you are lucky, but you are not in Paris.