the Drift

summary

1.
equates 
to what x
and y 
truly are
in relation 
to the sum 
of a, b or c.

"Jack, the lumberjack, has enough fuel 
to last 20 days. if there are 200 cypress 
trees left in the swamp, how many days 
does he have to cut them down?"

200 = x
 20

x being the number
of stumps left to rot:

desecration 
is not mutually 
exclusive
to churches.

2.
there was a heron standing, blue, in shallow 
water swallowing whole those puny fish,
naked to the eye of a 'gator or Jack, 
it took flight at the slightest sound.

the inevitable 
will always
turn back 
the weak 
of mind.

3.
y becomes more than a number--

the question 
of how come
rests solely
on survivors.

4.
now neptune has slipped
through pisces floating
on its side,  now the skin
has dried.

© D. E. Williams 2000
 
 

amethyst

they gave me 
a stone at birth 

distinct 
from the egg-
plant 

or plum    it was 
the bruise 
of a woman

they gave 
freely   a purple 
stone 

told me
it was passion 

told me its name 
that rolled 
off the tongue

like goddamn 
you to hell    he did

they gave me 
a passionate purple 
stone 

said it was mine
scoured 
by history   placed 

in the last beam 
of a quarter-moon

I was given 
this purple stone 
but I'm hard like the rock 

I am annals 
that were & are 
now in the making 

I am the passion 
of this stone 

© D. E. Williams 2000
 
 

P

I do not wish for
death     though
it may seem so at times

when the hand
penetrates bramble
to retrieve 

a rubber ball
that has lost its bounce

the cut thorn
across the wrist reveals
an appearance
of attempts
at life

death

has never been an obsession
like poetry
to me       Carol 

agrees    break
here or
not

replace a word
thought on for days
into months    extend

metaphors to the point
of confusion    or snap
it short

only to doubt
what has been written
no matter the amount
of applause

or the degree 
of angle the jaw 
drops

"it must point to something"

this poetry
that takes hold like death

but I do not wish
to die

© D. E. Williams 2000
 
 

tracks

I've been lost 
in this wood, blanketed 
by recent 

blizzards,
for a day or so.

have tried back-
tracking in the prints
that follow 

regardless
of  directions
I take.

yet the freshly fallen 
refills my tracks

and those 
of the big foot
hare

who scrambles in zigzag 
logic to avoid the lynx

making new prints in the snow.

somewhere
the path has turned.

somewhere
there is a trail
I remember

marking 
like a wildcat
spraying
territory

50 miles
either side
of a straight 

________________ line.

the sycamore
was mine
once.

the lynx

avoided
my tracks

my scent,

now
like all men
I sniff--

sniff the tracks
for who 
has been here

before.

© D. E. Williams 2000
 
 

man behind the glass

not everyone
listens

to banter 
as well as I

mindlessness
being what it is

and knowing 
you will spew forth

what was not taught
bullshit 

isn't so bad 
when dried out

remember though
it is considered rude

to chew 
with your mouth

full of crow

© D. E. Williams 2000
 
 
 

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