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            Poetry Leaf


Are you beautiful?
You were to me.
I loved your veins.
I held you close.
I knew your name
and something else.
What light to me
burned so bright
when I called you out
when I let you be?




Because I don’t want to tell you goodbye,
I declare a sunlit day. I declare
a wonton sale of salacious rapture
a dawn of unrepentant trust,
birth of mornings everafter.
I declare this journey won.
I declare the quest complete.
I declare the mountain overrun,
and from the dead-night collector,
all our dreams set free.



                        my mother and i were both therapists

You can dance away the silence
that comes hard upon a poem’s end,
just grandstanding things aside
that you long to defend:
like my mother choosing psychology
over music, music that went
from love to family weapon.

Still, I think how sweet she chose to write
out the answer to her prayer—
a mint of hope in the book of a life,
wishing the earth would open
to swallow her pain hidden care.

And anyway, what would mine be like
if her father had stayed over yonder
beyond the sea, beyond the snow
in the land of frozen hate,
the land I was born to know?

Now we sweep the same floors
polish with the same wax.
And a bird on a daisy told me true
that there are people walking around
still alive because they talked to you.

I suppose this and all is all
that we carry,
carry underground.



when i suggest that we view tacts and mands as features of a relatively more heterogeneous or homogenous verbal context, i’m suggesting that we make the same move we recommend to our clients: to view the world contextually instead of categorically. to describe our context and its features rather than trying to track down “cause and effect.” the idea is to try to edit less and be more.




kant returned to the age old question of “what sort of resting place can we discover for our sense of certainty in a world of uncertainty?” the form of this question for him was “what place can we find for morality in a world of science?” or “what place does freedom have in a world of contingent events?” which is nothing more than the question of the teleological suspension of the necessary and the conditioned. one might as well redescribe it as the question of “where does the individual fit in with other people?” his answer was that since our sense of freedom is at odds, experientially, with our sense of contingency it must therefore be separate from it. reason is taxonomized into a dialectic divided against itself—into speculative, constrained, aesthetic categories and practical, creative, moral categories. indeed, he made the same move plato did when plato assumed that if some pattern in the world, such as the consistent ratio of the hypotenuse to the rest of the triangle, was present to our senses, it must therefore have a real cause, expressed in that case by a mathematical relationship. for both plato and kant, mathematics and deduction were the paradigm for the discovery of the real. kierkegaard on the other hand chose to approach from another path. the question for kierkegaard was how to build a world in which both aesthete and ethicist could live in harmony. the aesthete is the one constrained by ecstatic inspiration, nietzsche’s dionysian spirit if you will, and therefore subject to contingency, not free. the ethicist on the other hand is the manifestation of kant’s free, apollonian, a priori rational good will which gives the law unto itself. except that for kierkegaard, neither of these individuals takes priority, neither wins the battle. each is constrained to live their lives as they are thrown into them, trapped within the facticity of a leap unto faith that wanders out and about themselves with every breath. don’t you know that yet?




Nietzsche suggested that we view Kant’s work not so much as an a priori generality, but as the product of his particular journey through life. Still useful and beautiful and necessary for him and perhaps for us as well, once we have understood the process that we are calling “us”….

Both Freud and Skinner followed Nietzsche along this path, encouraging the rest of us to see our words as part and parcel of our experiences. The difference between them, as I experience it, is that Freud also followed Nietzsche into an inverted Platonism and Skinner did not.




after a trope by christina rossetti



many in aftertimes will say of me
that i was a wind in the chimes set free,
a trove of fear gone bad along the seams
a chest of ghosts, grease and dreams.
but you, you were the note in some refrain
that bent the trees, those lingering remains
of your one night kissing a boy to death.
then left by the road to die an end
cold torn. homeless.



about the poetry of Dick Allen,
it’s like a something you can’t quite put
your finger on because of the clutter in your office
or a tree that blocked your way on the way to work.
either way I wish I could enter that world more fully.
a world of events hinting that to go this way or that
might be best if only you could stop and listen.
but stopping isn’t really the point is it?



Since our institutions have become more important than the individuals whom they serve, we have, in deference to this inhumane system, been forced to suppress our shared humanity. Will we ever learn to put a stop to this runaway monster, before it grinds us to shreds in the gears of cruelty and greed?





disembarked with heavy
air and beset with
a quiet evening tide
to a world in nothing smaller
than this baby fist
not yet unclenched
round of the round
i search my belongings
but the toothbrush is gone
left at some lodging