when he returned from the war   the Pacific Theatre

                                                                                       after the A-bombs were dropped . . .

. . . look at him getting sloppy with pronouns when he ought to use proper nouns
                               

if anything deserved proper nouns   its was those things which had vanquished tens and hundreds of thousands of lives

unaccounted lives 

                                                                                                                          

he couldnt   any more than he could let human lives reside alone among those horrific numbers

as if any life was worth more than another

the grotesque randomness

human lives were no more precious or exquisite than lesser life forms destroyed without batting an eye

We were sensational at that

he was trained     and accomplished at that

properly now   

                         America flushed  what it must have deemed toilet bowls  Hiroshima and Nagasaki

with Little Boy and Fat Man

properly now

                         without Honor

proving what he long had maintained

there was no such thing as a civilian

all were combatants

nor was there a living thing called civility

                                                                     and certainly not after Little Boy and Fat Man(theres a comicbook begging) decimated a kneeling enemy

 

but Little Boy and Fat Man did avoid the landing US troops and Allies  himself included  on the Japanese Mainland

the Japanese Maimedland                                                                     

                                            is how he referred to it

but he was out of it

returned to the Midwest

there he wrested with his night terrors

his lone  and lonesome companions

as if anyone there who hadnt been in combat would understand

or had gone through the meatgrinder he let himself fall into

for words

 

words  that Hemingway described as abstracts  such as glory and honor and courage and hallowed

they were obscene beside the concrete names of villages and the numbers of the roads

the names of the rivers  the numbers of regiments   and the dates

                                                                                                                        published in 1929

he read it  A Farewell to Arms 

and yet he jumped into it with all the bloodlust a teenager with a bellyful of liquor would

despite knowing better

his night terrors reminded him how well he knew better

they swabbed his sleeping mind and flooded his wakened eyes

as if the years of weary war-sleeplessness  catnapping  had held them hostage  and tortured them

 

this was their blowback

they came on him breathing fire and shrieking  howling like banshees  insatiable she-devils

psychopomps anxious to escort him from this Life into the Next

not understanding he didnt Believe

but if he didnt  why could he see them  they might have averred if they werent shrieking

he couldnt ignore or defy them

so joined at the hip they traversed his mindscape and landscapes and helped him paint with colours  ugly  discordant

and wonderful

they painted as much as he did  with virtuosity  and many times he found himself staring at a painting afterwards

seeing them the first time

only his etched name and the date revealed he attended their executions

some looked an execution  the ignored pleas    despising compassion

hard sharp realism inculcated in abstract

on the street the recurring 

                                           I have to have it!

inside  he answered

                                  I had to paint it

returned Home?

(originally under wisterias,  Sunday,  11  6. 06)

1619,  Monday,  3  8. 15

People love to believe what they understood themselves to believe

which is why he often pulled back and let them go

What did James Joyce say(what didnt he say)

                                                                              Welcome be from us here till the rising of the morn, till that hen

of Kaven’s shows her beaconegg

Beaconegg  thats what people believed   the beaconeggs they laid  or the one from which they breached

he wasnt any different

   

a good argument could make him reevaluate his premise

but itd have to be one hell of an argument Before he fell hill he filled heaven: a stream, alplapping streamlet coyly coiled um, cool of her curls

so he held his tongue

not to dismay them

and instead let his palate and brush offer his ample discourse on savage abstract canvasses and linen

which sold for unexplained reasons

with shoulder shrugs

eyes tearing

aches in the pits of bellies

I have to have it  I have to!

he supposed in ways he was like a drugpusher who fed their customers who had to have It

his brushes and knives working   and capturing It

It piquing his mind

he could empty It with his art   his art seemed a salve for those who maybe couldnt

he was prolific

not to fulfill demand

but because the naked canvasses or pages begged clothing

they were like insides of a raw piece of marble begging to be configured   exposed by hammer and chisel blows

sometimes they received his imagination

but as often  and more  it was the weave or the texture  the turning or the light or shadows on it that demanded 

and like snapshots  developed  revealed  having begged 

                                                                                              such was his voluptuous seduction

even if they didnt sell hed make them

their making  was their demand on him

(originally posed Sunday  --  under wisteria,  11  6. 06)

 1255,  Hoxies Monday 36 years later,  3  8. 15