Yazzie & I (1977)


“On the death of a friend, we should consider that the fates through confidence have devolved on us the task of a double living, that we have henceforth to fulfill the promise of our friend’s life also, in our own, to the world.” – Henry David Thoreau

I met Yazzie when I was seven and she was six.  We rubbed noses in the alfalfa field out to the North of the Nenahnezad School and made secret promises to each other.  Some I will never reveal.  Through the years, we drifted apart and then back together again.  We were a mystery to each other.  We saw wonder in the world all around us.  In September of 1977 when I was sixteen and she was fifteen, we drove out near Burnham Mesa and danced under the stars to an Alice Cooper song.  It was our first and last date.

My old friend is gone so quick, without a touch, her breath has skipped.  A seal is broken; the spirits move fast, a famous journey on a distant path.  Oh, my partner, your lips brushing past, the four winds whirling, a picture still last.  My vision, my flame, my Navajo, that warmed me when the night was cold, took me, touched me while stars preformed a mass.  We danced so close, that we weaved a cocoon while our bodies touched inside our passions grew.  For you made me a ghost, I made one of you too, the sand on my back, while the world was you.  Made me a never, never, never, never man, whispering to me “be mine in thought, if only you can.”

For it was back then, so long ago, I became first boy on a sea of sand.  And I grew still inside of first girl so true, while the demons hid while the sky turned turquoise blue.  Her sheer layered dress, her falling hair, a pathway in time that charts a future shared.  Our souls so silent before the beauty we made, below the mesa, while destiny played.  For oh, my Yazzie, we are more than flesh, under stars that trail, that seek our breath.  For You and I, were I and you, a gasp in laughter, while worlds unglued.  A time together when where, was where. Indus crosses meridian, this now September, my Yazzie you are over there.

Just last night as I tried to sleep, my mind so anxious from a week so bleak.  I saw you passing just two stars to the right, headed beyond Mercury to a sun so bright.  Your gray hair streaming turning black by my sight, and you looked so young like you did that night.  And I played some Alice, and I played him loud, for just like back then you assured this old man, we were a constant somehow.

Deb Yazzie was a dear friend of mine from Childhood that left just the other day to travel to where there is no dark valley, just open sky and the best of an enduring mystery in Neverland. – 09.29.2021 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

Here & There (You Love Me)


“Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. You hung me on the line. Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you.” – Paul McCartney

“Maybe I’m Amazed” ….

Paul McCartney was singing as I wrote your name on my hand, And I could feel the ink seeping into my soul like a flame, taking my heart to a place I could not understand. Still, it was clear to me that here and there you loved me, and here and there I would never leave you.

I am just wandering the cosmos, when we meet, a sad bogus boy, with a spark of destiny, that only someone different can help me reach. I am looking for you to be like me, while you are looking for me to be me. For you see I have been many places, through doorways and values of times. I have seen the beginning and the lie that ends all time. Still nothing in all of those places, has been like here and there and how you have loved me. No nothing has been like this very moment in this stillness and how you love me.

I whitewashed the shadows, the link to the divine. I hid beneath memories that reached to the sky. I said I was a secret, that really was a lie. Still here and there you loved me. I drove to Albuquerque with a search a hope to find. Seven cities of Cibola of a mystic kind. I dug so many tunnels, I forgot which one was a mine. Your feet in my shoes while I am drunk in summertime. Still here and there you loved me. For G_D gives to me a mystery, a path that follows my own. A pleasure, a pain, a universe I cannot define. A placeholder you call our home. It carries an air of some kindness, sometimes a hatred so deep. Still, what I would see as challenge, is still something I would complete. With you here and there, still I love you. Still here and there you love me.

I was a whole lot more than he was, you were a bit more than her. Time was turning, spinning more than sand. The end of an age was coming. My age, my time. And when the night was silent, the ghost no longer in my head, I looked at you sleeping, touched your neck, with my wet lips. And it was okay. For while outside lightning split the sky and made glass in the sand. Bad angels fell from my sky, things I saw went away. Naked monsters no longer entwined. Here and there I loved you. Here and there you loved me.

Paul McCartney was singing as I wrote your name on my hand, And I could feel the ink seeping into my soul like a flame, taking my heart to a place I could not understand. Still, it was clear to me that here and there you loved me, and here and there I would never leave you…..

For Susan– 06.14.21 – דָּנִיֵּאל‎ 

Victoria


” Sing your death song and die like a hero going home”. – Tecumseh

If I should claim how great thou art, my lady. With thy pale dress, and thy white face. Moving G-d like before me while angels wait.

In and out of minutes, heartbeats slowing, I see her dancing upon a dawn filled sea. Planting footsteps that are visible to only those who would see. And it seems that she would kiss me nicely. And it seems she would fly with me. For she is of the beginning. The beginning of my eternity.

If I should hear her if I should go to play. If my shoes should not fit and stay unlaid. If voices should become a second place. On a present morning before the sun has thought to raise. If change should happen, music and light replace my pleasant grace. If G_D should find me willing to ride the wind on her beckon of faith. My heart broken, my breath that can longer taste. My taste for earth fainter than my fading face. Oh, then Victoria I will ascend in numbers across this water so chaste. While there are seconds moving, time that I no longer make, my soul moving, into spirit beyond the tides that break.

If moving morning shadows should bring me angels. If their high notes should barriers break. If I should find myself willing, to touch her face. A distant journey, now a present place. No longer a question, indecision, or an unintelligible race. If I should no longer suffer, descend to a stoic held together by man’s science or medical case. Know that I am moving upon that water, my eyes wider, no terror left to shake. If I should claim how great thou art, my lady. With thy pale dress, and thy white face moving G-d like before me while angels wait. In death I trip, but so quickly I reach and touch your blessed lace. That which makes you in me. That which you let me take.

If I should walk in mystery, into thy ark with such an airless ease. If their would-be Seraphim that fold their wings when I, upon my journey make. Touching syllables, that only immortals make, crying holy, while she dances for me. If I am growing lighter, closer than, closer than my G_D to thee. For here there would be no lessor freedoms than what she has made in me. If she would make an equation, a variable to a prophesy, it would be that I am with Victoria, for in Victoria I have come to be.

If I should claim how great thou art, my lady. With thy pale dress, and thy white face moving G-d like before me.

Jovine DeMarcus’s daughter carries his thoughts and blood deep within her. I am married to her. Jovine taught me how to pull wire, hammer a nail, and put together the most intricate electrical wiring equations. I taught him about the mountains. He wanted me to call him dad and I fought it. I fight it no longer. Jovine went to his Victoria, his woman of the water and mountain on December 23rd, 2020 at 4:15 AM in the morning. Sweet travels Dad. Sweet travels. Miss you much more than I ever thought I would. 12.31.20- דָּנִיֵּאל

 

Below Hague’s Peak (Eve)


“She is your before, sawed from your spirit, formed before, you were an atom, she was an Eve, before you.” – D.S.

She said, “I have always been above”. She said, “I have always been below”. He said, “I have found myself in each place, you go”. She said, “That’s how I found you”. He said, “It’s a dream of clues, isn’t it? A sweet dream of you”. She said, “No my love, it’s really you”.

It could be a refraction, or a dream from our birth, climbing ever northward from the highway where it curves. Around steep stones and cedars bearing snow crystals, beneath the Mummy’s range, strange dreams of deeds forgotten, your dress a long wedding train. Carrying us both laughing, your lips upon mine, shadows moving aside from where we tell them lay. Lay shadows lay. Oh, I could have been a lyricist that wrote of wrong love’s pain. But no that’s not the way we hold each other when life begins to rain. When it pours. When the screams come from where ghosts have lain. When it snows right here on top of a mountain chain. When piano keys tumble down, sounds my love, my eternal love for you.

It could be an essence, that leaves us here, scattered among the mountains, somewhere our love lost, somewhere standing together solid in the altitude, near Hague’s Peak, so cold. Our lines draining from our hearts, old places our lives together, familiars, no longer alone. Scattering, and hovering through this winter and last summer too. The windows of this high house breaking, opening, speaking. Frozen tongues, warming where eagles show, speaking to what has become me, and what will form you. For Darwin has not made us, nor are we of an archeological mold. Petrified angels, our stories just waiting to be told. More we are more. More we are more.

She came speaking my name near the rocks, close to the high stream, and she became a part of this everlasting poem. In a haste I asked her, her name, and I was blushing. She looked at me from high above the Colorado Mountains, those eternal thrones. She sighed, a sound which is of eternal syllables and symbols, and she said, “I am you”.

She said, “I have always been above”. She said, “I have always been below”. He said, “I have found myself in each place, you go”. She said, “That’s how I found you”. He said, “It’s a dream of clues, isn’t it? A sweet dream of you”.

She said, “No my love, it’s really you”.

For the spirit that has always been before me, created in that light that holds us both. For Susan. –08.03.2020 – דָנִיֵּאל

 

Bread


Who would have thought it would still be you and me? You sing “Bread” to me, I cast myself away, it’s a “Sweet Surrender”.

She brings me from beneath the world, that gone dry from frigidly. That dark place without a soul, gone to places where blind men see. There in time, there in pain, a boy that knows how to tell tales untold, so selfishly, does he grow. Still she laughs and on we go. I am me, sometimes lost, hell fires landing, no Pentecost. No Peter or John, or Jesus too, just my tall woman humming “Bread” to sooth. So, there are worlds that I do see, strange little islands on the astral sea, and they mean something for when I’m lost, but not near enough for what they cost. Still unknown to me she hums “Sweet Surrender”.

For all the times, I’ve wondered from bed, found a highway, inside my head, made myself something for what I’m not. Formed silly reasons for pleasures, I don’t want. And no one knows except me and now you, no one knows what we been through. Still there’s something, a secret true, a better myth that brings me through. A mystery you will know now too. When she sings “Bread” I sleep the night through. She say’s “Your a better man, for what your not”.  Demons in my sleep, that are better not sought. A father, husband, hero, whose fight is still fought, but still I’m weak, when the battles are not, then, she play’s “Bread”, and my fears are fought.

I always promised hero’s that looked like me. Expansive, gregarious knights that sailed my stormy, storied seas. Still in all that, for what I was, my dangerous flirtations, with what I couldn’t see. You stayed right here arguing strong, a callous to a pair, but it made me strong. And when you sing, you sing “Bread” to me. A “Sweet Surrender”, and my G_D, I’m free, so very free.

Who would have thought it would still be you and me? You sing “Bread” to me, I cast myself away, it’s a “Sweet Surrender”.

For my Susan, I’m so glad you won! – 10.26.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

  • Bread- Sweet Surrender- All Rights

Bro/ken (Hold My Heart)


When you break, when you wonder, in your soul, how to hold your heart, how to keep it from being two, not one you see, but two.

Oh my creator, my symphony of broken joy, you writing rune like syllables in this little boy, yep supernatural as the sun goes lights out, dark, so weird in this little boy, I imagine it’s been this way a time or two for all of you. It seems you would hold my heart until the conciliators wouldn’t talk, nobody listens, it seems you would hold my heart, and damn it, damn it I don’t understand, you would let it go too soon. Seems the sun wants to set too ruin, seems a broken heart wants to have sex with the new moon, that place where shadows whisper too soon. And yet you would say to me, go on be empty but make sure your swept free. To many houses inhabited, where daemons have room. For something wilds going to come along, a dangerous topics going to turn into a song, and when, oh when you turn around, something magic’s going to turn without a sound, and G-Ds going to hold your heart, some awesome lights going to hold your heart soon.

And yes, you’re going to hear it, syllables without a sound, your own heart of joy breaking, face it, it’s high noon, G-Ds listening, and somebodies going to hold your heart, and it will happen too soon, the question is what do you do?

Bring me shadows, call down me flames, let me go to lonely, someplace where all there is, human as it is, great deserts of room. And let me break, it seems the natural thing to do, for deep unto deep it calls, letting me being hurt, and I will watch my heart break itself in two. Oh my creator, my symphony of broken joy, are you listening, you said you would hold me, than hold my heart, will you keep it after dark, from breaking in two?  Please let me stay one, don’t want to break to two.

And yes, you’re going to hear it, syllables without a sound, your own heart of joy breaking, face it, it’s high noon, G-Ds listening, and somebodies going to hold your heart, and it will happen too soon, the question is what do you do?

When you break, when you wonder, in your soul, how to hold your heart, how to keep it from being two, not one you see, but two. – 03.01.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Summer of 92 (Your Song)


We are nearing a time where promises come true, when I have the money, to make assurances come through, when rings and sparkles, and castles are built in the sky. Still it’s quiet simple, these many years past, I was richer so much richer when I said I love you.

I knew you five months when I asked you in song, in rhyme my head bent, I asked you so strong, a quiet little melody a quiet little song, will you please now marry me, I know we’ll last long. Oh words in wet summer, our beach and our sand, our quiet little Camelot where we dreamed we would stand, and babies and caravans of spices for good, we would be forever, just as we should. Oh Susan my mistress, my wife and my life, that summer I knew you would be all my life, and on we would journey our hands so entwined, my classic enchantment my spell in my life. For you there are gathered outside where I stand, a world and a future, the best in my plan. That Florida sweet sunset, the heat filled the sand, a strange horizon of mountains just ahead, we’d scale them like Everest, and climb them with tears, for real was our tragedies, so telling our fears. No life of illusion, no answers so clear.

But just as so promised, and so well planned, from here we hear music that song in our ears, your song, in the highland I’ll take you there when I can.

That September majic, I fashioned a song, of green eyes in summer and dreams of year long, and brought myself down from a height I’d placed there, to play you an overture of pleasure to bare, and there we stood then, as we do stand now. Two shadows forever, entwined with our vows. My knees felt so bruised from kneeling as a knight, for you my Guinevere, for you my wife.

I thought I a rich man, for what I had with you, for a poor man with love, knows better of what’s better then new. For in that moment when you said yes, I grew my life better, I made it with you.

We are nearing a time where promises come true, when I have the money, to make assurances come through, when rings and sparkles, and castles are built in the sky. Still it’s quiet simple, these many years past, I was richer so much richer when I said I love you. – 02.18.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Fun in Two


Sometimes were fun, a little bit blue, a certain instance of thought were one in two. All that I thought, that would make us true, all of my dreams are poor in comparison to truth, the thing that is all, when strangers are new, the beginning of all we had is better in fun in two. A lightning has come, that strikes glass through, a shining light of phosphorous love that seers we two, and all of the stars, and all of the past, historical ghost of spirits, that make us last. My thought of it all, is me in you, my head spinning round makes fun in two.

There is an ark, a mountain pass, a place of shadows in the beginning that seem to last. I would strip down, and make you laugh, you would strip too, and pain would pass, all of its right, from what we’ve been through, taking a story of legend, and making it true. Calling down daemons, calling down sun, twisting the balance of the two now that is fun. When there are tales spun by the fire, when there is time, and we have felt are spirits expire, we will arise, and make change new. While all around us terror, fights without a clue. All of it’s me, damn sure that it’s you, twisting and falling making love it’s fun in two.

Looks like I’m grey, with a wrinkle or two, climbing mountains has made me this way, and then there’s you. You make me grow young, with a spell or two, my witch I’m your fan forever, fun in two. Can we go out, go out in the dark, can we live on this mountain together and jump the shark. I think I’ll smile, and grab you, and as we go on together I bet it’s fun in two. Forever and ever I bet it’s fun with you.

Sometimes were fun, a little bit blue, a certain instance of thought were one in two. – 01.05.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Melancholia (if an angel, an angel came)


Real is where we are right now, so cold and rare that I see you, blended in a fairer side, taste me more than I taste you. Cobblestones well most can’t feel, that heel that’s bruised it’s me and you, shadow comes and twilight bends, and then its dark and how it rains, it rains. Rare a storm that ever ends, but melancholia, loves such sin, to bring the soul to just one drop of where the wind does end, so silent in the end. I thought it such a single road, a sharp thought held in poet’s prose, a rose that’s died and then turned blue, I thought me better than you, and then there comes the truth.

Melancholia, a place of art, a sociopathic kind of start, the creative side of blue, the street where daemons stare at you. A genesis, we title fun, beginning gothic, self-persona of. An innocent prick of the pin that draws pictures in the blood of sin, and there in silence while eyes stare old. Those wild perusing, rhymes so cold, that melancholia without end, that rules the world without the wind, and oh what love it’s lost within. For all is downward in a trend, and just as dusk comes in self-pain, narcissistic endeavor in black rain. To walk and draw such art in mind, self-absorbed, descent in mind, and what would happen in this pain if an angel, an angel came.

…. if an angel, an angel came!!!!

A cover warms me, keeps me dry, a strong willed woman, who does not lie, a shield from prying eyes that cry. An instrument formed from G_D’s own why. A blend of treasure, laughing through, over and over and its truth. She says you’ll write where there is wind, and stop, the torture that’s within, and what must go, must go first, that melancholia, that is of earth, that self-absorption from within, that dank dark secret that just pretends. For this strange journey must endure, with light around you, of that I’m sure, for melancholia cannot win, I see those eyes, and they are pure, but those behind you, you must fight, for you are worth to be of light, to be of light.

Real is where we are right now, so cold and rare that I see you, blended in a fairer side, taste me more than I taste you.

For my wife Susan who is my angel – 10.09.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Fleetwood Mac and the Cloudless Flight (1980)


Dazed, so into you, sway, where ever you go, your skin smells like a Camel smoke, and the desert wind at night. September, Nicks, Fleetwood and the lights. Smoking a fatty, her jeans so tight, and looking at Maryann all night. I’ll pick you up, a “sweet wonderful you”, you loop your purse strap around me tight, and baby, baby you whisper, you’re going to fuck me on this cloudless flight. A shirt unbuttoned, rumors, your sighs, you’re dazzling thighs, and that dark, dark hair that follows the magic, where this boy wonders why. For what follows, a miracle of sight, the ways of Fleetwood Mac, and Maryann with a boy you have never denied, you have never denied.

You in your Masters, you’re English of degrees, your Wordsworth, and eighteenth century poets, me fading, a sophomore, who no longer achieves. I know you’re the wild one, I’m so quiet, and yet you say, “I don’t have to tell you, but you’re the only one”. And tonight when the Pan Am goes quiet, and Lindsey and Stevie are getting high, you and I will walk into the desert, and make love while time fly’s. The echo of “Over and Over“, the death of the light, and my Maryann, will chant Mabinogi, and like that Welsh witch Rhiannon, take me on a cloudless flight.

Is it now a question, a memory of all I could do, a nineteen year old boy, with Maryann on a concert night.

So we danced, danced, stage side, and my “Dreams” followed your hands, till they reached my side, and then you whispered “your feelings follow me wherever I go”. And then we were running, like sprites through firelight, through those east side doors into the taste filled night. Into the desert, where water dies, out by the Organ’s, where coyotes cry, and there by the ghost shack, where Pat Garett died, we made love, and believed in the ways of magic, the magic of the night. And though the years they be many, with loves and failures too, I still remember the concert, and afterwards the cloudless flight. – 08.20.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל