Harvey Goldner
"When I was a child, my lesbian aunt, Suzanne, would spend a week or so every summer at my family's vacation home on Lake Wenatchee, here in Washington State. This was before the era of motorcycle helmets, and Suzanne would arrive on her blue Bugatti, her red hair streaming, flaming. While tossing back straight shots of my father's precious scotch, she would mesmerize my twin brother Phil and I by reading aloud her favorite poets, chiefly Elizabeth Bishop. Eventually, my brother Phil became
an alcoholic & was killed in a motorcycle accident, and I began writing poems."
Dog is love pure and simple
very simple
so that
when there is no one around
for dog to love
dog sleeps.
Here we are talking about
a house dog.
A yard dog
is something else
but a house dog is love
and will sleep on your bed
even your pillow with his
tongue in your mouth
if you let him.
So if you wish to learn to feel
the real
brotherhood of man
stay far away from reptiles
and political assemblies.
Stay far away from church
unless the minister
of your church
is a dog.
The church I go to is like that.
Its pastor is a dog.
His sermons are short:
a few moans and groans and howls
and growls and
whines and woofs
and then it's over.
After the sermon
our congregation
sits still for an hour or so
engaged in a quiet orgy of being
of beaming
in love.
I've been told (let me tell you)
that there are even higher
forms of love
but that to know them
you must travel far
far
into the deep bush of Australia
and there sit at the feet
of the Pope of Higher Love
a female kangaroo.