When I Was God

WHEN i was God i dreamt i was a child
i dreamed of flowing rivers
and a youthful love called Lilly
When I was older than Light
i became flesh and told to wait

When i was older within flesh the voice said, “wait.”
An act of divine.

I prayed in pain — it hushed me.

I burned the scrolls they called Holy.

And i took the creature’s hand I created

a spot, the piece of mud, now your land.

Now almost perished from the Earth.

:: 07.04.2022 ::


O U R O B O R O S

a strung-out song (oh pity one down another to go)
a pit-angel trap (if you know what i mean)
green as money without feeling sang the fat
evil thought ramming inside the white cave of my dilapidated
skull.

Where we never sense measure.

How can any artist sell out for fame
is beyond me. do -did-itty-did-diddy-uptown-
so-lay claims to the Evil One called small soul!W

i know i must be mentally unwell
but need for money was never the cause
for my derangement.

I blame my dreams.

My dreams are OUROBOROS.

A divine pain. Inside my throat. Beneath
my head inside my stomach.

Di 00-itty-diddy \did/did/\did itty so good
bye now (hello white and yellow)__

:: 03.18.2022 ::


Strange Claims Adjuster

My Sweet Lover of ages / the Strange Claims Adjuster
of mysterious poses \ within a world so cold
making pink ice cream ponies,
How we scream sometimes at each other and spit in
the frozen air /touch me if you will upon my stomach
where all butterflies are tied
up \ —-> i met the corner
with the skin of my soft hip
and sanguinolency masterbation
spread outward into the castle
where we went || deep inside
the body of our MIND
ABYSSOPELAGIC lust! Oh okay,
the next morning we went hunting
(after that funky time) for panacea.

She took me within her arms with
more than two eyes burning inside
(the lights went out) I fed her
special green grass and she sang,
“Taradiddle” oh wicked __ nikki.

I spoke a word, “
Mercy” but i could never buy my
Life back with any money ||

Kisses mellifluous while watching
syzygy align!~ We grind.

:: 07.03.2022 ::


Honey Lamp

My Heart breaks the stairway of fire and mud
a decapitated museum of flesh and visual pain
transforms shattered life THERE WITHIN my
spirit crying of windows natural friendship
As ashlar of forest flees through low bridges
Eros much more flees from my loving heart
I hear upon a morning light a band of insects
that eat the kind Light of Love/ the head hears
aluminum letters of abc holding birds of insurance
\ emanation of carpets i hope beauty  are as burning
ashes from the gates of archipelago pursable fascinator
of enigmas.  Within the hands bleeding mirrors broken.

The course of this prose blinded but not for poets.
Whose arrows course blindly within a universal dream
connected to the honey lamp.

:: 07.02.2022 ::


SAILOR SAILING BLINDLY

On one of these laps of the fishing boats with their red sails that scour the island of the insane we look up.

The woman who was staring from the harbour is back there, in a sea of people.

We read about the great gap between the people and the colonialists.

The press that did not come here that shows pictures of half-naked women with white clothes and black teeth.

The madness of the man on the second floor is beyond the penetration of the purple arrow.

We read the messages of the leftist and the feminist struggle in Portuguese and Spanish and we do not know what it means.

The man who raises up the voice of union does not know the relatives who listen to the voices of the streets and of the flowers and of the trees the voice of the ascetic saying that does not stress the ear.

I clearly knew beyond this stormy weather within my head. I am the poet writing this prose.

The sailor sailing blindly — flying!

:: 07.02.2022 ::


WHAT A PITY

MY E Y E S
a pity.

How hearts break
while causing each other harm.

We take each other’s heart
a p a r t ~ ~ to cause
each other pain/to take each
other’s love without thinking
any more\ isn’t it a pity.

Pain.

Some days in haze without explaining
to people we’re so insane:
how beauty surrounds us like clouds
and green lands all around us.

Not thinking any more.

It’s a pity so ashamed
how we break each other’s heart
for the cause of pain.

How we take love to make it our own
but it’s getting bad:

bleeding out each other’s veins

Such a pity.

For the lovely people.

:: 07.02.2022 ::


EATING DREAMS

I ate the dream of my head tonight
oh boy. i wrote the script of life
and the other one died for love
so i laughed because i saw the photographs
||| she had long legs as golden brown
and society stood and stared // –>
i directed a film called WAR and how
the crowd turned away saying they
knew the story having read the book
of Love and Death

\i wept beside a broken river
that never stops its tears \

Then i awoke. I grabbed my clothes
and went downstairs to retrieve my
bag of Dreams : the toaster spoke
saying how it destroyed a universe
when i placed bread inside it’s slot
— they burned the Werelings Inside.

That’s another story for another day.

:: 07.02.2022 ::


HEAD JUICE

Behold the silver river of head juice
plumb line who is privy to secret love

i pierced the sight of diamond dust
kissing the white peacock as she spread
her tail beind the crust of acid lies!

it comforts me / so relaxing i smoke
her smile full of lip stick sketched
backwards to have never been sensed
but by me ~~~ an atonement for false
wittnesses / of pearl fishers whose
feet are full of beach sand
— their faces turned into a coral pink
their breasts swinging around the shop
window greeting men with coffee and no
milk

i voiced two worlds and even without
purpose served a two-bit thug stealing
my verse —

A pendicle from the central chandelier of
the Earth.

I refuse to feed them!

:: 07.02.2022 ::


A Beautiful Fire

Love weighs as much as the dream that dislodges a swinging door in the high and the low mark is furthermore, the gold coin that vegetates in the forest of one night as a single night gives us the sense of yes and the contradiction of the no of that coin; a swinging door every night gives love to the intermittent stars — two contradictory shadows make love the most splendid flame and establish forever the golden principle of love.

The lamp that the text of the shadow has broken into a thousand fragments of dawn lets out alchemical words and a million shadow-years we respond with a million woman-years each woman is an alchemist syllable.

The mirror and its minute waves deliver us to life that part of simultaneous high and low tide with great power we cross its burning chest more demanding than the cyclothymic toche and we go out into what they ambiguously call life attracted by the reflection of a twinkling of feathers while at our back the mirror thoroughly erases its images and we unarmed do not find the entrance, we who find the exit luxury that groans in the night the lamp has cut its wrists for love to finally know what darkness is Love weighs as much as reality that dislodges that swinging door opens inside closes outside exteriorizes a specter the puberty of sleep internalizes a world that swinging door camouflaged as a jungle and only one tree is enough to dissolve its mystery the phoenix of love throws its ashes into the air!

Love can ignite the eternal fuse and it flies from the X in an ever-expanding poem as ephemeral and lifelike as the Moon is engulfed by an abyss in that same ultimate solitude Love is burning and it glows through a beautiful fire.

it is not the sound that makes you cry // it is not the sight that tears your eyes \
it is not the touch that hurts
it is not the feelings that make you cry
it is the scene of the moment
and it is the moment of the perspective that makes you cry
and you cry with your whole being as if you have never cried at all
and the other minute waves carrying the alchemical fire in the silence
awash with words like hidden tears
then return that reduces you to a mass of loathing

It is that once that sound has passed you, that one expression that sends you into mourning that begins to tarnish the form of love and make it hollow, its hero, once human, becomes contemptible, quiescent, and unconscious.

Only then are you in proximity to nature in a phenomenal intimacy.

:: 07.01.2022 ::


A Lace Torn

He had a good family but didn’t mind that his cold sister didn’t allow him to sit in the crescent at mealtimes.

When he entered the school, a louse was implanted on his chest. He climbed the tree, and when he descended the watermelon was a louse.

His life was diminished by the fall of a pin.

They called his aunt from a neighbor.

He found that from the savory overripe taste of the urine,

“Laat!”

There had been a flight of cymbals.

“It is still winter, just think of it, today is winter.

It was so beautiful for two minutes.

And you, you are speaking about winter, and I am living.”

He noticed her blouse, her shoulders, her beautiful legs.

“What are you looking at?”

“You. You are something remarkable. I love to have you in my arms. And your stomach is so fat, no?

Yes?”

They took some rooms.

The lace was torn, and the bride had a headache from a bash, it had been a jilbab he put on and the veil of the crucifixion.

The bride was in a pajama, and she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He took his glasses off, and gave her some water.

“There. Now you can put on the sunglasses. They are there. They’ve been there.”

They lay in bed.

She stroked his head.

She kissed his lips, and he closed his eyes.

“We’ll be there in a minute,” he said.

When they arrived at the party, some people said that they shouldn’t go in the library, but in the next room.

They went into the corridor, and a woman with a small head came out of the library.

“Are you new?”

She put a finger on his lips.

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes, I am very tired. I had trouble sleeping. I was thinking about the problem of God.” he said.

“We’ve been talking about this for a long time. She looks a little suspicious. I know that she does not approve of me. I am very sure. I’ve met her twice in the park. You are so much mistaken if you say that she is my wife. She is a very good friend.”

They went to the room.

The music was terrific.

He remembered dancing with her in the school, with the knife strapped upon her thigh, and with a knife in her mouth. She threw herself to him, and she began to cry.

“There is a man. He wants to send me back to the mountains. He has not given up. The man says that the mountains are more beautiful. I like the mountains very much. It’s very sad to have him look at me like that. The woman says that I am going to die. She says that I am going to die.”

“The laws are different in the mountains,” she said.

“And where are you going to die? And have a problem with the disease?” He asked.

“A lot of people have the disease. They are buried in the mountains.”

“And you are going to the mountains to die?”

“No. In another town.”

“And where is the problem?”

“You cannot live as a lesbian. It is not good. It’s very bad. Yes? A beautiful woman like you, it is not good. It is bad.”

“How do you know all this?”

“The women who live with their women are beautiful and happy.

But the woman who has a man is not.

He goes to the mountains to die, and the woman has a fat belly.

She is unhappy.”

“Didn’t you say something like that before?

You said that if the woman has a man, and her belly is fat, then it is bad.

But this woman is fat.

She is not happy.”

“I told you that I cannot have a man, no?

I am a bad man.

It is not good.

My father was a good man.

He was a member of the Orthodox Church.

He was not happy.

I am happy because I have a man, but he is not happy.

No?

Yes?”

She was holding her head.

She was crying.

“Are you tired?”

He said.

“You have been crying.”

“No, I am not tired.

The woman told me.

I am happy.

I love him.

I love him.

He is strong.

I love him very much.

She tells me that if I have a man, I will die, yes?”

“What does it matter if it is a man or a woman who dies?”

“Because I can not have a man.

He is good, but I cannot have a man.

I cannot.”

“Is it possible to have a man?”

“Yes.

When I was a child, I wanted a family.

My mother told me that I was a man.

But I cannot have a man.

You can not kill a man, and a woman does not want to kill a man.

I want to be with a man.

It’s beautiful.

I want to be happy.

I want to be with a man.

If I want to die, it will be good.”

“If you were going to die,” he said, “what would you like to have?”

“I would have a fruit tree.”

:: 07.01.2022 ::