Thimble & Needle

Thimble and needle hear

my words

you’re too busy these days

to love

I’ve followed you through

and through

the toughest patches of life

and now my thread

has grown too thin

And we’ll never survive

never survive never survive

the stitching of our hearts

Paper, rock and scissors

needles, pins and threader

rulers of horror measure

the terror of my nightmare

as I watch the needle

of your busy work pierce

the tissue of my heart

I’ll never survive

never survive the sowing

of the madness

that’s your mind

:: 04-21-2018 ::


UNTIE YOUR LIPS MY LOVE

The swollen curves of nature have dressed
herself in burning colors
like last Spring’s echo:

A sincerity of majestic blue.
Untie your lips my love and plant them
all hyacinth and sweet upon my Soul!

Like nimble fingers upon ivory thought,
Like clasping arms as rolling waves,
As tender as tended seeds
in labored soil.
I feel your colors and taste
your fragrant beauty my love!
And March we dew through dreams
of April. And May our love
continue a bloom
far past June…

are the words I speak
to my tender flower!

:: 04-17-2018 ::


PEERIE-WINKIE

AND another day as the bones feel very pained        to carry the burden of sin.

ALL two hundred six of them don’t want it; alas it is just the way
it is.

The glob of gelatinous goo in the brain-pan knows it. The cat-sticks have
tried to run from the affliction but to no avail. We’re stuck here
utters the piece of flapping clapper as though ringing a bell.

We’re stuck here.

But time dimishes the skin; watch, see? All saggy and wrinkled.
But still, a small ember of fire remains; the errection of need
or the pounding throbbing kitty’s meow.
Sin daddles at the thought and dew-beaters forget while walking on Mother
Earth.

Now, hush. This is your Soul talking to you: drop the skin.

No need for that peerie-winkie.

:: 04-14-2018 ::


P  O   E    T RY – okay?

Only W H EN   i   am   Spiritually

inclined.  BUT so   many whispered

WORDS OF WISDOM have been revealed by

your hand; “But here i am, with my tears

of joy and arms and heart and even brain/

MIND; me, please.  Look at me — just look,

(Said your heart), But i cannot wake up

to the sounds of weeping from the churchyard

or miles into the City so sleep pretty

love and don’t cry //and when your chest

releases heaves i sing all lullabies

all within your tender ear // make

My Sunnyside up and let’s start Over/

Inside a new paradigm, ugh.

 

:: 12-27-2016 ::


TOWER OF A CASTLE

Within the tower of a castle
within the empire
of my existence

are all the lovely souls
are all the missed gifts
all within a lovely vassal

And if it all falls away
falls away in misunderstanding
there is hope there are some
there are some strong enough
to withstand and exist

And what useless,
foolish regrets
And what harmful,
regretful fears

And within the tower
of my castle
within the empire of
all existence

No room for sorrow
No room for tears
No room for fears

But a world of One Nation
And to hear the laudations
to hear the flatteries
of all the angels…

All within the towers
within the towers
of our castle!

:: 04-08-2018 ::


THERE’S NO ONE HERE

There’s no one here. But me. And that quiet
voice which is the beginning of a thing of
beauty. And today nature is agreeable with
my sentiment of a perfect life; her high
morning sea and cloudless sphere kiss my
tender heart and soul.

Today I have stopped. Thinking. And how when
beauty and love enters one’s life all the noise
stops. Confusion melts.

When nature touches you.

:: 04-08-2018 ::


THE SLEEPING PROSTITUTE OF TIME

Within the tapestry of life
goes the Mind:
the rest of flesh and bone
remain cat-like;
a sleeping prostitute
of time.

And within heaven all of the
interesting people are missing,
or so says Nietzsche.

But within hell most everyone
says the intersection of Canal
& Mott Streets in Manhattan are
a killer.

And a chorus of drunks fooled
by numbness and unencumbered

by care drown out the naked lunch
of fear and rejection.

That’s the mind singing, you
know.

So few sensuous souls and
so many meaty mannequins!

:: 04-07-2018 ::


EXILED

I have become the exiled
in sleep i have become
not the disappeared
but one who shrinks into
a height of awareness.

An awareness as sharp as
fractured obsidian.

And within the silky-touch
moments of suffering inner
journeys my soul rejects
all coherent reason –
leave!

Exiled consciousness slips
from subjectivity into a
gaping eternal void
of abstract form; The First
Land where numbers, thoughts,
and intangibles are born
and return to rest when over-
used.

And tonight as in all previous
nights it is sleep which has
exiled me from body.

To shrink into pure consciousness.

Freedom.

:: 04-02-2018 ::


AN OLD LADY THREW ME THE BIRD TODAY

A tongue like Excalibur melts into mythically steeled words
and ends up tearing hearts with all its magical properties.
Then the universe collapses into a final ending with nothing
left but the, “no thing.” It continues to breath and all words
move forward as zombied penguins with many semicolons standing
whimsically awaiting the next coherent thought.

And the deep dreamer asks, “So let me get this straight Jack”
to the Police Doctor on hand. “You want me to take my pencil
and right every wrong for those patients in the mechanical
ward of broken minds?” Just then a portal opens at the foot
of the deep dreamer’s mouth and the little blue clothed
munchkins drag him out of the ward and into a bread truck
and say, “You’re coming with us to settle a bet.”

The bread smells a wonderful Jesus-like body but there’s
no blood-wine to go with the screams.

:: 03-10-2018 ::


Lust Our Kicks

It’s a sun-drenched thought
riding in a dream like me
in the backseat of a
Buick rumble seat

We love our kicks
it’s our treat
being crazy ain’t enough
unless your tough
we love our kicks

There’s a question
on the plastic streets
one that drives me hazy
am I or the others crazy?

We gobblefunk in the trunk
licking the razor’s edge
all in the backseat of my
Buick rumble seat

And we lust for our kicks
a psychedelic moment
in a psychiatric ward
where the monkeys smoke
it ain’t no joke

We lust for our kicks

:: 02-12-2018 ::