Daily Archives: September 13, 2015

I RECEIVED YOUR LETTER & THE BIRDS

DEAR pain!  March what i am extended!
Pages of eager love,the poet:  I AM so
deadeningly that every-
where  whose soul is what we write
about:  within hurt and tears  —   i
 forgive me; forgive words i wrote — to
be no thing!THAT i am that which is the
greatest shadow of   what i could
be:  within such
forgotten love!
  THERE, this, loved by me!  I love you!
:: 09-13-2015 ::

A DEBT COME DUE

A LIGHT of hope exists
till hell finds it’s miracle
and finds it’s scar
that blood assassins find
their mark upon neck
and all of our flesh
T’was later in summer
when the world died
and the dead devour
the living flesh
of our apocalyptic
generation

:: 09-13-2015 ::


AND YES, MY LOVER YES!

BEAUTY is the god permitting
ingenious angels whom (i kissed
within a feverish dream)
that each can make its own
life. And how many times my
heart dragged a sour mouth
–sweet heart. The ache
of love glazed once over,
which is normally death
but not our own.
The promise is life
hung overhead by strength
of undeniable love.
My lover! My only one!

:: 09-13-2015 ::


GARMENTS OF HEAVEN

Where I ever had my hands
upon the embroidered heart
of my soul we danced then
delightfully kissed golden
light-like that sun watching
the blue fell for night
that dark secret spot
only lovers share —
for me and you
i should spread my
humbled promise to never
reveal this beauty
outside of you:
He who wishes
for garments of Heaven
within your heart

:: 09-13-2015 ::


HEART BEATING

So reassuring is the sound
of my own heart beating
until the day i died
and now the beatings
haunt me

:: 09-13-2015 ::


IF I MAY BE

IF i may be. . . (maybe)
(yes, it is simple because it’s the only
thing to do!) me of all that i CAN DO
yes, i see when this (what thing?) comes unto
my smallest world; with proclaimed sweet apple-
eyes and ruby (stolen) lips of dreams
i wish i were staying in New Orleans
and working my poems in that Victorian
home of my many wishful lustfully “you”
whose walls have stretched beyond
romantic imaginations of my emptied
chamber — not that anything was ever
really there dear. And out of the well
of God and her kindness tells me a few
philosophers say I’m doing quite well!
where freedom’s mouth under a mere
wish above as breathing what-if’s which
life-fear shall never do?
dreams drowning within life’s thunderous
stormy tears of love and what-if’s YOU

:: 09-13-2015 ::


HISTORY OF THE SCREW

AND within the beautiful
where i never knew
within the bountiful
love
i once tasted life
then knew as a screw
tightly bounded by
wood and you
that shaped the thread
of my heart by helix
–not a spiral
and as the first screw
factory — my love,
it was a financial failure!

:: 09-13-2015 ::


IF YOU LET ANYONE SEE YOU

WE never know how we lived
until the curtains
come down around our knees
until the crowd says
i was good/i was bad
one dignity that delays
for all an appreciation
for having given our all

:: 09-13-2015 ::


German Chocolate Cake

THIS season of binded tongue unleashed like purple violet
leafs dancing in my incarcerated soul She slept beneath a wish
called deep root me an autumn smell tourniquet binding me
when i was small an old woman died called grandmother and
like all living things do: they ate for reaffirmation
of life, so now i love German Chocolate Cake
a layered and deliciously tasty cake by Sam German but now
with a trace of formaldehyde thank you grandma, haha,
you’ve preserved this memory so sweetly and I’m very indebted
to that culinary after-life taste called d.e.a.t.h.

:: 09-13-2015 ::


S O L D O U T WHORE

THERE is a word that publishers
prefer, called
:::::::::::::::
S O L D O U T:::::::::::::
like a flower that bees prefer
and prostitutes of words
call CASH-IN like a white guy
named MICHAEL who couldn’t get
his poem published changed his
skin changed his soul and a name:

–> YI-FEN CHOU <—
makes me sick
literal whore
literary star
so sue me like all the waves
of a blue ocean i live within
and BEST AMERICAN POETRY
can go suck my cock
(hehe) better if with ink
like a false witness //lost
my patience for writers so cheap
they feed their egos with fire
and ashes of babies called poems
go fuck yourself

:: 09-13-2015 ::