Tag Archives: #souls

DEATH IS NOT WASTED

DEATH sheltered upon the spit of dying souls;
sun and heat a giant cat with one flat foot
upon a devil’s wing — the homosexual and
amorous spirits that cross a garden in dead
of night make scary sounds.
my throat an elevator from heaven descending
toward hell with every swallow; my non-
existent ring upon a broken finger as throbbing
sexual oysters.

to smell the clean spirit of angels are as hanging
clothes upon a clothesline within a Spring’s breeze.

:: 09.21.2020 ::


A HUNDRED POEMS – XXX

my part a half of whole
a thought a slice of more
that my life lived and soared
my part your half our none
an emotion : the wave of ocean
that my life becomes
Life and as one
what more
than one and whole?

:: 04-03-2014 ::
rev 07192020


LUSTFUL MOON

How long….how long can i hold your hand
within the darkness of this night!
Look! The moon shines — sweet heart / shines\
i have not felt flesh moreless a caring hand within this
venture called Life. Beautiful.
And now you chance the winds , the rain, and the world?

and of me?
I am drunk, high … i am fixated upon beauty of a heart
as you are.
We could cross the road toward wilderness or toward
the concrete city — i prefer wilderness.
Where we can be brilliant intelligent animals fornicating
under the silver light of the Moon.

Stay near. Me. So that I cam smell your skin and fill
my lungs with you.

:: 09.09.2020 ::


NEVER

TO never solve miracles of science
TO never have crawled out of a c–ave
somber thoughts
although some are a blessing
to a curse
some ensure military solutions
never understood words : but if
i ever lose my love | IF i ever lose
my Faith …my faith in you |
come home with me…that i may fill
my arms with you.

:: 08.07.2020 ::


FALLING NOTE

A Night
as a falling note
upon the wishes
oh those dreams
of Life/
we go
…rushing river
passion bursting
the silver-Moon
you come
we go
over
there
!

:: 07.23.2020 ::


JOURNAL: 07172020

TOO! i am too tired for Love___i drained
my member silently this day: of no love,
fanfare nor beauty i did this to die again/
the sun was rolling upon my house’s roof
and all the neighborhood dogs howled
in joy at the large yellow bouncing ball
of fire and death\and me –alone.

:: 07.17.2020 ::


BRONTOSAURUS

DEFINITELY a few minutes ago
: walked within your footsteps/
walking — oh, walking in your
footsteps\ hey mister, i would
not ask for more (i would not walk
within those foot steps) but could you
sing to me about how mighty brontosaurus
died even built three stories high: he
would never hurt a fly…
Execelsus
walking within those same footprints
are my own foot-steps…

:: 07.16.2020 ::


V

V[this is where Vee go ]
i split the atom of a glyph
called
V (vee)
i did without a spade nor
the sting of a royal bee
: this i did for all of
me.

:: 07.13.2020 ::

[extract: The Destruction of Western Alphabet –eprobles–]


THE HEART WISHES TO BE HEARD

THINKING here alone about all those muggy nights
thinking of how much my body haS DONE and this heart
i now call Fear__ haven’t we all done crazy and at times
so lately___
i have more been than once hypnotized & paralyzed
as pinned butterfly : now free to fly away_
//..—..\\ a fortress of never-
realizing pas s i n g eyes & whoYOU
within my most private dreams:
dammit! it’s so late or early
& so sick and tired/i never thing
how what i could and can ever do
if lightning once again strikes me
it’s not what i can do to make you
care or love me: it is what i do when
once again lightning strikes me and
you are not there.// nothing i can do
to make you hear me or be loved by
YOU. So, sorry seems to be the littlest
word.

:: 07.03.2020 ::


EMBRYO’S SKINNY FISTS

THE embryo’s skinny fists reach the skies
and hides a face yet born
in this summer of burning children you
call a name and the world is asleep.
the fitful swings the stuffed animals
the tired friends called warm winds
have long thoughts of buried snakes
and within the many undreamed thoughts
of a lost world the embryo’s skinny fists
tear the skies apart — the revelation
of new nails grown for 2 months that never
had a drink of the blood you spilled //
some hang their hand and drown within fear
yet, and, with unborn eyes very open, to pretend
a gently passed hand over a baby’s head —
THIN new hair that does not die, long nails
within a soft chest — licking the bloodless
wounds of survival.
The sound of the surgeon’s scalpel.

:: 06.20.2020 ::