Tag Archives: #words

RAIN OVER THE MOUNTAIN

WHEN you’re done the poet heard people in the hall, and hushed music.
He was lying on his back and his lips started to taste blood and the chorus came up
and the boys started to sing and Oh oh oh You are alone in the river!

You’re all damned in hell. All the aborted babies screamed, “So lucky to meet you!”
I can still see your eyes as bright as the day of judgment.
You’re all sinners and damned in hell. I can still see your eyes as bright as the day of judgment!

Hush
Hush

You can take it. We’re the good guys and you’re the bad ||
Right now it doesn’t matter! That your frail screams rise to heaven
We’re the good guys and you’re the bad
Right now it doesn’t matter.

Tears up through her veins go insane
and begging God to stop the rain.

A self-appointed Judge judging and jury.
The world gives it’s life for greater end.
Her angel stood by too long and now plucks
it’s eyes out and lights another cigarette
to comprehend how dead is so dead.

So soft is skin. So scared. Addiction is flesh
and blood.

:: 06.19.2022 ::


THE DEEP SEA DREAM

As the wave erupts and floods you in your sleep.
Imperceptibly you slide towards the madness of dreams.
You feel the sticky dampness of a nightmare.
Your dilated eyes as magnet tar pit traps drowning in white ocean.
The wave of sleep reaches up to hug you gently,
holding your limbs. Taut, anchored to the bed.
your brain without moorings off your paralyzed tongue ~~
the waves finally drowning you in the coolness of dreams
beyond all fathoms.

:: 06.19.2022 ::


THE WERELINGS (Kitchen Scene)

LOSING myself within a cupboard  
a universe so far away
Our kind so small and lit
within our Souls is our kind
I found the physics of it
to find humans.

Oh.  How a bridge is so kind
saw a human eating marshmallow
pies — i pulled back my
machine to report.  

And I see how we’re dying.
These ‘humans’ are tearing
down the ‘kitchen’ called
renovation.  Destroying
trillions of our kind.

:: 06.10.2022 ::


THE WORLD SMELLED OF BURNING HOPE

FOLDED are the burnt angelic wings, my last heavenly fight where all celestial beings bled golden blood, and afterward all wines flowed.

Today i pour thankfulness and tears into a chalice older than the rocks i sit upon.

How temporal beings unknowingly acting out the last drama above their heads.

Entrusted sacred Heart i have armed against injustice.

The stage hand chooses the curtain’s openings and closings.

Watching as i remove cosmic dust from my brow many living and nonliving things around me perish.  Enough!  To manage erasure of hope I nakedly rode the wild beast’s silent leap to perish all joy.

Hiding behind human skin, how admired and hated.  One of love one of scorn.  Alone, broken,
poor, destituded within a face not living but dead they do not ever see.  A poet once said,
“they won’t kill you any more than if you were a corpse.’

History of incredible folly.  A mind uniquely landscaped by the cosmic bang  i destroy all
understanding of word and stanza, painted the color of vowels!  A beauty, E quisite, I loved, O  you, U nless i am a dreamer dreaming me.  

While on the descent I caught a glimpse of…

It was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen, that moment, when not one but two young stars were drawn to the wall like bees to honey.

I smiled like a sunrise.

Sunrise gazed upon a face, one that so many have marveled at for centuries, yet never had time to record in books.

The face was hers.

The one who personifies the poetic tradition of her order.

I exhaled so deeply it seared the porcelain lining of my lungs.

She laughed but it was not the melancholy laugh of a deity preparing for the next incarnation.

It was in pure joy at being behind human skin, how admired and hated. One of love one of scorn. Alone, broken, poor, destituded within a face Ania dedicated me to the Only One i know.

This is the ring she gave me, a pale, pearl – like, peridot teardrop.

Uncle gave it to her.

I bought it to represent the rare beauty of a most human and human – made treasure.

“The closest thing to appearing as an angel.”

— Lauren Bacall Having an epiphany one day from ‘surrendering’ to a divine being, I looked up and saw a perfectly formed blonde woman wearing a white dress sitting on the soft, green grass right in front of me. The woman held my daughter’s blue stuffed bear as if it were an actual person.

She told me to take this bear and I would never need another one.

I knew she was absolutely correct.

I put the bear in my pocket

I held it kneeling at the Comerica Pavilion.

:: 01.01.2022 ::


CALAMUS SCRIBAE VELOCITER SCRIBENTIS(ode of Forgotten Tears)

asking what’s love?
wait a moment…
how love is now
I love you and then…

the truth of breath and body too-hurry-and-wait
face-tilt to feel the softest of loving flesh / ocean life
on my lungs as I grieve its absence

stay now while your heart hums over and over
the dream of sun-filled bloom never fully bloomed
but come each day to touch this eye/
each time it shall move to wishful sleep”
What dreams sweet life soul
that Earth soil so wet-dew that-touching
tears/feelings my council doubt this dream
but release thee budding light this day
such philosophy stab thy heart love now
skip treacle and grail passion fuel thou vessel
tickle-being spur now and truth in heart bleed red
Now and breath push you rhythmical lover ~~
you gave me the reason in this moment of Springtime
Lips asking what’s love? Wait a moment…
Love now.
I love you.

: 05.31.2022 ::


GONZALES TEXAS

Slick side went bottom up inside
& Lenny spoke a word –> got shot for
speaking of the scene where we
lost the love and all the dough
inside a place called Gonzales, Texas.

Weiner beaner drove the car
seemed all the way to Saigon
until we meet the fuzz —
that’s 7.62 for all of you
not of the clan who kill ‘us
like hungry gorillas.

Saw the judge who makes faces
dramatic fellow who smokes
court recorder confessed
what a colossal mess of self-
delusion/soul transfusion\

Police officer on that scene
says, “Bewildered but so beautiful.”
Boy on a bicycle saw it all —

“Judge, i swear they were clowns
going to a party.”

And the one who holds a sickle
wearing all black without a face
smiled. He hid his .44 for mercy.

What more to say?

:: 05.29.2022 ::


INVALID CODE

ANTS bite sun burns love tickles
memories melt /hell smells\ an hallucination
Nation is a body — like my secret friend

someone like darkness says i look like
a rattle twisted snake but kisses instead
of bites :: a dot com a mystery media
commercial sound byte ~~~ a crack inside
the skies with baby cooing soothing tears
and tasting the dark cloud rains oh let it rain
: i will master all this blasphemy while the angels
change their clothes to get dirty inside the
human angle of life — especially on weekends
like Friday.

Spielberg gave me 73 cents in my last dream
and another i forgot to set global language
on SharePoint / ? this is a story a true story
based upon a ephedra lie ~~ now all history!

:: 05.29.2022 ::


TRUE SOURCE OF LIGHT

Spit.  When you die.  Last chest bump swizzle stick! Ghosts pull your feet out of bed —
vanish you like a magic trick / death takes you like a swizzle stick by the neck so low tech
by the heart how life vanishes you by words i stare through you like a high-ball or
cold bloody mary through the eye swizzle stick (little prick) the face in the mirror is all light
a trick bleeding (this story) how i infiltrated pride and ventilation with cyanide through mind
and brain /no antidote\ swizzle stick/ kiss your neck goes to the heart — stiff nipples ripple shirt
camel cool-aid toe wet through the eye aside makes doom tasty baby true | a true source of Light
what fools the heart might be true please…distort.

A telepresence of greed and affection.  This is the channel that makes metal scream.
Let it scream.

:: 05.29.2022 ::


TORTURE

SHE keeps moving all quietly
building her love all inside
her cabinet of spirits
she loves her appetite
eating dreams and all
her dreaming conversations
Hearing how time ticks how mouths
tock speaking loudly
She grew up old and now youthfully
dies waiting for Life.
Thinking how other lovers move on
she knows she’ll never be free
and that tortures her heart.
Knowing how her mind thinks she sighs
as sure as night is dark
and how day is bright
she finds her love
all inside her Soul tonight

:: 05.29.2022 ::


STRIKING IMAGE AND RHYME

THIS THING called Tourette’s
where I sometimes stop breathing.

TONITE, HOW I AM I…
Good morning, my children. This day shall soon be
filled with wet wind, droplets of rain,
birds beginning their morning call,
snatches of birdsong from nearby trees.
Rain, our god, provides for the earth
With its rhythms. And yet this
drenched car park, unshod and
mucousy, here I stand. We are
all here on a rock. We will always
be here on a rock, as we continue
to flow, endlessly, into the ocean.

Together, my children, let us remember
the former days. The days when our words
were ragged and unsavory, language was crude
and violent, full of striking image and rhyme.

O, yes. Today we shall honour our words, as
we pick through the words. They have so hurt us,
and we leave them sodden in the rain.

–>FIRST MY OWN VOICE ::::::
It seems the air i breathe and touch, when walking
alone in the city has given me a disease
like Tourette’s.

I’m beginning to turn red or green, or blue,
sometimes not even my face has become a fault.

Lately, my head seems to be filled with ocean tides,
titian squid, clams, mussels, sand, ice;
specks of some faultless fish.

And here we stand, wet and lost, looking into the garden.

O, only the garden.
O, only the garden
–>SOME HEROES

The stars were dying in the night
when I woke to find my brother dead,
from being driven by a steamroller,
into the ocean.

I miss him.

They were here, on the island, back when the skies
were blue and the seas breathed their contented
voices.

(Oh this hillside, what color is it with my words?
O, only blue.)

:: 12.10.2020 ::