Quote from: All Together NowWalking through the garden of the consciousness supreme
I feel my hand attach to vines and slither through the years
The rocks and boulders roll along, the glaciers thrive and pulse
My love is all-surrounding as the forests spawn and grow!
Standing on the pedestal of the ancient rolling age
I see you and I know your soul, for it is also mine
The trains that jet between our hearts thunder even still
But I feel the wind connect us as a tether to its ball!
I know myself within the eyes of every lonely stranger
I hear my voice speaking with the choir of the mass
Our love is sprawling through the pages written ages past
I touched your hidden sanctum and together all is one!
Quote from: ParanoiacWhy should I fear for death?
My end shall be the same
The billions breathing,
Seeping,
Leaving their remains
Why should I sing your song?
What makes your words echo?
Who are you
to question
me?
They stood their ground and fought
You knew where we were found
Beneath a hole
inside the
universe
The bullets swirl in time
The seekers shall not find
Me standing in
Your circus tent
No. . .
Quote from: And So At The End Of All ThingsShe flushed herself with crimson
She gassed your hidden chamber
She took the knife and cut you out
And spat your sign as cancer
Looks like
you played
too long
Quote from: StrangerlandIt was a cold smoke
stolen from his
big blue nostrils
when the polar oddity
had sauntered through
on bleeding knees
It was a hunger scurrying
along the rat-infested
dung-and-door-trough
the dead dawn revival
It was the wet noon tracks
and the sunken grey eye
of the Mississippi River
maybe Huckleberry
died here?
It was a transformation
of the golden light of
dreams that coalesced
and embraced me
into a grotesque charade
where crows a-circle
rotting flesh
'ƒ
I know not how,
but one day when I awoke
the world around me changed
unfamiliar obelisks and strange red
behemoths lurched and swung across the
road where I had played, the sky was full of
daggers, and the mouths of lovers curled with hatred
I walked down old hallways that I had
seen unhallowed in the dumb green holidays
and now they warped and burped their amputation
bleating, the hooves, the smell of iron wrought purely
I found it sitting there
as plain as blood or diamonds
the truth as written by the drunk
when all was burnt or bandaged up:
"The book of many thieves
where lungs are punctured
yields no room nor quarter
for my addled cosmic self"
'ƒ
My love was uncommitted
flitting from the north
stranded in darkness
chaos mouthing
promises
My lover was unconcerned
taking her toys and joy
rhapsodic, blissful
and trusting in
her madness
My foolishness was all-consuming
as the flame of God to Eden
when the Gates had shut
and Adam punished
as Sin became
my soaking
wound
Can we never know ourselves?
Can we ever know our heart?
'ƒ
Don't touch me
you many-eyed beast
with your gloves and jacket
and your dusty short hair and
your roughshod brand of languishment
and do not divine your discontent
upon my holy altar
upon my silver chair
upon my melted lyre
upon my broken Bible
or upon my cigarette
You made her jealous
with your wanton ways
and your lips so brushed
against the punishment
you have self-inflicted
Decide now,
do not let
her suffer
'ƒ
Your faces all became the same
and, swirling in the hazy shore
rolling through a thunderous applause,
I could not tell you for one another
For that I am sorry,
for I know your strawberry lotion
and your strawberry hair and your
strawberry lip gloss all too well
if only I could find you in the sea
where you have squandered all
your scrolls on empty thoughts
But then,
so have
I
Or so
it seems
'ƒ
Strangled strangers
Stranger, stranger
Study you and yet
I find no evidence
to convince me
of your worth
Quote from: Primal PoetryDeer
Spear
Chieftain cheer
Hunt, rock
Together
Deer, spear,
The tribe here
Rock, fight
We
Deer, spear,
The drunkards cheer
Glory hammer
We win
Deer, spear,
The chieftain's jeer
War come here
Wife so near
Deer, spear,
The cuckold's sneer
Kill him, fight him,
No good, dear
Deer, spear, the silent queer,
Moon is white and the sun is clear
We as one as many as two
Life, death, bury, who
Deer, spear, the stony shear
Hunt so grand, without peer
Heart and fight and cut and bleed
Wife and child and mother and need
Deer, spear, together we fear
Wife with mother and daughter with tear
Many had moons and many had knife
Chieftain move out to fight for life
Deer, spear, the strategy clear
Gods above, below the seer
We as many as punish as you
Fight and bury and blood and true
Quote from: Sonnet for the sparrow and its broken wing; Sonnet for the duchess and her entourage; Sonnet for the songbird yet entombedWould that my hunger could be far removed
So that my love could stay beside my hand,
She takes a flight betwixt our heat behooved
Where light is buried 'neath the summer's sand.
We stood still in dread as Night broke her bread,
Her dreamy shawl that slithers on my floor;
Her head, resting quiet, lit on a bed
As a child is knocking upon her door.
I wonder, I fly in the fog-worn sky
As distance becomes the plot of the sun
I reach and I gasp to grasp and to sigh
For still my penance had not yet been won!
I loved her, a friend, eternal, we end
All of remembrance on which I depend.
Ooh a sonnet! I like the image of Night breaking her bread... a metaphor for sunset or for midnight (I thought sunset at first, but that might be Night breaking her fast, rather than her bread)?
Quote from: In the NightI see soldiers without guns
A thousand priests without suns
A hundred hands without fingers
The smell of hatred still lingers
There was a dart sticking to the back
Of a broken post
Behind a ghost
As the night came flashing
I heard the children lose their youth
A million eyes looked past the truth
Cacophonies of beggars battling
A pontiff's jewels were rattling
Smoke sticking to its great iron stack
In the empty sky
Behind a lie
As the night came crashing
I felt the slip of a rose's thorn
As wreaths of horror soon were torn
From the scalps of princes and of queens
Actors preaching loud without their scenes
It was then that we held both our hands
To the golden calf
Just for a laugh
As the night came rumbling
I knew that history had its friends
That tyranny had further ends
Strangers lurked within the silent mass
Candles burned so that God might trespass
Upon the filth of mud-coated lands
Of forgotten past
If it could last
As the night fell, crumbling
Quote from: On BaghdadIt was Thursday and the war had just started.
With reverence, we sat and saw the bombardment.
The screen was green and black, the shades of murder.
Papa drank a Bud Light.
Mother knitted a red scarf.
It was Thursday and the war had just begun.
Screams were filtered out of live broadcasts.
The sun shined as it always did.
There were no bullets or helicopters.
I played in the back yard.
It was Thursday and the war was in bloom.
Vague notions wavered through the air.
Lies became a symphony.
Someone danced in Washington.
A songbird cawed a dirge.
It was Thursday and the war was everywhere.
A man was frowning on a subway line.
The newspapers were aghast with patriotism.
It was a day like any other.
And nothing was ever the same.
I felt, at times, the weight of this catastrophe;
the subliminal unhappiness you swallowed down
was bleeding through your eyes, your mouth,
your open pores.
Games of jealousy, chess for the heart,
there was no room for higher thought,
you wished to become someone else
because it isn't easy being you.
But I am who I am.
We cannot be masks.
During the cold winter nights,
when the memories of autumn are
our constant pain, I remind you only
of the letters I had nailed upon your door.
Understanding the dreams
of my misspent youth will bring
you closer to only the guise I let you
see; my pain is buried beneath my ego.
Quote from: Oh AntonineCan we glitter, Antonine?
Shall we melt all the gold?
Are you looking for the truth?
Has the savior been sold?
Can I save you, Antonine?
Is there blood in the pool?
Do the martyrs speak freely?
Where now is your brave fool?
Can they hear it, Antonine?
Are the strings still too loud?
Have the angels been butchered?
Shall you part from your cloud?
Can the night come, Antonine?
Do they call me your slave?
Is our bed still left empty?
Am I still in my grave?
Quote from: Your Manservant Is BrokenLeather, black, shining in the filthy street light
Strangers drawing circles on their heads
Whips and fashion, madness on a red brick
A road that stretches deep into the night
Woman, black, fingers twisted like a mirror
Steel and chrome, lantern glowing so bright
Tragic, holy, stranded on the river
A vision stretches to be near to her
Nightmare, black, shining as an onyx tower
Thunder breaking down along the line
Droning, dreaming, dead as empty Jesus
The rhythm stretches as the notes run sour
Quote from: As the day grows thinI awake from her loud snoring,
The sun blooms on the horizon.
Fog clings close to my closed window
And the sea calls to Poseidon.
Dew slides slickly on my doorstep
As the daylight breaks on prisms.
She yawns sweetly to a songbird
And I mourn my broken prison.
Smoke pours slowly through the kitchen
From the oven to the table.
My lover's eyes shine gently
Behind locks of flint and sable.
What if Jesus carried his cross
Across mountains to the valley
Where the lepers are the princes
Of the gutters and the alleys?
There they rule their mighty kingdom
From their thrones of ash and rubble
And their rags are robes long tattered
From a thousand years of trouble.
Could he ever cure their sadness
With the eyes that God once gave him?
Would he cry in perfect silence
Knowing none could ever save them?
So I close my empty Bible
And I wash my hands with water.
The floral patterns swirl because
The north wind is on the harbor.
I then fold my palms together
As the train howls like a phantom.
A man peers from hidden mirrors
In the garden of his mansion.
The snow melts slowly on his cheek
While he lights his ancient sorrow.
He still dreams of days long vanished
And the promise of tomorrow.
But as he climbs into his tomb
The dusk crawls in through my chimney.
She will never be my true love
But she is so warm beside me.
My bed knows no other lover;
I am faithful to my demons.
She brings only darkness with her
But she listens to my grievance.
So I lay below the altar
Where the sacrifice is offered
And I know she will unbind me
From the sins that I have suffered.
Quote from: The VenetianThe staggering wind of the winter is blowing and
he stands in the window, forgets where he's going so
he paces and traces curved lines with his fingers as
questions like strangers haunt him and linger
The Venetian is pale and his eyes are still sinking, the
woman he bedded is smoking and drinking and
the sermon, it echoes from deep in the steeple but
his heart is crippled by good and evil
He places his glasses inside his old raincoat to
remind him to look in the street for his angel but
as he goes stumbling throughout the black market he
trembles beneath the weight of his darkness
The Venetian is pale and his eyes are still sinking, he
mentions to patrons that he has quit drinking but
he finds himself speaking words from the steeple for
his heart is aching for good and evil
The schedule of trains, it is scrawled on his wrist so
that he remembers where he is missed and
the train screams like wind that is fervent and blowing, he
steps out of his window as it starts snowing
The Venetian is pale and his eyes have stopped sinking, the
conductor is screaming, the train is still bleeding but
the words of the sermon are heard in the steeple for
his heart is empty of good and evil
Quote from: PainforsakenhappenstanceHere you are in your sexless,
electric dreamscape,
aching for the rhythm
of the mother spirit;
Here you are in your sonic citadel,
bypassing the eardrum
and jamming your frequency;
Here you are in the kiss of Judas,
selling out your faith
for your pieces of silver;
Here you are within your wire tower of Babylon;
Where are you?
Quote from: She called it "a withered tapestry of damned souls aching for their release"It was the end of time when cosmic light had dwindled
the rolling stink of Normandy left lingering in our
noses & having sold ourselves to history
found life in eight stages of denial,
Once upon the divine path and an open palm spurning the satellites that prompted our eternal love,
Twins of modernity the pride of governments clenching bullets in teeth with the machismo & machinations of a masked man-servant coupled with the black blood of a nation's commerce,
Tripled over in the banks of the Illinois when they
stood & were baptized knowing
salvation for the last and only time,
Four in the morning on the yesterday of our dreams
when crossed by stars and mystical wisdom
a generation of brain-dead sycophants
had become enlightened,
Five roses and a chrysanthemum
in digital Pontius Pilate's hands burned
so that the cries of all our children
could be absolved by the hangman &
a round of beers,
Six-shooter minds eternally seeking
Platonic truth were mobilized
in synchronicity in the
moaning of organic mingling
& the sliding pelvic rhythm
of primal completion,
Seventh Day Adventists saw the junkies
littered on the morning floor with
open faces burnt fingertips cracked
lips bloody refrigerators piano wire
dreams & pipes of war knowing they
were the hopeless midnight of
an unproductive day,
Octagonal hours had passed in
their hourglasses as
they cracked beneath
the pressure of the
interrogative when the
missives of the chimera
became the mantra of their
weeping mothers,
All at once the sum of human history had released its brief and brilliant flash into the void, a photograph of lost potential and a warning to the men of distant stars
Quote from: the mad gaze of an archonprologue:
She arched her back to Jerusalem
and I could see her in shackles for trying
to own words
Let's take her own words
for her own take
We are taken in other words
towards (to-words)
two words: Get Home
Revising the Proletariat
Who could stand before the
tumult drinking suicide?
A vixen, a dreamcatcher, all of that
Isn't the autumn blooming nicely?
Her eyes are Aztec tombs
and she will curse your
abdomen to pieces
1: Peace of Westphalia
and i remember walking into
gethsemane and shouting, simon peter
where rests thy soul?
these pauline hacks, i need biographers
we smoked too much peyote and when
the chief drove down in his run down
ford pickdown i shattered the window
of my spirit
and i cried out havoc!
let slip my gods of war
but the martian fields were
empty devoid of triumph so
caesar took me in his boat
we sailed to britian with
the mayflower on my back
2: Meditation on Mt. Baldy
Hear the open mind of the vast valleys?
It is Leonard with his broken angel
Gabriel weeps at this agnostic Jew
when the native vestments burn on the altar
I find Leonard and he is (free?)
You robbed him! You, the bastard
in orange! You, the drunken
warlord! You, who sat in the
nosebleeds with your tepid applause
and the ghost of your
morals haunting you from
adolescence (why, when I tried
to find you then, did you
cower and hide?)
3: Razor beats wager
Yesterday, the City of Apollo fell to
ruin. Spartans curdled their milk while
Athens wondered what to do-
drinking as always. (Norman Mailer combed his hair
and I wondered- why did it
take so long to
burn the ancient
temple?)
dedicated to Damascus
epilogue:
I am the sorest cocksucker in all of
Christendom and you ought not
ponder the implications of my
return- a beggar with two
children is more threatening
when backed into apocalypse
Say what you will but
at least the dynamo
has burst cyclonically
application: seeking to be your mandarin
call me interrex, for you are between kings
I met the ousted general. You smiled and dressed up as Evel Knievel.
He appluaded, but you weren't the queen, you were his jester.
Can't you see that?
Processing your counterclaim.
You are correct, I do not
have authorization to write
such things. Consider "n't"
and final clause [redacted].
sincerely apologize for mistake
Forensics indicate that you are indecisive
vindictive
insensitive
unwelcome
hateful
so why am I incapable of discarding your memory
and why am I compelled to cross
the Rubicon and regain
my honor?
Quote from: The woman in the blue dressAs she gazes out across the field
where the old man had worked
away his life
she smiles
like a sphinx
As she breaks the ice cubes from a tray
and drops them in her glass
without thinking
she smiles
like a sphinx
As she holds the family Bible
and drags a ball-point pen
across its back page
she smiles
like a sphinx
Quote from: execution poetryHeat bursting on my evening crucifix
The soldiers dug a hole
as the storm beat against them
And the rain called out:
What was once empty
I have filled.
Quote from: Sunday as an iron treasonSummer's brazen hammer breaks
along her golden back
as she leans against me,
her fingertips tracing
an outline on her skirt
I bow my head
and pray
Quote from: In the temple of the Clockwork Man as the sacrifice is offered to an undressed angelThe green crescent
that snakes its way
across the river
burns itself into her
eyes, for she cannot
break her trance
As her shadow whips
and flails in tandem
across the marble floor
she cannot help but
grasp the altar with
her mortal hand