Organic Nucleus

You got all bezoomnied and berzerkified when I cut you off from my razzmatazz,
and I said ain’t that the jazz. ‘n You, ain’t that some shit. And will we ever end up together?
And you talk of lifetimes coupled and fêted hands, of the organic nucleus that is once and forever called love.
Of the man cherry blossoms floating on coke, winded and blundering about a gay bar searching for their new toy of a lifetime.
Of the soliloquies invested to a term of endearing companionship, riddled with irony and bittersweet background music playing along.
Of clamoring imagery that sets the head on a buzz of unrelinquished infatuation, on a high so high, I get dizzy and spin out of my walls.
Of the perpetual duality of grins and grim losses of that thing, that is once and forever called love.
Of the mountain peaks, rock climbers call to and coddle and cuddle and cum on its summit.
Of the sewers station, spewing sinister shit, all over the coupled fingers, tied in a torrent of tempests and featureless awe.
Of the climb, rock tripping, toe tumbling and breathy warm ascents.
Of the scattered duels dooming one to a dolmen in Chicago.
Of the city of love, Paris, France, the enchanté the excuse of language-less looks stolen and smiles shared.
Of the man, woman, man relationship spreading more of its festering righteousness all over our light.
Of the shadows cast in its plight, to populate our world.
Of our way to do our part, and take down two fuck-makers, and settle, picking up the pieces left behind.
Of the way to gaiety, happiness that is.
Of the self interested narration of the story in this nation, our tumultuous hibernation.
Of the embedded realization: the politics have entered your bedroom.
Of my cold and brittle handshake, saying bye, you’re getting too close, and my heart is turned to low, on simmer, and I’m gonna sit and stew, on you..
Of your bitter understanding, that I’m in love…with me. And I don’t share.
And we laughed at the ridicuality of the sitch. And we swam in our follies.
The baffled kings throw curiosity from their thrones, And we laughed.
Beauty waned in Chicago, and I was off to Toledo, Ohio,
Where the marble arches are gutted and glued.
Uneven pavement plays tricks with my balance, and the holy Toledo,
Drew a breath and blew; hot, aspirated air stings my eyelids forced,
And in the squints I saw the light. Cold and bitter, I slept alone and dreamt or dreamed if you prefer
Of becoming an angel, too cool for wings though,
And dressed in my slaughtered skin leather jacket, fag in one hand and torch in another
I stood in the street, Halsted and Belmont, and took it all in.
Wooly and warm, I took to the corners of Collingwood and Monroe
Tea tipped and pouring, over the rim, white porcelain patterned cups, mollify but a few drops,
Throwing the rest all over. I took it all in.
Too cool to show it hurt, I leaned back and smiled.
Of that balance tipped hammock, netted and tied to two trees
Of the Buckman bridge, connecting the lands between Jacksonville Fla and Jacksonville Fla
Of the street-smart smoking’ trick, meticulously looking for his pick to pay for his fix,
And then he does. Of the train track memory taking me back to the days of wine and roses.
Of that transitory glint flickering in the room, bombshell casings littered my feet as I tread smoothly forward in a curious manner, placating my passions of intensity.
Of that boy in the brush, cowering from imaginary thorns encasing his body.
Of the luke warm kisses shared with boys of all backgrounds, mendicants and coal miners.
Of the toothy smiles gawking from girls of a different candor.
Of how you made me wet dripping soaked in passionate splendor.
How you stole my head and hid it in the treaties of nations, and the harbors of patience. How you took my limbs and shoved them neath bedpost and bureau, drawer after drawer, you stuffed me among your things, and then I was among your things, and I was yours.
I dreamt, or dreamed if you prefer, of that organic nucleus that once is and forever known as love,
And I think damn, ‘cause the fucked up part is - is that I need it just as much as you do.

Call This an Exposition of the Soul

Mummified follies scantly clad,
dance.
Harlot seashell abstain
sustenance swell mediocrity delight.
Faggot-worn

and insofar rubber tight seals
forthwith to cosmic priestly furrows. Again,
night embraced
fuck
love drunk
amongst rabbit bits that
hungry children cast bountifully
across rivers. Mantras mollify among peacock pears.

A chance to swim in dreamscaped wonderlands.


Too real, I mused,
canoe tipped hems, hanging threads
of blue dew, Dorian Gray sex makers,
through redheaded streets iced for: beauty, truth, twins.

Inspiration

Humanity it seems is a fettered condition contingent on one's weakness and heart. To recognize emotion is to accept this condition. Furthermore, to express emotions, especially one's driven of the heart inasmuch as unreciprocated infatuation, desire, lust, covetousness; is to stretch to one's soul. This weakness is insofar this recognition and as much this expression.
This weakness is to be glorified! For it is the soul that is the object of true men's pursuit. For ages poets have used words as an account, or path if you will, to find such flawed beauty in themselves. To dwell in the words and emotions is to extend and glimpse the light inside.
It is with these words of truth and pity that the poet finds his enlightenment. If an individual is to find recognition of his fleeting condition of the soul, he must then think upon his tools of mastery. He must find a way to dwell in his emotional strings tying him to this world. The sun from within shines and flows freely for those who swim in their follys.

Haiku- Untitled [Little balls of truth]

Little balls of truth,
I juggle them cautiously
In the air they dance.

American Haiku #7

Born unto life of struggle,
The boy takes virtue.
Beats of his heart remind him.

A Petty Little Page Poet

I am a petty page poet,
Probing for my place in this world.
I stand and spit
And beautiful words
flit from my lip.
And I fly on a high
from fleeting validations.
I float down from the stage
And land my words on that page.
My teeth gleam as my mouth is pulled tight
In what is known as a smile.
And then, the next act,
Came a man that's traveled a mile;
That one man band
conducting an orchestra,
his velum danced and
pharynx cooed.
His alveolar massaged by tongue
and larynx spewed
words of slam.
And bam.
That poet spattered insults from his teeth,
And I was
beneath his feet.
His symphony of adjectives and pronouns and verbs
Put down their horns and bows
To trade in hand for swords.
The front line, words shielded behind"S-"
Pointed blade at me.
I tell you what,
I went ape shit!
When he spit
That giant stint
"You know you can wordify anything if you just verb it..."
Then for a while, I was to sit
Under a pointed sword, with that arbitrary glint
and write, chewing and stewing over
My ballpoint pen.
I found my sojourn then
In a moment of secular clarity
And thought it was going to be me
A petty little page poet
Grappling for a splint to shield my shattered shit.
Growing and showing my talent
So, fuck the slammer
With his swords,
I, given a hammer,
Compliments to Thor,
Riddled that little Dwarf
Until that fretful dawn.
In the first light,
He let loose a yawn and turned into dust.
Down the hammer, and traded for broom,
I swept and swept and swept,
And slept.
My teeth showing as my mouth
Tightened into what some call a smile
And I laid my head down on
That wordified pillow
And clutched my pen, ballpoint at that;
Knowing that I am That petty little page poet
Putting a pedal on this
earth, And found: a validated gift,
My place in this world.

Untitled [O To You Confessed My Heart]

O, to you, confessed my heart;
Roaming, my stallion canters
And I stand still and wait
For your capricious lips to part.

I forged an effort in desperate air
And obstinately sounded for
A sign that you are pleased
Or’ve been caused despair.

Shrinking intrepidly into the distance,
Without a corral to hold it close
No master to reign and close upon
That beast of wild persistence.

Drawn from your mouth, a pungent splendor;
Flowed truth warm and breathy.
In hand is beast, roped at last
And tranquil now, and caged once more.

Untitled [Death, Oh Death]

Death. Oh death.
It scared me once,
But holds no power now,
After I saw him kissing
You, oh you.
I welcome the flight
Far away from this heart,
Once whole and vibrant.

A Petal From The Once Lost

That little box in the back was opened for me;
Hid before, he had the key.
I stood in hunger; the lid rose,
Slow and calculated.
I leaned forward for a chance to quiet
Curiosity of what’s inside,
I brushed past the cobwebs and dust.
It was but a dried petal from that rose...

Cracked and brittle it crumbles at my touch.
‘Tween my forefinger and thumb
A sentimental smile spreads,
And I look on, stoic,
Before a breath escapes my lips.
Then away and gentle, its floating,
Dusty and cool; In the wind now,
Caught in the sails of that ship in a bottle.

I hunger for your presence, my friend.

Do not deny me a glance upon your face.
Make it so and come forth to me
For I cannot know justice or compassion
Until my pallet has your form.
My eyes are blinded by the memory
That embrace, that night-as-lovers.
I hunger for your presence, my friend.
No longer does your memory mollify,
And in my sleep I suck my tongue for
A lingering morsel of your presence

Winged One

Wings are constructed,
Born of Necessity.
I fly from you now, and I take my love
Fastened with wings and next to me,
Companionship soars and soars, and falls
In a tempest of sun and breeze.
I am not saddened in this loss
For it is The Furies Way.
Alone, I shall have my wits won;
And you, an oiled bath for one
Delivered by chance.
Diverged from a destiny,
I fly now to amuse
Swooping for solidarity,
On wings of necessity
Over the edge to a new land
Over the horizon's gate
To a day that’s free of fate.
Lost are the shackles.
Lost is the despoiling hate.
I fly far from the sun.
And in my parting, the lessons' done.

Adeimantus wanted a couch

Adeimantus wanted a couch, and
Journeyed along for the liking.
With good on his side, and strength
He ventured upon a barrier in regard.
Someone needs to make that couch,
And found, he called them Moderate.
Someone to protect this couch
Is needed to accommodate.
Found the guardian was
And later called upon as Courage.
A Ruler is in order, now,
To fashion around the couch,
With wine the found was witted Wise.
Then, upon the couch he found himself
And he fleeted a branding of Just.
Responsible, then is left alone
Without a subject to be married;
In the feverish city in need of a couch,
The man was nominally mistaken
Taken then was the speech sputtered by the Socratean
And in its place was found a western thought
That capital is for some and for others is obligation
In this place they find truth and grin for they have not.
This man desires as one in many
And as many in one. This man
Can neither be hated nor loved,
For moderation, nor courage nor wisdom
Is afforded this, but made it hitherto.
In this city, we find a couch
Shrouded by desire as need.
Find light and dark is born.
This is justice with a couch.

American Haiku #5

Fundamentalists,
Searching the crowd for recruits,
Found him: boy in need.

American Haiku #4

Tranny turned out tricks
On a dark and doleful night.
She's loved and hated.

American Haiku #3

"The end is coming!"
Prophet calls on city streets.
Walked by, he shed tears.

American Haiku #2

Girl calls the hotline,
"What if it's going to hurt?"
Nurse replies, "It will."

American Haiku #1

What's on a park bench:
Battered king on his dolman,
Closing eyes once more.

Tao Reflection #1

Unseal your tongue and say nothing.
For, there is no more desire in your heart.
Be cautious no longer. For, you have no fear of destiny
Compassion is left in your gentle soul
And a stoic look is emitted from your eyes.
Give to your neighbors that which they desire,
Value that gift as Gift, and refute a nameless battle.
Do not pity them. For, to give pity is to recognize vice.
Heroes are to be ignored, and know that
To commend them is to give power to their foes.
Take not the credit for goodness, and you will have it.
Unseal your tongue and you will have no want.
This is the foundation.
This is the path.

Numb

White out.
Little ice bastards
Flew with the air, an attack
On all who don’t concede.
Surrender to it and one will be spared
From their blades, little edges.
They cut and stung me until
I was drunk with pain.
Then, numb.

Reflection

The rays' reflection
Dance and jump from the
Brown, muddy pond water
I watch, captive and squinting,
Pondering my own time.

Time's a'Changing

My grandfather's grandfather bound yours by the hand;
And I bound to you by the heart, hand in hand.
Together our colors mix to a beautiful shade of gray.

Interpretation of Wang Wei

One cannot see the space between mountains

But nevertheless His words hum through the valley

With it, the deep forest is made bright again,

For green moss is shined upon from above.

Boy in the Brush

Boy, there in the weeds:
Why do you squat??
I am knotted here,
Fears from thorns engulf me.
Come now boy,
For they are not seen,
Fear can gnarl,
No power is of a thorn!
I have not belief,
They could be here,
For the brush is thick,
So, I cower.
Then, I have little
To offer you,
Not solace, nor relief,
However my hand.

Alvis' Warning

My love for Him will be my demise;
To love as Alvis, is to die as stone.
Cold and brittle, tricked alone,
He knew not love in his heart.
He knew not: to be broken is to be wise.

A journey to wed Him and take
From Him all but his love,
Is my pending fate, born above.
My soul, my life will part;
Then forever on, I shall not wake.

The words spat from his Brother’s tongue
In inquiry, in test to my quality
Rapt me up in a seeming eternity.
I took to these powers, as a baby to cart,
And they, to me and squeezed my lungs.

The story once warned providence.
Alas, I boldy threw my life,
Rackishly to my foe’s knife
Taken not, my body was; behold, the rampart
Shielded me, until Dawn’s vengeance.

To Him, in want, I yielded all
But, for Him, surrendered to destiny,
Cast in stone, I shall stay eternally.
Haunted, unbroken, I, as granite,
Once did, and still stand in that dusty hall.

Rose in That Garden

I, fertile and rich,
Have all but a rose.
My fruits are plenty, and yet
I crave, still, your bloom,
Dark and beautiful,
Your stems are thick;
Roots, deep from another garden
Taunt me into a despoiled desert.
A sweet smell of pungent
Nectar wafts through my memory
On an unsettled and capricious wind;
I dream of a petal, even one dried,
Discarded in airs,
To fall onto my dirt.
My waking hours are imposed;
My fruits, abandoned.
I do not call to you, Rose,
For I, sensitive to your thorns,
Know that you are rooted.
And I unbearably graze your leaf.

Untitled [She Haunts Me]

She haunts me.
I summon her in fear,
Though she is with me,
Inside me.
She creeps up behind my eyes
When I hide from her, my sight.
She pierces my groin
And I shudder in her touch.
The feeling of my tightening briefs
The fear of being swallowed whole,
Consumed completely in surrender
To her, makes my head spin.
In my disorientation,
I tunnel my strength
In frail attempt to rise
In Revolution against her.
I cringe and push and grab
And groan and pull and caress,
And explode. White flag, tranquil.
Only in my complete surrender
Am I liberated.
She will wait
Seducing my memories,
Calling upon her allies
And forge a strike upon me.
I crave her offense.
I need her war.
In my desire she is waking…

Untitled [In Her Aspersion]

In her aspersion,
I knew not my enemy;
However, found truth.

The mathematician, the poet, and the girl

We three sat in the booth, dark, and with character,
The bar boomed and gloomed around us.
The words spewed from the stage and mocked the page
And spattered insults sprayed from his teeth.

Bottoms up

I
Want to feel you
Feeling me.
Touches
Of your tongue send
Tiny shivers up my back
As you flick your lick
Around and around,
Up, Oh, down
Through me,
Inside me.

I
Want to touch you
Touching me
Fingers
Move over my loneliness
Making us squirm
In the desire
Around and around
Up, Oh, down
Through me, inside me.

I
Want to love you
Making love to me
Pulsing
Your largeness though
My area of sensual
Embracing, embracing
Around and around
Up, Oh, down
Through me, inside me

I

I, I want

You
Through me, inside me.

The Desires of a Tree

Roots have waned and I begin to you now.
The dirt crumbles at my base and I stretch up
Reaching with every fiber in my branches
I have no ties now, keeping me grounded.
Soon I may be able to jump!

Oh the thought, to move along,
I swoon in the stale breeze in frozen dreams,
Thawing now in the pure desire
(A day to pass it all, and leave),
Heating my core, my entity.

The nights grow warm again, and the mud encasing
My trivial shackles retreats in battle.
Deeply, I breath, inhaling, almost tasting
The day when I can come and feel you.
I hold and risk all for that moment, you.

‘It is almost time,’ exposed roots tell me.
For they pop out of the ground, laying there
Mocking my past; white limp digits!
Tickled now in grass as a child, dumb.
They hold no power over me.

Last one, I’m nearly free and jubilant
Just one more stretch and, Glee!
The ground holds me no longer, My Love.
I topple over and begin to crawl
Brittle and wooden, I move not.

I become thirsty and crave what’s now lost,
The taste of nutrient foundations
Gone now, my home, tributary of life
I have planted and I have forsaken.
Fear consumes me, and I die in vain.

Today is Not the Day

Today is not the day that I come to him
Remember a bond and run to him
Wrap my arms and lips, be one with him
Today is not the day.

Tonight is not the night that I lay with him
Cuddle for warmth and stay with him
Curl my toes and kiss and hold him
Tonight is not the night.

This life is not the life for me to share with him
Pass my years going strong with him
Wrinkled flesh for me to give him
This life is not the life.

.....There is not another stanza

Love is Blind

Look upon my face;
The smiles, the frowns.
Laughter bringing wrinkles
Of memories unforgotten.
Look upon my soul;
The emotions, the past
Tears staining cheeks
Of sorrow in all times.
Look upon my being
The assets, the imperfections
Yearning for excitement
Of another to hold.
Look upon me
See what I want
You to see. You see
Nothing for love is
Blind. Love is
Blind. Love is.

Haiku: Without a Purpose

Without a purpose
We wander naked in cold,
Darkness to nowhere.

Mr. Valentine Man

Mr. Valentine Man,
Our hearts’ hit by your arrow.
Together, we both know
Bulls-eye’s Love’s companion.

Despite the kin and kithe,
Our love entwined will flourish;
The rebel sparrow unleashed
Thus then, no other can smithe.

We needn’t any saving charms,
Our secret is helped along
By bond encircling, so strong
As we lie in each others arms.

Affections will do, all in night
Our mouth, ‘hush, hush’ the strife
Daylights’ the bladed knife
Careful to be all right.

For those knifes I swallow
Our soul, captured not in blood,
Gives way to tears of joy-filled flood
And the Sparring War won’t follow.

We have but one quiet plan
Our life, to soar like Sparrow
We needn’t a protecting arrow
Mr. Valentine Man.

The Huntress

I envy the Huntress.

Red bowed and arrowed, she waits.

Pacifists and anarchists rage,

And wage war, for more to shed

Of life fluids from our brothers.

Stalking in the shadow, she waits.

Jealousy of her consuming entity,

I rathe and scathe in want to be her captor.

To grab her long dreaded hair, and pull

Adorned with a red fowl’s mark.

To graze her tattooed skin, quiver

My touch is soft, my fingers linger.

To slap her dirty face, see eyes,

A fire in them, look for mercy.

To have knees bent at my feet-

Total, unalienable, righteous

Control.

Untitled [The horizon looks back at us]

The horizon looks back at us
Over waves of washed back teardrops,
Fallen from dead hearts, broken.
Squinted, through the rays, heartaches
Blister the eyes that persevere
Seeking the serendipity once lost,
Surrendered to the fate
Of mistakes yet not learned;
The ones we cannot forget,
Haunting rays.
The horizon looks back at us,
Smiling, for fate is ambiguous.

Haiku: The Storm

The quiet before
The storm arouses wandered
Thoughts of solitude.

WORW #4

The only difference between a paradox and a hypocracy
is someone catching it before you do.

Leader of Man

I am not a leader of man
And I sit here and ask who
Will see things the way they will mend
And then they never do.
I want my little place on this earth
To sit back and cry
For the people that regret my birth
Until the day I die.
You’ll see the things I’ve left
All bottled up inside;
You will leave me no place of rest
No place to hide.
Running from your monster machine
Fuelled by your very own fear,
Of what things ought to be
If you accept what you see and hear.
I pulled the covers over my head
When I heard you shout.
I have tried to stay in bed
To make happiness throughout.
I cant stand it-
-I must stand up
For belief over fight.
You’ll drink from my bleeding cup;
I’ll overcome you, if only in night.
I am not a leader of man,
And I sit here and ask why
You judge me to the very end
Drinking tears of my cry.
You’ll see, I’ll overcome you
And your monster machine.
I’ll bring a light of new
Without a zealous gleam.
I am not a leader of man
But I sure am gonna try
I’ll put an end to your monster machine
Only then will I fly.

The Mountain

Am I dead?
The answer whispers
As dew-filled cobwebs hum in
The morning breeze.
I struggle to listen, but the
Echoes of the bullet
Crash through my being.


Shattering silence to the summit,
My want to listen is dwarfed by the
Omnipresent need to be heard,



But the words are lost to my memories
With me for me by me
Shall I be heard at the peak
Or shall my voice be lost in distance?
Clouds struggle for presence, nothing more.

I am lost in the ecstasy of
Past emotion, mixing fervently; tossing
Ruptured pieces from the rocky slope.


The wind feels good
Something sets in and I reach forth, seeing
Nothing, no rules, recognition; the
Endless stretch of an empty sky
Consumes my fingertips
I reach back and cry.



My tears fall, becoming a storm.
Cloudless and quiet; wet a rainbow
Quiet now, the answer whispers louder…

Am I dead?
Cobwebs dance.

Words Of Random Wisdom (WORW) #13

May the love of a friend help you find truth...
May the love for yourself give you strength to accept it
when its found.

A Love Poem

Are you aware of where the sky begins and the sea ends?
Looking out on the horizon,
Seeing nothingness stretch out its welcoming arms;
Blue on blue, looking back as us without a clue.
Ponder this question, for it too, has no answer

Untitled [I looked for Love in a Hole Once]

I looked for love in a hole once.
First, rocks were overturned by my quest;
Trees fought, uprooted in agony of my search.
The calming omnipresent wind mocked me as I
Stood and screamed for Atlas’ help;
Who better than the Titan of Burden.
No answer, as I suspected.
I peered over the edge of that dirty,
Grassy burrow. The wind sang as it
Wisped over that mysterious opening,
A breath over the jugs‘ orphus.
Crumbled dirt and pebbles succumbed to its depth,
The sweet smell of mud and wet grass exhaled upon my face;
My knees grew wet from the ground, tribute to rain past.
My muddy palms inched closely to the barrier of light and
Darkness of the abyss below.
I squinted, leaned back and sat, lost in thought.

Hungry

Pestilent pretenders grapple for first place.
Hard bodied, and coked up. They fight for the all-illicit
Award of ‘Faggot of the Year.’
We are all the players and the judge.
We climb the mount, summit’s sight, we claw and scratch,
But no more a rock to climb than the insecurities
And ill-willed bequeaths of the queens of the Scene.
Lost, as those boys seeking to find their truth in the baggies
And syringes and rocks and raves find…
Found: a dichotomous life;
To see and be Scene.
To seek and be sought.
To know and be known
As a lover without love.
I find a scraped and worn, tattered cynicism,
Tipped and known on the tongues of these
Blind mendicants as the sense of diligence,
Encouragement,
Persistence through the tempest
Fall asunder in this self made storm.
We fight, and claw and surpass and
Lay surpassed by the next
Best hard bodied coked out
Midas of self-deplore.
Blame has no place here,
My fellow mendicant,
For we do not bludgeon each other.
Only a self is inflicted by this disease,
Only a perpetuator is the victim.
Found: a voracious life,
Hungry.

Hermit

Creatures of Hermetic journeys,

Carry not, the truth of this world.

They know it from a light

Unlike that of All.

Sharing nothing but the pinhole box,

They crawl and claw to get a glimpse

A tiny sliver of the light, outside the box.

Untitled [Faggots are Never Good Enough]

Faggots are never good enough
For the world;
With queer parades of silver, glitter,
Gold,
Fabulous stilettos, rhinestoned
And feathered.
An unfettered upwards pinky
While taking in tea,
And cucumber sandwiches,
The snobbish elitisms,
Feminine mannerisms,
Phallic references,
And the libido of cat-in-heat.
A little eyeliner and a condom never meant so much;
The shaky touch
Rakishly stretched to another
Hard bodied glitter queen,
Hard, rock, white candy
Hard medicine regimens,
With a soft base of reality
In a masquerade of urine, penicillin,
Coke.
No, no my friend;
Faggots are not even enough-
For each other.

Whispers of Wind

Come and see, it’s the horizon
An end to the eternal.
At one time, only the wind could stretch
Out and caress the edge;
But now I shall soon be like
This invisible creature that touches
And bears the secrets of this world.
We whisper, you know, The Wind and I,
For misery does know great comfort.
Its only naked and untouched ,
Diseased by eons of slaving.
But we know, and we know
Many things, The Wind and I.
He told me of the journey to the end
And I embrace him in my sails
As I cross the waves of this world.
Into the horizon up ahead,
A portal to my realm.

Love on a Cafe Porch

He was there one day,

I mean Him!

Alone on the café porch sipping

A steaming savory cup of capp.

Frothy lips were licked slowly, as

He paid no mind to the world.

Rapt in the book of poems flopped

Casually between his forefinger and thumb.

Effeminate legs placed one on the other.

On a break perhaps, or simply rejected

by his former appointment.

I wandered past,

Drinking him with my eyes.

Pity shivered throughout my body-

No more did he seem desired.

Slowly I walked.

Quietly I passed.

Cattle Call

I stand there, waiting.
Glowin' and swaying in the brittle breeze
Of compliments, in the line.
"the man behind you is Fuckin' hott,
I don't care what you say,"
I hear him, cocoa brown and shiny, whisper to his tweak-buddy,
White, sweaty, ghostly and eyes with purple bags of stress.
A small smile sent my way, (Cocoa Hottie's sweatin' me)."
And I have good hearing," I say.
Too much to handle, ha, he can't process.
A little flirt lost in the white noise, translation in his head.
There ain't no room left, 'cause, the white noise deafens,
Takin' up a lot of space.
"hey sexy, he talks a lot of shit," I hear him again,
Sreamin' to his friend this time; thinks he's whisperin'."
Ha ha, I don't talk shit," the guy behind me,
Slim and twitchin', now gettin' his break,
Tweak, "I can back it up."
...And that's when I saw the most money in one hand,
Couldn't believe the dough!
Roll o' bank to flash some respect, makin' me gag.
Clap a da hands, rollin' out signs, powder for paper,
Atmosphere vibin' and they's gonna deny.
And the respect was slipped to him; a few good presidents
Were at arms there, and I witnessed their new owner,
Look me over and still think I'm fierce, for the first time again.
Lost in his head, I became but a dream, and the cattle call was over.
They went in together, he, and his lil' buddy.
Sniffle, sniffle exit, Thanks Fuckin' God,
Cause I had to piss or a hot minute now!
My turn...

Demand for Life

As the pius believers sleep,
I knew my soul would surely weep
My kin and kithe would hold an eye
Point their righteous noses high
While my pitied blunders seep.

Trumpets play sad songs for me,
My ears the channel for me to see,
Life's melody played on strained chord,
Nodes of tempests, my mirror, my sword
Are the tools of man's discovery.

A ballad, full of ironic class,
Joined by drums and strings and brass,
Call forth the tattered truth in waves
Of rage, and humility, and raves;
The orchestra stings my heart at last.

I fall to my knees and beg and pray
For mercy from judgement that day,
Of the Epicurean's drones,
Taunting and chastening my ragged tones
The desire to feel all, and every way.

This journey gave to all diverse
Gifts from the master in every verse,
The pain to realize good's been had,
And the smiles haunting the days of bad,
Reminding to all, but others' dark curse.

Without a sowing of blemished seed
Our gardens' dirt is drained; will plead
A mineral, a gift of colored plant
To topple over, and die, recant
The blood for all whom follows need.

Our masters gave us feet to fall
And voices, for not reason, call
And heads to dissect loves' passion
And hearts to offer distraction
Upon the End upon us all.

Heed my warning young life
Do not muse or judge my strife
For one day when I cripple and cry
Will know that on the day I die
I have lived to the fullest, my life.

Him, Perfection

I felt disgusting, watching him cycle past,
Taught Glowing legs pumping away
In a synchronized beat to God's drum.

The colors flew by, a blur, muddled by eyes,
All the ripe fascinations of the rainbow
Caused Great Hermes' evny in His laboured wind.

Stealing his presence we tried all to swallow,
He beat his way through like a storm
Thundering and gusting on his past.

An audience flustered and lost to recognition
Gaped in our awkward sentimental grudge
For we wanted him to slow and share.

Pushed onward He did, 'twas what kept him verted
That coveted metaphor so challenging in my eye
And the others stop, flash, regain, continue.

A moment; fleeting coin of a few seconds,
Must be, for corruption of time shall ruin all,
That once was meant to be, Perfect.

A Lovers' Haunting

A fringed memory

Beats its way and stretches its

Paramount arms across me, to the tips of my

Caressers. Festering denial subsumes,

As a clamor of images, your face, smile

Bombards my eyelids forced.

A bitter wind bludgeons a fleeting fly.

I do not deny you.

Chicago Boi

I beg the night to hear you,
Whisper in my ear, Chicago Boy;
With muffled intentions and
Echoed vibrations,
Tickle my eardrum,
My heart, my heart.
A voice, carried across
Created static sensations,
Digital formations, askew interpretations;
Leaves me yearning for touch.
That voice, a tickle
Tantalizing my eardrum.
The sunrise takes you away.

Untitled [Meaningful Mediation]

Meaningful mediation
Is my purpose here, desert, here,
My god tells me.
Translation, affluent with arbitration,
Is shifted with the desert sand
‘Neath the dry sun and foot.
Taunting winds carry truth, dune after dune.
I squint in the bright light.
White universes cry out in the instant
They sting my face then fall
To be buried with shame of defeat
No tears are shed for these
Particle truths, sequestered without triumph from the wind.
Tears are dried here in bold temperatures,
My god tells me.
For I, in the flesh-searing heat
Bend and reach out my chapped fingers,
A handful of sand.
Gluttony for truth is not rewarded, my friend.
For I fall in the dunes
Groping and swimming amongst my enemy which I now help
So gravely to victory.
They have not lost yet, for I breathe
Inhaling the white reflections.
My fingerprints blown under from sight
Contempt stirs in my lungs and I cry out,
But my words collapse to coughs
Of dry humorless desire to unburden.
The representations of where I have planted foot
Dissipate in the wind’s warriors.
I turn and cripple to my knees
My God scolds me while I watch in vain.
I close my eyes and declare war upon my masters!
I denounce them in desperation to relinquish my burdens
Little white universes blister my face
As victorious Wind blows and smiles.
A low billowing laughter fills the air
And truth becomes but a whisper, a hum
Lost in sound, Lost in translation.

Untitled [Cavernous Pictures]

Cavernous pictures
Drawn crudely on the wall,
Gave her a strong air.
Barbaric charcoal lines,
Etched roughly in stone,
Made her face chapped and broken.
I found her!
Cracked and dusty, she dances
In the flame of a torch;
Black lines in black
Darkness, in remembrance
She waited in a realm of patience,
Of understanding.
But a mere second passes before
Her fleeting image escapes;
For she, called Humility, flees
With recognition.

Untitled [A Growing Sapling Feeds]

A growing sapling feeds;
Nutrients of hope
Commitments of light, bright as you,
My Sunshine,
For we carve, one day,
Our initials into the bark
Of that giant oak,
Deep in a wooden heart

The Soul

The Soul. A fabrication of fundamentalist’s
Disregard for epistemic pursuit? I
Saw it once, standing in a black swamp
In my dream, Illuminating through the
Thickets of a stubborn sycamore and brush;
Moss covered and gnarled from the elements
It, clad in tattered white fabric,
Made glow worms writhe in jealousy of its
Warmth.
The coldness of the water, erasing the sight
Of my ankles, crept up.
The splashes on my leg went numb as it
Looked up, Deer-in-the-Headlights.
Run.
Gone.
Wake.

Untitled [Woven Linens]

Woven linens

Cotton polyester blend

Tussles in a hailstorm

Wrinkled and cum-covered.

Worn thin by

Cheap

Anonymous

Sex.

Emily's Teacup

Life splashes over the rim

Of ardent white-porcelain restrictions

Shaken by the magnanimous hand.

What’s left in the bottom?

Only, but a drop;

Who is to blame?

Untitled [Like Beauty]

Like beauty,

Undermined by nefarious irony

All good things will cease.

Verily, verily,

Truth will reveal to all, its disease.