Untitled [Ethereal Efficacy]

Ethereal Efficacy
Engineered in airs
Entwine around everyone

White sunglasses

White sunglasses like a bug
Trace the tanlines on blistered
Dark skin. Strutting in
his heavy, holey coats that
Man takes stock of whats around.

The Fabulous Life of Me

The line between art and pornography has always been a fleeting one to place. Arguments over what is art and what is pornography began when Adam took a bite of that delicious fruit for which we all yearn. I enjoy obscuring that line a little more in my work. This piece in particular represents the form of passion, desire and truth in its natural form, while paying tribute to the recognition of the distorted image we portray for others. We all like to swim in the grays of controversy, blindly searching for the answers, but not all of us let the world know.

Excerpt from 'Captive' performed by Nate Zeigler

I rake the Book of Words
to find one to bring to you
To fold it up in origami
A swan to fly and follow you
After I let you go
On that napkin I wrote my soul
And let it go for you
I am nothing now
Alone in those walls I built for you
And Pray I never find
A napkin stamped
'Return to sender'

I am waiting

I am waiting

Neon Capitalist

Naked, Pussy, glass-eyed
And dancing woman
Rocking soft body in tune
A gaze past the faces of men into a shower of
Crinkled ones
And she smiled slightly in the neon light.

Surgery of an Ex-Lover

Prep for the knife now
Take will, and stock, and hedge here
Cut across the heart.

Accidental Splendor

Our Father,
Tell me what to call a shrouded grin, for my words fail me in accidental splendor.
With clouded eyes cast down upon our follies, I feel the chuckles rocking you heavily;
I seek solidarity in my staving heart, and in my soliloquy I confess a readied reluctance for retribution.
The kind has given much attention to my masonry, and brick by brick I rebuild; a migrant filing from oxidized modern mules, put to plow til sweated brow and caliced hand take.
Mortar mollifies you know, I know you know when I hear that devious chuckle bellowing through my veins, that the wrecking ball may strike again.
Rephrase, stumble over my tongue, I ask again, Our Father, what to call a shrouded grin.
A parafoil perhaps, the nongrid, parachute-like nylon airfoil of ribbed or cellualr construction, constricting my descent into turbulent terratory.
Or even an ewer, a now priceless, now useless piece of pottery from a time no one remembers, but stories stave te philosophy of ritual propriety, and no one will ever forget it was once celebrated to contain
Emptiness.
Maybe the word is wahine, riding a wave and flowing on her own celebrated vesselature.
Painted Warhol prose on bathroom stalls pre-emt me to possibility of
Perfume, aromatic tangebility of him, olfactory lingerings beyond Apollo's reign.
Cupido, the thirst from staredowns with cylanders filled with shallow waters.
Maybe the word follows 'L'
Leeway. Ledger. Leg-of-mutton. Launder.
Loon. Locomotive. Legalist. Lavender.
Legato. Latino. Lather. Lair.
Launch. Laudanum. Laugh. Lecture.
Loin. Logical. Leatherback turtle.
But Father, Our Father
I just want to want him,
Perhaps, maybe, just maybe, the word is
Hm.

Untitled [What King Should Be Revered]

What king should be revered!

Patchwork grins on that park bench,

A dolman to his liking.

He, clad in tattered robes

Of indigo and deep purple and

Crown donned with shining thorns,

Is worshipped by clean cheeks,

And passersby send

gifts of averted eyes.

Forgotten Black Woman

Chrysanthemum stitched dress

Warm color contrasting cool skin

Blue-black and swishing, she rocks,

Swinging arms.

Ardent tremors take over

That soft body. Dirt boulevard

Uninvitedly kisses her cheek.

Shackled and steeled, face

Printed and plowed; pedal

After pedal passed by her eye and

Salted water met that street.

Untitled [Blue hued dew comes through when I seek you]

Blue hued dew comes through when I seek you,
And shine a ring of thorns upon your crown.
Stumbling quietly into your lair,
I bring the Ancient with an accidental purpose
To meet an indifferent eye.

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.