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.