CITESENS,
children of the night,
bearers of the day torch:
scorched and burned.
BURN NOT.
the dam is broken.
the curse is fled.
once muddied and still,
the river runs
RED!
'ALL
those ships that never sailed
the ones with their seacocks open
that were scuttled in their stalls
TODAY
i bring them back
HUGE AND INTRANSITORY
and let them sail
FOREVER!'*
if ever
there were currents
uncurrent
the wind
could not serve as
truth's currency
CURRENTLY
MOON MARKED
AND
SUN SPARKED
UNMARKED BILLS
i AM
CERTAIN
i SPEAK A NEW LANGUAGE
as is ALWAYS
THE FIRST SIGN
of a
NEW AGE
i had begun to believe my blackened toenails
were on the path to decay when, in truth,
they had begun the gradual process of
CRYSTALLIZATION.
i am he who walks on wind scorned feet with toenails of
AMETHYST AND ROSE QUARTZ.
my path now crystal clear.
i AM COME TO TELL YOU
SHE IS HERE.
it is not written
NO pen MAN ship
was ever CARGOED
with her character
NOTE:
BOOKS ARE CAREFULLY FOLDED FORESTS
void of autumn
BOUND FROM THE
SUN
Likewise, she made her residence
ON THE OUTSKIRTS
OF A SHADOWING HISTORY
ON THE DARKSIDE OF THE MOON
where the searchlighte of the sun
COULD NOT SPOT HER
nor rot her
the seed of forbidden fruit
every tree
HAS A HIDDEN ROOT
YET, SHE HAS
COME TO LIGHT
THE SWELLING PATCHWORK
OF VIBRANT DREAMS
YES, THERE IS A SCIENCE
TO THE AROMA
OF SLEEPING WOMEN
(AND TO THINK OF THE GIRLFRIEND i WAS TEMPTED TO BREAK UP WITH
BECAUSE SHE SLEPT TOO MUCH)
i now know, they NURTURED her there:
they slept in packs
dreamt in cycles
NURSED HER IN SHIFTS
and became her
ON ROTATION
unnamed her
everytime she was named
so she would not be known to anyone
(even unto herself)
undressed her
everytime she was dressed
so she would not be
recognized
as anyone other than herself
they blindfolded her
and spun her
in circles
so she would
find her way here
by no other means
than her intuition
and
she
is
come
i am a simple disoriented man
in her presence
i wear my loincloth
over my eyes
and ejaculate
too soon
forgive me father
for i have sinned
i prayed to you
and cupped
the wind
and in doing so
barred her entry
into a century:
100 years
of solitude
(yes, the wind is the moon's imgination wandering)
i will now pray
with my hands
outstreched
with these psalms
etched
into my palms
9:
most beloved,
i am certain of nothing more
than your existence
a thousand ants
crawling under a log
may find themselves exposed
in my childlike search
for you
(...)
my kali flower
i am eternally destroyed
by your love
no longer
am i eligible
for any worker's
pension
my friends laugh at me
and talk behind my back
they say you have
changed me
and
i am
i am like a survivor
of the flood
walking through the streets
drenched with
God
surprised that all of the
drowned victims
are still walking and talking
maybe there's hope
i rush to each victim's side
sucking what i can of you
out of your various
incarnations
pumping their stomachs
and filling them
to touch them
is to touch you
to kiss them
is to kiss you
my friends,
love is an artform
slightly removed
from its element
one may ask
well what does this mean?
i respond
i've made it up
but it shall be
from now on
from now on
cities
will be built
on one side
of the street
so that soothsayers
will have wilderness to wander
and lovers
space enough
to contemplate
a kiss
she kissed
as if she, alone,
could forge
the signature
of the sun
i closed my eyes
although
i never knew
the difference
i stood before
a brighter light
at lesser
distance
and then, a feeling. Almost as if nothing were ever bound to repeat itself again. As if history had been as masterfully created as the great pyramids and any attempt to reconstruct or relive any given moment would have to stem from an understanding of how the pyramids were built from the TOP DOWN.
and if one could understand such majesty one would also understand that kisses hold codes for unlocking new portals and that pyramids were first made of flesh
our bonded souls
shifting through
hidden corrals
and passageways
i will find my way
to eternity
within you
when i can feel you
breathing into me
i, like a stone gargoyle
atop some crumbling building,
spring to life
a resuscitated
angel
i sweep through city streets
my wings out-stretched
making mothers
clutch their young
and remember
and do you remember, dear ones
or has your history forsaken you?
there were tales told 'round fires
mysteries coded in song
chants and uprisings
centuries of art
all incantations
calling forth this day
on this day
the drunks vomit in unison
'though last night they drank from different cups
children laugh and play
introducing their parents
to invisible friends
a country girl smiles
and two trees blossom
out of season
sea sons awaken
our mother has returned
to wave us
from uncertainty
once tidal
twice born
of wooden ships
thrice formed
through mother's hips
mother ships
graced tu lips
a poet's garden
'2 for 5'
'they're going fast'
the future's bargain
'that's strange'
'i heard my name'
the river's parting
'hurry up'
things blurry up
the sun is darkened
rivers
like oceans
oceans
like answers
questions
in cloud forms
raindrops
in stanzas
to be
or not to...
to see
or not to...
she has eyes
like two turntables
mix(h)er
in between
my dreams and reality
blend in
ancient themes
the bass is of isis
(basis)
cross-faded to ankh
the beat drops
like a cliff
over-looking
my heart
8:
6000 feet
above
sea level
330 bodies
disassembled
the head bone's
connected
to the cock pit
knee jerk
ass backwards
dancing slaves
in a mosh pit
punk rock
of gibralter
roll out
nothing's new
mo' blood dues
the mo hawk
only this time
it's you
and you
never loved her
for what she
possessed
you powdered
her face
and came
on her
head-dress
oil slicked feathers, putrid stenched water-bed
'mother nature's a whore,' said the shotgun to the head.
and it smelled like teen spirit
angst driven insecure
a country in puberty
a country at war