i am the beat
the crescent shape
of a bent
smile
before a row of
coffee stained teeth.
i am the heart
that seeps
into bathtubs
filled with
blue water
before the blood
turns red
as it bleeds.

i am a pair
of wobbly knees
bent beneath
the thorax
of a
pious human being.
i am the voice
that screams
into the
fractaled crags
of a
barren
canopy
made of
the tops of dying
trees.

i am the
thinning heat;
the quickened
silver drops
of mercury clung
to the
mercurial
summer solstice
breeze.

i am that
i am these
and those
over there
the filthy and
the clean.
i am the
saddened longing
for what
hides
between
the
knees -
the skirts
the kilts
i am birds
i am bees.

i am
the Christ
born again at
11:11 am
gestations in the
akashic amniotic
fluid of
celestial
Krishna Kosmic
seas.
i am the dragon
belching
fires
as he breathes -
the
coiled serpent
sleeping
at the
base
of the
Knowledge Tree.

i am safe
because
i am He
and She
i am
the babe
at the *****
of the
Holy Mother,
i am
the Crone
on a
long
incarnation’s
Eve.

i am the
wounded
and the
weak;
the boastful,
macho - man *******
and the
humility
of the meek.
i am the
paycheck
at the end of a long
two weeks
and the long
walkabouts
of lotus- trodden
feet.
i am the
sinew
in
the
meat,
the tea
while it steeps,
the
pressure of the deeps;
i am the
EKG-
magnetic
snake skins
and
electric beeps.
i am the
one
who
perceives -
my self
upheld
in the arms of
Isis
swaddled in
Her
sleeves.

i am the lute
i am She
Who plucks my strings
Who listens
Who watches
while
i
dance
while
i
sing.

Saturn Rx in Aquarius     - June 5th 2022

We recognized our other - selves
baking in the furnace of a Holy Relationship;
a hot crucible of an octave -
a high note.
in the dwindling and the withering we glowed
and we grew.
we walked into the no-light of the
New Moon.
we cracked open a lead egg
it was full of hidden memories -
atrocity and betrayal
and roses that drew blood when you plucked them.
the koshi bell skies were bright
despite the
dim
Gemini
new - lunar night.

what once we thought were vampire bats
were one thousand albino doves
who flew from thy heart
while you sat inside the dark -
trying to ***.
one thousand doves were flying from thy heart
while we discovered new
alleyways between the west Lancaster streets
and played detective
solving criminal activity mysteries
like partners walking the beat
at half past three in the morning.
we danced with the devil against the
cobblestone.
we forgave his filthy ***** deeds.
the citronella candle light was gleaming in our minds
and we were beaming then,
dancing with our shadows against the bricks
and the bible verses stenciled
along the
alley walls.
we loved each other then
even as we had been loved.
our hearts were two bouquets full of peacock feathers.

King street
meets Queen
by a circle inside a square.
we were as royalty then
sitting with one another
there on the bench
regal
open
and free.
we had let in the blood-letters
and our hearts were a smeared bleed
seeping into higher lines of time.
we were happy then,
I placed my hand on the front and the back of your heart
and I saw you then
under the yellow lights
regal
open
and free.
the Gemini winds were whispering
like the wings of Hermes’ feet.
your eyes were bright blue like
how does the howling of the wind..
color and sound compressed
and became as one.
my words were flashing forth like
royal  jelly from the hive-
or the Oil of Christ
burning
our tongues
and foreheads
like lilies of the
white
creator fire.
Anointed, we saw each other then
from the summit of a hill
our hearts were two baskets full of rose petals.

but the dawn went down to day
an american poet once said that
“nothing gold can stay.”
and I started seeing flies again in the kitchen -
creepin
and buzzing up against the windows,
palmetto bugs at night on the concrete walkabouts,
pit vipers hissing on behind me
coiled up in whicker burn baskets
and the low hanging branches of trees.
they say honey doesn’t go bad
but it only took 12 hours for mine to sour.
I said mean things
and I saw evil shapes cast against the walls.
I went blind and deaf
I couldn’t see all the beauty unfolding on before before me
I couldn’t  hear the hymns of peace
being sung above the clouds.
you said you’re about numb to it now;
laying there
curled up and
inoculated from all my onslaughts.
If i could, why
I would take
all those bad words
of my dweller’s mouth
and hide them in a poison pendant
capped with an Ethiopian opal.

we both would know, of course
that all those
mean words
with the serrated edges
of the bitter ends of frayed nerves
wouldn’t really be gone
and that they’d still be there-
just kind of
locked away
and hidden inside a poison pendant.
but
at least opals are beautiful.

by: Jordan Gee

I grew up along a gravel road
in a refitted freight house once owned by a slate mining outfit
my backyard was a rolling sprawl of giant scrap-heaps made
of spent
or unusable slate
some slabs were as big as a tool shed;
mossy promontories jabbing and jutting like dull honey- badger quills
poking out of the hills
as they sprawled in their
heaps and their heaves
and their gullies.
it was a regular shangri la for a couple young boys born in the early to mid 80s
our own private wilderness;
adolescent paradise.
sometimes I would look up from my backyard to
the tops of those slate hills and
I would see my friend Joe.
he  was older than i was and I looked up to him and
I craned my neck
looking up to him then
standing at the summit of a slate hill,
hands on his hips
perched and
hiding behind his silhouette-
the Northampton County Sun setting on behind him
blood orange scarlet and
purple gray blue were the colors of those feelings back then.
time ticked on
the way time does.
my parents got a divorce and I moved across town
there were no slate hills in that backyard
and the slate company chain linked all the hills that remained
and so there stood
a fence between me
and the wonderland I once knew.
Joe died unexpectedly some years later in  
some obscure forest of
one of the Virginias
together we nurtured some regrets suspended in between our
childhood and those
terminal woods.
together we held some memories like beads strung along a strand of silk
translucent pearls like drops of dew
condensing
out there somewhere on the
eternal web of the akasha
unknown to even Indra
unknown to all but us.
couldn’t hold on any longer
had to let it go.  

my brother gave me a pencil cactus
it seemed to flourish in my care
I had been neglecting my own needs for years
not sure I knew what my needs even were
but that cactus needed water and light
and this much i knew
and this much i provided.
it turned a red color down near the bottom of the stalk -
looked it up on google;
some kind of pencil cactus rite of passage.
after the reddening
it becomes then the stick of fire.
we were kicking up dust
over all the trails
fading on behind us
we acted like it was eyes forward only…
towns I used to know, sinking without blinking
absorbed in the horizon on behind me.
I acted like I couldn’t take my eyes off the rear view.
we pulled up and parked on
another
orange
lane
me and my stick of fire.
we landed in a
townhouse -
plenty of legroom
even had central air.
I put the cactus under a window
on the second story
didn’t think about the air vent on the floor
blowin all that dry air
and my stick of fire
withered and wrinkled up
and it shrank and shriveled
I couldn’t bring it back
and i tried
but i
had to let it go.

a giant scooped me in his hands
he was massive
40 feet tall
the war horns blew in the distance when he walked.
he
cocked back his hand and tossed me
through the air
on over the horizon
i was surfing the high skies
on thermals and the slip
streams of vultures
and peregrine falcons-
all of us then dive bombing
all the skinwalkers
like a 2 dimensional love spiral made of
peaks and valleys
and deep trenches swimming in the waters of the
mystic arts….
I held the sun in my hand for exactly one moment
but i blinked and turned
back into a clanging cymbal
a vessel of divine prophecy
going on babbling in tongues.
now a raptor eats my liver every day at noon.
I heard the sun rising in my hands for only just a moment
it was warm and held me in a present bulb of space
I breathed it in
and held it
before I had to let it go.

the architecture of
the Wyoming Valley downtowns
are like frozen songs
crumbling into puddles in a *** hole.
the steam engines and the breakers
are empty skeletons
and dry leaves.
weasels and other vermin making homes inside of holes
the soul was laid off in the vacancy
conflagrations once able to burn down entire cities
at the top of golden arche, and
now the place smells like the smothered ashes of a
single
dwindling
ember .
I yearn for a smooth good-bye
you go ahead and talk and then i’ll go-
yet i ****** up another one
open throats and
another
wire barb in the
neocortex…
I had high hopes
but I had to let it go.

I had high expectations of an early grave
“here lies such and such”
stiff in the long stillness like a possum caught inside a headlight
what a relief that would of been in the brimstone of my twenties
but the roosters kept on crowing
the morning sun kept rising
shining
death away
the big sleep was a false hope
had to let it go.

By Jordan Gee

Circles and Squares May 24 2022

what’s on the agenda for today?
the pre-summer soil is softening for the till
and time is fast ripening on the vine.
seventy-two silly angels are swimming sideways through the ethers
sowing sacred seeds of sacral energy
and so blooms celestial clusters of protons and neutrinos.
we’ll reap a golden crop of Elysium wheat -
come this Autumn’s Comanche harvest moon
because the fruit lives in the harvest
like a bee in the hive
like a house made of hexagons in the sky.
place the left hand over the heart
place the right down upon the belly
breathe deeply from the sacrum
everything is gonna be alright.
two hands of woman and man
feel the heart thumping
plasma and prana pumping
the sun and the moon orbit according to fated rhythms…
everything already is alright.
‘things are that which the word makes them in naming them’
cleaved from the tongue
your word is Law.
tilt your head back
blow prana vayu in the sky
watch the egress of the thunder clouds fleeting
and the bending and the bowing of the rain.
our eyes are two prisms
refractors of the Light
they vibrate together to make an octave
like a dial tone just behind your brow.
your heart is a silicon satellite
picking up on all the waves and boson particles
magnetizing
synthesizing
so many shades of green I almost ran out of canvas
feel the space open up wide inside your sinus
and wide horizons of your mind
the Spirit is gently rapping
tapping at your inner door-
the door of Brahma-
the Brahmarandhra-
unlock the latch and let your Self in.
take heed of the Sacred Feminine
her compassion is boundless in the bottomless night
and even unto the highest firmament
the crows are there cackling in a happy ******
hear the echo in their caw
the morning birds are pecking at the sun
giant sine waves from little bird lungs
thai elephants doff their tack and saddles
even also the claw bells and mahouts and all the bronze.
there is a deep well hidden behind our sternum
behind the high fencing of our hearts
Shiva dances there inside a lotus flower
and all we hear are the circles and the squares
what's on the agenda for today?
my voice is barking octaves
my eyes, they are two prisms
my body is a shrine.

by: Jordan Gee

May 7 2022

wrap me up in a compendium
swaddle me
in a hundred volume tome
of copperplate script
and loose leaf scritta paper
printed type mixed with beetle ink-
like a pre-reformation
family heirloom bible.
or like the scriptures
which are chiseled
criss cross
upside down
and sideways
all along the catacomb walls
sprawling outward under Rome
in confused radial non patterns
of hexagonal fractals covered in symbols of heresy…
or a quarried sandstone
honeycomb
subterranean spirit secrets
hidden under symbols scribed by martyred
2nd century Christians,
swimming with the anchor and the cross
with the Jesus fish and all the rotas squares.

a city full of crucifixes and brass bulls
is buzzing and burning up above.
chain my bones against a Wailing Wall
with my mouth taped shut around an
Aztec whistle
or at the very least
a wooden reed.
noonday Yiddish hymnals
are all row row rowing
merrily
down my ear canals
in a boat full of
Ambrosian rites
Gallican liturgies
hot menorah oil
frankincense
and the Vatican’s signal of the black smoke
still waiting on the new Bishop of Rome

galvanized lunar tetrads
waxing at the apogee
casting shadows so wide
the sun grew long forgotten in my mind
like a song not quite remembered
sung in the valley of the shadow of the Iron Age
or the present dusk of the Piecean Era
when all the Jesus fish
in the Coi pond
of the neighbors yard
were swallowed whole
by a blue heron.  
luckily every dusk soon gives way to dawn
and the high noon of the Aquarian winter
couldn't come soon enough
like the fumata bianca
a water bearer is like a living miracle
in the eyes of a dry and dusty scarecrow
and it is given us
to bring about the end of time
for it is time alone that winds on wearily
and the earth is parched
and very tired now.

bundle me up in an
ancient Kemetic lexicon
a hundred gallon vessel
of holy water couldn’t quench my thirst for
dark matter
and starlight
I used to return from the ocean with a thimble full of salt water
but it is given us to be the Saviors of the world
so now I drive to the beach in a dump truck
big enough for an open pit anthracite coal mine
reciting one quite heart-prayer
at a time,
squeezing all the holy drops
from the salt
and the barnacles
and the brine.

©️  Jordan Gee

died of an enlarged heart
rode in on the wings of a Seraphim
to tell you it was actually broken
that it just grew a few too many sizes that day
and honey,
it burst into a quasar
a bouquet of sound like a tin balloon that
explodes inside a tunnel full of quiet winds.
but now here comes the rain
a holy baptism half past a broken heart.
we’ll sew it up together
with a quicksilver spindle of celestial threads.
golden yarn spun from the Oversoul inside my head
the seeds of my holy heart-mind
sewn beneath my lotus feet.
ceramic shards of a broken heart
woven whole again
showing only golden cracks and seams
below the clouds the sun is brighter than it seems.
inside this fire we laugh so loud
the tunnel full of silent raging winds
are giving birth to embers
and steaming into clouds.

hard hearts will expand with a smile
as we float along the wake
of the Prince of Wands -
bathing in the fire.

by jordan

God made me into a marionette
He pulled me from the dust
He scooped me out of coals.
He breathed life into my belly
and now they call me animated earth.
He carved my bones from alabaster stones
long buried under piles of pine needles and leaves
He sang songs of Light and Life
and put them in my ears
and taught me all the words
and cut me silver keys.
now i stand up tall
like the Lighthouse of Alexandria
or the Colossus of Rhodes
i take showers under jungle waterfalls
full of orchid petals
and with angel fish climbing up the rock walls.
my head and all my limbs are hanging by
golden silken strings and threads
and where I walk the moss and lichens grow.
He fashioned my eyes from glass
blown over the hot geysers
and sulfur springs
of thermopylae
and the salt basin dunes.
He plucked my pupils from the pregnant blackness
of the Void.
He struck them over steel and flint
and the sparks made it bright enough to see.
my heart is a time-piece
keeping minutes with its beats
like a great shadow cast behind a sphere.
the elements once kept me apart from me my identity,
I was a hungry ghost
walking around town like a hypodermic voodoo doll.
everytime I turned around
I tripped over another basket full of rattlesnakes
hissing from both ends.
I gave up and crossed my heart
and gave it over to the chemical egregore
hoping I would die while somehow staying alive
and learning how to fly away home-
so i could leave all the piles of ashes and teeth alone
and maybe plant a rose garden.

but God made of me a marionette
strung me up from strings of silken gold.
He breathes for me,
and dances me to the music of the spheres
and now the whole planet is a
Hanging Garden of the Fallen Babylon
and now I keep snakes
as exotic pets
and as company
when i’m lonely
and for afternoon tea.