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Sid Lollan Sep 2017
-in adoration of Bill Evans

Welcome, night;fall from finger
stride the keys— handsome young ghost
on my computer screen, as You
are known to me;

Deliver air of great gusto! to sleepwalking ‘verses’
—from quaint Grace of piano seat;
Tenderhearted
Virtuosity,smoothly reverberates
newance
,relieve pretensions:
a coiled palm under ev’ry word
i write.
Compelling ‘nuff a reverie to fool me.

Timeless, God
**** good
because it’s so sincerely
Human—
the kinda Human that transcends pasty body
still
you gotta feel it rumblin’ right in yr gut,
flow thru arm,leg,arm,leg,
up the stem of yr whistling brain
Down to the bone-gristle and greasssomesoulgears
makes you wanna learn to play
piano.
But i can’t play piano,
like him,so
i write
like me.

But i haven’t found my
self compelling enough
to fool anybody
into daydreams yet.
Sid Lollan Aug 2017
disassembled                dry-milk filaments
        casket-torso;pallbearer-legs           buried
                      the lead                        
                                    ­   tombstone read: “for what it’s worth,
               well, It ain’t”
Get me out!on thenextflight       haven’t cut since cru-el April"
             her,my,this obsession with disaster           death by Mediocrity
      she tickles my deficiencies.i whisper.witness me Divine
                            Metastasizer
the police-scanner onna nozzle         so-so dance with the gentlemen;
        to the heart of                write a novel and **** yrself
...And so began the long con(sort-o-con       a schitzo origin story
                 two invert a paradigm)         ;dis assembled matter
told’em yu why worry?      -it ain’t like the films kid-
         we got Worlds to destroy via our Creation)
…move the mark, no           Who moves the soul of those machines?
        somebody [important] dead      inna car accident and
3 colors of genuwine           stratum of white jissom retchblossoms
Smelled like a bank&mug issa
       itch of **** platter-ed                  man who shoulda upped-in-smoke at 22.
                               lotus lips          chests of oceans
Wouldn’t mourn immortality yet;
          -Can wee stay here all/night?-         a platitude is a platitude is a platypus—             :POEM:UNDER:CON
                        in                     STRUCTION:       tuition is too high!
Death by mediocrity, i whisper         she licks a falsehood;
         stick it two me!           $2.37 and a pack of menthols
Stick it in me!         and twist      darling,When’s the last luna saddle
            you horsed           a bull fever-red let it fly—           disassembled constituents quiver                      grave sentiment o’er teacups of
          perishable insight                         ,dissolved dry-milk filaments
      if fear was
                the Sweat,on my back         mountains of meat o’er hills&
under choppy grecian sea          she undoes what she did
        *ties a ribbon to an elected carcass
Autopsy report:                            that junk was better in my head
         death by mediocrity   i whisper        it ain’t like the films kid,
               and it ain’t like the news said            she mechanical jaw
inspire technicalities            maintain the train rolling or you might
                see me on the outside; emerald oracle on a sideroad
selling oranges to                 the future       ain’t grease my w-h-e-e-l
        you—and; her she watches from out-of-frame
        falling, you, i she is falling in closed
system  restrain this membrane            give (me) a hand in burning
         up this joint         (we) kicked in the door to a peep show
picture death, no                  horror of inanimate ****** press’d up-against                   staint glass                the whole **** operation
a **** ruse           I’ve never been about            wake me up for
        disassembled                a Judgement Day               the next hunt the
interval be                       Please cut to the          C H A S E
                 between Want and Wanted                     the joy/cut-me in;   is a poem      to a cross-             like me,I think,therefore
                -eyed saint     my brain jargons,               but these words are deadbeat,papa where’s the cigarettes?     sure pal, Yr a leader!
                for a funeral procession         him,           androgynous boygirl
     tested the waters,drowned               disassembled for a fountain          
                 trade me that injustice for
or a Ouroburro           a Snake            a new dictionary (all in fine print)
     with the courtesy to eat itself whole;                        Cash in
while              you can. Get some sleep.
I invite you to read this piece in any direction your mind may lead you.

Thanks. Feedback is always appreciated
Sid Lollan Aug 2017
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

(Authors of (obligatory)
Redemption: what is true genius if it ain’t dead yet?
Let you, who **** it, not be present for its resurrection.)

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

i had a nightmare:

i opened the door of my ranch-house in the boonies of
southern pa.
out-into the grasses of the old Congo;
There stood the Lion.
20 feet away
i, frozen in the magnitude of his vision;
spirit, dominated by his
completely;
Not even a growl.
i remained
paralyzed—he licked the backs of his paws
and combed a wiry mane...
…a halfa-second was a year if it was a halfa-second now...
but
somewhere in there
i regained my legs and without knowing
pivoted,
grabbed the doorknob. Twist. Open. Step inside.
turn to close the...doorway is gone, the house has vanished
And
HE WAS RIGHT ON TOP OF ME

i was nothing but-a body of plastic fear
molten,
melted and cast into mannequin limbs and head.
i could feel the Lion’s entire, real
spirit crushing spirt
on my hollow caste self.

his breathe stunk of blood that
forced my replicaego into infant curl…
…Finally, the beast roared a canyon
i shivered!
a shiver that shook inside my head
thru the spine to shake
my bones inside the bed.

Thru the constricting red curtain of bloodclot eye
spy the tiny eclipse
of the Black Crow inna massive sheet of african sun;
i must be dead already.
The Lion feels the Crow perched onna cape fig nearby
and his muscles tighten accordingly, his beastly hunger
displaced by boiled-blood anger.

Eye-to-Eye
with the beast
where Fear has reached saturation-point;
it is Nothing if it is Everything…
…the Crow lets out a hiss
like spikes of radio-static, interrupted by series
of whooping-caws…
…stomach vibrated by the Lion’s low,
almost internal growl. For the
first time, his tranquilizing orbs
divert from mine
to capture the Black Crow perched on the dying cape fig.
uncertainty taps my shoulder…then…i feel my body;
the weight releases
and as i motion to rise from the grass and dirt, the Congo dissolves and i’m
sitting up on my mattress with broken springs in the humid
summer slumber of southern pa.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

-What security?
programmed,
under deep-cover;
jungian re-uploads. Them. Resurrected witha blackmarket
medicine a Witch Doctor devolution;
Replicate, regenerate, forever
<01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100>
Bottom feeding grave robbers and tomb vandals are all they are!-

-Better check what ya put down here…liable to shape a ghoul,
and you know this haunt is made-up of enough spooks-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Professors of chaos preach:
O wanderers!
write me the manifesto
walking atop a line of hot coals
-I smell me some burning soles-

(They intend to:
Pour, pure from cold-clear spring-spout
      into muddy-brown-clay, dissolved,
rushing against dried-up bones of gully-walls…
…the Crow just sits above
         and laughs there

Don’t ya see it?)

History
is not about the past,
but
about what the present
can mold the past
into
for the future.
-the marble’s trajectory sure to
flip onnit’s axis d’pending on which record you dig-

(One mistake
can a coward make
or
one accident happen
up-on that a martyr stake’d.
etched in the rut of each separate fate;)


The lion
must roar for his P R I D E
        (or?)
lion wears his hide
as a mascot
Black Crow eats crow egg blues
        black crow spotted me yellow in the bushes
pants down, gun-in-hand
-send your prayers-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Sid Lollan Aug 2017
Here,
I stood in magnetic fields of vision;
You there, in-a candlestick pose
dripping paraffin-wax skin into scabs of asylum floor;
long-since abandoned—over
200yrs of ghosts in the
walls,
walls of busted drywall, exposed-wiring, exposed-brick layered in damp fungus and leeched by dark mucousy mold.

You there, in the yellow beams of Del Valley afternoon soaking thru the red rusted bars on the big window-frames—underneath which, the piles of shattered-glass are splashed by errant rays, transmuted into dilapidated pyramids of peasant white-opal.

Here,
I was, standing in the doorway
of this cove, dank and green, littered with ripped up pictures
and stained patient records, bits of the ceiling and a few leftover lobotomy-drills; the
madhouse corridors leading to this oasis are lousy
with odor of a bugbrain infestation…I stepp’d inside.

You there, in your most perfect rendering…pale
figure a diamond eclipse in the eye of the Ol' Clock;
a clumsy smile, wounded but quixotic lens
confused by your own fiendish eyebrows;

-You lure me in with promise
of the power
of being A Savior—O
I can’t cure your disease, instead I shall
share [it]
in this suspended-animation
with you.
Your collapsed polarity buried you in canyons of
bloodfire and crescent body been revealed in the
moonlight, this time
it was I
who excavated starving bones from the sands of
misplaced desire, this time.
…but this breeze will only take us so-far, this breeze
we soar—the Sun slowly dissolves into the acrylic mix
of blues and yellows and oranges
and just above the horizon, smeared across the sky,
a fusion of pink-magenta;
this breeze,
this breeze can fool you;
this breeze, we soar
on the mother vein of
magenta skies.
-in the now
and then,
in the now again-
again
this breeze we’re naked in
the now pretend this ephemeral breeze
we soar, the immortal winds of Elysium;
ribbons of dopamine lash the brain
unify the senses
a flowing vein thru unending membrane, vibrating
membrane
…O the heavens we find in spells of eternal grayness!
Sid Lollan Jul 2017
She — she sees the stars
in eyes — in eyes that
shield the sun and yearns;
She burns to complete their constellations.

She — she learned the world
through the vacant gaze
of those — of those who’s
love is born out’f manipulations.

She’s ill — ill from the
colors, noise, the emp-
-ty reflections in
the mirror of social masturbations.

She feels — feels the shift,
tectonic plates — the
weight of souls — souls which
drift to shape the soil;
The weight of them bends the Earth’s vibrations.
She shares her fate, with
those souls — souls which shape
the face of Earth —the
fate of which to walk
the plank of their own civilization.

She sees — sees the mess;
How Mother bares the
brunt with body stripp’d,
bruised chest and ruptured
hips from the disease
which wears the crown of her own creation.
She smells — smells the depths
she’s in — it stinks like
old neurosis’ sweat
and spirit mold — taste
cosmic rust on tin
tongue; She’s cold inside her contemplations.

She has visions — vis-
-ages of prophet
flames, let them scorch the
deserted planes of her meditations.
She hears — hears the crash
the Thunder sounds, the
Boom! The children glow in radiation.

She wants to cry — to
cry revolution,
but can barely mu-
-ster up the bones to
demand for some ****-good explanations.

She who knows — knows her
needs but without will's
wit will feed in-to
those who live and breed their condemnation,
is not without creed,
and she knows — She un-
-derstands that to be
freed by the seed of
Nirvana is not —
not to be free of those obligations.
Sid Lollan Jul 2017
…ah um
quit the pandering and
spin a pipe’s worth of Mingus or
maybe Baker or Parker
(They know how to Say What You're Livin'
a guide to the soul of the sleep
or talkin' like a train on the brink of de-
railing for 30 miles
       but makes it safely to Wichita as planned.)
3:30AM it’s junkies for some kinda animal fix w/
old hip & old ****** tastebuds up
this late, or early I’m trying to re-
   -lapse here;
mechanism too open a-
live nerve
          for ravenous divinations &
spirited conquest(s)

I pray not to other gods but
move on the winds that blow dust in my eyes
let my language blur in-
between
the lines; surgically
to let me
bleed it out
        not betray my civility
not let my opinion
        betray my humility
not let my privileges
in certain contexts negate
my perspective
No I don’t pick between sides that’s where you
over
&
oversimplified
implied a divide
w/ language bastardized
& sanitized;

Ain’t a justice I could speak that would last a sentence
in any good book of his/or/hers who slime
when wet, gush & *****, cold statues
in busy-international-style-hotel-lobbies
silk’d swollen appendages & curly greasy-
    -haired oven spread
                               for POWER, power brunch boardroom glory
gory foreplay mocking dirtypoor magnolia seed, plucking peony petal
like a Shrink in shadow of a pedigree now
a judge, small & snide in righteous court-dress for play-
            time.

...Brothers & Sisters

(they) drink my fluid’s ******
-You, eat the will
of my friend the human pet
Slither your plasmic bones in fetal mix
unclaimed foundlings
        pink genitalias
go you writhe on-top uh i ou-
        -r taxdollars
fossilized uh programmed sickness squirm
in maggotmouthed machinations for
the egg of uh saint in lieu of true hue
Them Birds
          (onna island) of parasites;
crass utensil in aid your digestible
stasis-


You Sheep Boy
You? Sheep Boy
You, Sheep Boy?
You! Sheep Boy!
You Sheep! Boy felt the transformation
          when you were told. How’d it feel?
I lost my madness when I let myself die
inna only dream If I had a voice
half as clever as Joyce…
If I had a voice, it’d make-a disassociated rant
into a plea for sanity! it be a salt-stained sailor up
against his Nature to caress a braindead angry sea into
a wise & benevolent guide;

Not uh god I know
gave me a compelling answer not uh one
an I wish they had b’
         cause I don’t always feel so well
I could use another crutch…
Not uh one
head talking on my TV
can be-hold the spectrum to apply
just one, single colour, in your carnation’s eye
If it was so simple how come uh monkey can’t do it?
Ain’t uh monkey I know
         that-a keep its spine upright
that
ain’t gotta taste for its own kind
You’re right
but so is he right she right we will fight
left        right
up
down
uptown downtown outtatown
North South East West
babble on O babble on everywhere
ah um do please hit your marks
         & follow the rhythm
       of the next body over;
Pass around worn-out clichés uh penny given
you put 2 of them to-
gether
we call that uh valid opinion
where I’m from;
Not uh man I know mean what he say
and
sometimes not uh thought in
my brain make any of those
Words
not any of my
Words
mean anything not even the noise they produce
not like Mingus’ fingers talkin’ on that bass.
Thank you Mr. Mingus
Sid Lollan Jun 2017
apathy, is me     with you,
                               i am
               the oceans,the rivers&lakes,the
        mountains&valleys,the atmosphere
the Earth,Jupiter,Venus,so on,
i am the Milky Way,Andromeda,all
                other galaxies known&unknown,all
                the stars&constellations,the asteroids,
                alien planets&blackholes all curled up in  
                 the fabric of the Universe
          but
nothing specific mind you
my dear
   ...with you

Love is philosophy
safe in its reach
apathy is me, with you
strung-out on the antidote
with you,
the sickness issa comforting creature;
       the aquamarine-moon cradles
       madness like a fetal daydream
—with you
      
love is scientific,
                boring in its dissection
       love is petty
                 in its honesty
apathy,is me.
             with you,i am un
                            being un
                           dulating b/t there
                         & there
           nowhere near here;

apathy, is m e
                 and y o u inna vacuum
        i am? with you—cut
                            me
                       T(in)WO;
apathy,is me, with me and you,
                i am
                body inna fever
                &
                (my) voice dis
                embodied
                inna tomb;
                send your fever meat thru a tube
                kiss&kiss my blistered
                     bliss
          we’re necro
                         philiacs
apathy, is me     with you
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