There is a man in the stone
He is grainy and unable
To make out with the sky so moist
And uninviting.

There is a man on the bench
He is on his way to stone
He is a soldier and shoulders high metal rods

There is a man in the church
He is a cockel and a fraud
He loves father god
With all his excess.

There is a man in the road
He is searching for a soul
He finds God on the pavement
And in the curb, on the stone

There is a boy in the building
He is dazed and lazy
He dreams of death
And the bliss that will bring

*******, Evangeline
I hated you in the seventh grade
When you were pushed on me at school
And broke my rib,
As I badmouthed you on the monkeyswings.

But quickly I learned
Not from mom or sister
That to be a man is different than
Hollywood and Disneyland
Nothing Loves, Actually; Forever calls—

Very quickly

It seems

That I go from adorable to expendable

Serendipitously,
With a bit of mandated mail
And affairs with Eros’ bureaus of State

Back then I played with chitinous bugs
Baiting them fluffy placentas
of budding trees
And stalked them back to their cave
Before I knew my felonies

But I was a baby,
A child—I never could have known what it means.

But of course I do,
I’ve seen
the running of the bulls
The utterance of men
They are angry and gouge *******
with cold vicegrips around their ******
And are kicked
Mercilessly
Spurned to wrathful affectation
To be murdered in the evening
With rapturous spectation

“But they are bulls!”

Of course they are
"These feelings are only natural!"

No man can equate
With the pleasurable temptations of the state

Not bird or bug or steer or doe

The only Hierarchy permissible
Is of the animals
And of that we hate

I don’t see you woeing
About that steak on your plate.
Or the Glue in the soles of your shoes.

Stroll a bit
Sniff the trees
Whiff the *******
When it’s in the feed

He runs in circles shouting, chanting
“Oye, Oye, Aye Piche Cabrone!”
As the solo mothers cut his lengua
for the starving Ninos
In an apartment complex
off Oxenhoof Lane

Where

Papi got iced
By I.C.E or the like
And the kiddies will never know what it means.

You’ll never know what it means
To be a bull
Muster your might for this—demand with laughter you die
I am an ant in the ever-washed hive
Of sterile kin who have no lives
They give for their queen or infectious despot with wings

Despite all the kindness they've given me,
I am not ready to be meat for the feet.

In every blade of grass I've faith
That no bird or sin will ****** me from my place
And into the sky or the unsatiated mouth of the various
Disunified highs

For now I share the toil and vitriolic
Callous
Jowls of those who hate themselves
More than me
And try to smile and bring food for the queen

But deep inside
I am an ant
And that is all you will ever see.

Sail with me onto the dreamy

Blackened waters evermore

Miles from the distant shore

Another world to call our own.


Perhaps there is no planet here,

No tranquil steppe to this precipitous realm

Where the pressure aches the whole way down

Weightless of a thousand atmospheres


My brain quakes a broken stone,

Transparent eyes in no place

This etherized abyss communicates

A world embarked from the known


Deeper, deeper must we go

Through the darkened deep thorough

A gift of its own; this fathomless dome

A grounding place to guide us home


A thousand times climb below,

A million spheres by stars unknown

And yet every night in moonlit sight

I swim from shore, a stolen beau


On fog-filled days I do not see

Time comes to pass without a scene

To skip along that broken sea

And return to toiling soils


For when the weather agrees, a diving odyssey

Where I sojourn that boundless time;

With a murky message from the void that pines

To a solemn soul's menagerie


Socketed-shapes rapidly move to trace

The walls of my sailing-quarter

Eyes wide-shut in dumbstruck horror

In the darkness; my pale face


Drowning in the pitch

Dismembered hands claw for the portal

In that frozen furled, immortal

Blind fringes skitter deep-dark fish


One day into this place I will sink

And of the land cease to think

To call unto other curious souls

From that eternal deep below

I bet the one who survived best
Was the one who did just enough
to spare the lash, but taste no ire
who slipped away when shots were fired

I wonder how they saw themselves
a rat, a man?
God knows what else

In thought as in plan,
in work as in bust

Everything is as was ever done.

You had not joined me
My totem-journey to the wellspring of the Colorado
to seek the source of things uncontained

the stars washed over me with asphyxiation
the breathless gasp of space



--In the deserts;
Rocklands--
the emerald barrel cactus
is watered as the earth
and the passerby
Cheyenne
cut into the crust
to sip the wine-flesh
to be drunk
and exhume the inhibitions of living

Forbidden berries
in the garden of quills, spear thistles
trust upon the air to protect her children

a good, silent mother
does not refuse
the gift of deflowering
as she is stripped
of her sharpness
and laundered
bestowed in salted bison skin of a war-chief's pouch.

Somewhere deep in the skies of Montana
a lonely street corner flickers
casting coded light
upon the distant albino hillside

It was once a great lake
of snow and ice and melt and
unseen by life
It drained and died

and its beautiful lakebed sands
became the hillside
again

to tumble and fall
into valley and time
again

there we built an impermanent road
we pave and pave
maintain
with trucks and slabs of dirt and grain
roaming those Roman roads
again

Somewhere deep in that heartland
the strings that pumped the musculature
of a dying nation
slowly giving way to a violent attack
from within
oxidize and pool
into great tides
to one day see the coast

I am in California
but I see it clearly as a dream
where the great plains meet the mountain face
and the Cheyenne carved their heels into the dirt
for a bit
spirit
eroded into the winds

today the miners spit
at a coffee-town bar
into copper cans
licker than split
Owning the land that shakes
and shifts
redrawing god's lines
with a paper pad and a pen
for a bit

And the dresses the ladies wear shine
lacquered wood and the horses cry
and beside the interstate
the trucks steam and chuff
and their drivers gaze starry-eyed
onward, beyond into the night
beyond those flanking hillsides
to the flat ocean land sponged anew
that left the oil fields in Texas and the tar sands in
Athabasca
set ablaze in the fervor
of a death rattle
American heart
pumping to feed these hillsides
again

for tomorrow we begin.

I started this when I had questions,

Wondering if there was an answer to loss

And love that could exist

I listened to her

And wondered as I walkways did

If you intended for this

I dont want to move on

I don't want to surrender to that moment

I want to know what it means to you

And I'll ask you to sing it

For empty halls

A normal kind of guy
Just the guy
No cosmologist
Sans Christian
******* the droplet suns
Distant in the blackened sky

Gotta 'and'er some
The bristled gristle
The cryogenic iris
Steel teeth gnashing
Right-toe left
Ardent in an autobiography

Good man
Soft man

Locomoted his GMC
to the Sea
Thought maybe
With precise aim he
could undertow away
paradise.

No pick-me-ups
In copper-channels
That Ionized the pick-up-truck
With archaea iron
that ugly duck
Reminiscent of the man
In all but--

A castaway
Stowaway
The man who never hesitates
Bop upon the interstate
Lost within
concritical maze

Shoring up
Going home
Giving up
Turned to stone
Marble chin
Solumn grin
Chlidren sing
Seeking wings
How'd he know
Where to go
Will he see
What it means?

He's the guy
The one with the lollipop lap
Licking the syrup off the lip
Of a sweet polished sapphire
Gin
And the kids
My god
They think he
ODYSSEUS
And his dog not yet
Dead but depressive in the gloom
Howling into the midnight grass
And the creatures that stalk
With their ******* youth

Soon their weight will hit the deck
And like a noose,
Break the joints
The planks of which would stress
And bend his eyes upon his head.

God willing
Should he be exhumed
His energies excape to the river
And float,
Penultimate,
into the sea.

Even now,

The lone pine
Stretched its dry roots
And gentle,
embraces
the lime
Of rock,

This sky gives me no comfort,
A fallow plain
Empty of rain
Rolling winds across
the Firmament

And the needles whimper
In the autumn breeze
As a field of clouds churns
In the mountains
At the horizon

The day is lost here--
Where time comes and goes with
No witness,
For the ancient sea
Is but talc and bone

And in the distance,
The glimmer of a car window
Reflecting the sun.

Standing upon these novel halls
The man, waiting
Seeks temperance and a kindness from God

He says,

"Give to me the gift of your knowledge and I will smite your enemy--rebuild the garden and replace those fruits long lost"

And his request echoes impotent through a voiceless hall

He cries, wails, churns and smashes
his dirtied knuckles on the walls

He yells, buckles, whines and sputters
Choked and lost in miserable,

The flanking rooms locked and dark
With constant voicing, gently call

"Who upon ye has the gall,
to name me Father"

And he is quiet.

------

In Moscow the Siberian fall grips the air
A wandering Dostoyevsky speaks in exhalations to the crack of gunshot in the dawn

A brief tightening of callous rope around his dry poetic throat

And at once his words sought to cull
the exquisite embers of furious retort

And he is silent.

----

The kindness of a failing city-state
Conveyed on the precipice of a bay
Jack teethed his frantic dharmas
And said to Them,

"What terminus of road
Would ever serve my unwinding soul?"

And as his gut trembled a final thought,
His eyes turned skyward, above the clouds

Where it was silent.

----

Dorigen, repenting the patient shores of tranquil sea
Accusing the chalk of its blackened soul
Traces the subtle dance of gulls
As their drowning feathers face these ageless things
whysper'd deep upon the winds

And she is Silent.

---

Basho, with a wanderer's grin
In solumn steps between the grains
Shades the path of unfamiliar road
And every poem steeped within

Where clouds are soft, where crickets sing
Past warbling stream with cadence grim
The Dao, leading ever onward

Says to him,

"Like water, do I rain."

---

Milton, his misted eyes
No light to guide their failed sight
Trace an ancient knowing glance
To Crown, his subtle circumstance

No soul in life
could see the might
Who gave this man his funeral rites

And when his words fall deaf at last
On his forgotten time and wishful past

He will stare deep into an inky void
And see
The stars for what they are:

Light, dispersed between the dark.

---

In the waning tide of Cresent lune
Twilight casts a gentle hue
Below the hill the city glows
The Palatine, gold and new

The ides, with consequence they come
And with them carry the will be done
Augustus' silent retinue of one
Notes a sky of draining sun

For Rome claws at all of Gaia's *******
And from sea to mount and desert dune
Ancient Africa, nascent Gaul
To Rome, will they forever fall

In darkness, the Palatine shadow loomed
Over web of flame-lit avenue

For the roads all led to Rome that night
For one small moment God guessed right

Cesar's legions on the fields of Mars
Clashed swords and drank to their Centurions
As an Era waited to see the dawn
And new blood to baptize the marbled Columns

And in the farms
beyond Rome,
The shepherds walked their sheep to rest
Where families returned to their homes
With stories of the day's parades and jests

And in the time
Between the days
When Rome slept and the crickets mated
The world was cast in velvet night
Lighted solely by constellation

And in that moment
God became
silent.
---

In the linoleum dungeon
Sparkling swiffer creature
Squirts the floor
Calls polyphemic odors
Opening

And the crazy stench of allspice
Biting lime and draconian breath
Burning the nostril coins
Copper shield bending the cilia
Oven mitts plastered with narcotic grease and decomposing meals
Of yesteryear
Unclear
She speaks between steaming inspirations

Hoo-huh

Exhale the fire

It's'a hotta pasta lasagna
As the helicopters flap their handy rotories
Fast fractal birds
In circumfereferential motion
Cool down our mouths
Ice cubes in the juice
Plop a shot of gin
With that silly child's grin

And the room slowly cants
Begins to spin
As we laugh at the spots we cannot
Pin

Staring at the stellar mountain chains
Thrusted stone
Busted metal
Stabbing up into the sky
Competition

Where is the home beyond the horizon
Where we ate good meals
Not made alone
With parental guidance
As the days were stolen
By the erosive time
That spinning wheel

Well,

It's deep in us now
And the cells metastasized
Realized
That heaven is hell.

She had shown to me,
Aurora
Aurora sweet alighted
the excited verdant ions
a scar of atmosphere
the mantle undivided
to give as sacrifice
to give life to snow

Ye not tempt me with it
Burden of beauty
of foggy things in my dreams
at fancy ballroom mirages

Indifference,
to be found in the refrigerated drink section
outside the air is cold and cools oil on gravel
while across town the burning embers of a home
melt the snow into rivers

The fog of dew on the leaves
drunk, speak the lips of the slain
to look up into the blue
and find solace in the rains.

It is not my job to be a poet,

not my job to spew hopeless clauses

Not my job to weave callous causes

Not my job to print insipid logic

Not my job to parse sight through the darkness.

Not my job to tell souls to behave

Not my job to give credence to knaves

Not my job to sell this gold to the state

Not my job to give words away.

No, it's yours - -

Yours to obey, yours to disdain

Yours to compare, yours to reapir

Yours to create, yours left to fate

Years of the past are not of one date

--

Not my job, not to wish or to pray

Not to shine one's soul with spittle
And lacquer its grain

Not my job to place words, no, merely to give
Not my place to give words that do not serve fit

You all know better, you all say so
And for note, with a sad, careful bow will I go.

Hello Chicago
Flat carpet-town of corn meal
steel spears at the northern junction
of Cahokia and some unknown dream

No lillies grow here sir,
no tulip fields
though there are many Dutch
a little up north
Wisconsin, dontcha' know?

Family blood rains through the Chicago river
named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder
wanders
with the roaming buffalo

I sat at the top of Sears
(Willis)
Tower and peered into the foggy distance
and made out the shores of Michigan
through Indiana
the leftover rains of a continental freeze
churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries
and bowels
of today's earthly body

And when we drove in from O'Hare
in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways
counting down the streets
thinking maybe they'll go all the way to
Mississippi
just a long row of
Concrete

I saw the brick tower
of a decrepit Frito-lay plant
where they cooked their corn and potato
into succulent
can't eat just one
little snacks

for the whole of america
to enjoy in backyard barbecues
and convenience stores
and grocery outlets
All across the planet

Now with the trucks they come and go
up to and whizzing past Chicago
on to greener states with greater relief
with hills and lakes and winding streams

Different sections of the sculpture
Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts
quaking and breaking into tiny stones
a monumental David
cracked in the gallery
bird **** corroding the silicates
unpolished and immortal
words

Chicago!
oh you mighty city you
built from sod and sweat and dew
of new morning
I see your towers
you dreamer, you
But your towers are in Dubai,
and Shanghai
now

The world moved on
and forgot everything about
that magnificent mile
burned to make you earn
new toys and fancy things
from far beyond your winding river streams

But you didn't die
amazing, how much they tried
to rust you out
to bleed you dry

no,
Chicago,
you keep your ***** rivers flowing
all the way to the Mississippi
flanked by modern Roman concrete
all the way to the great green sea
out into the puddle that surronds
the Amerigo

Chicago
don't you give up that river dream

Come, O' child of the West!
As the towers fall and the abbeys rust
And the rising glass facades of dust
Preach you lies and folly thus!

In these fronds of existentia
And those shackled souls scared to devise
Diviner's fall their way to sight

For an oculus of clear sky
shivers in green
For utopia never before seen

God, the amalgamate of rock
And every bullet fired lost
Some section of jewel created in you
And gave the ending her fair dues

The safest tree that grows
In empty valley and fair meadow
With dying breath of barren roots she screams
In sunder surrendered everything

As the child, clutched tightly to her breast
The waves of time, in pounding crests
A volley, a riot of thunderous fear
And whisper poison into thine ear

Do not despair, tis not your fate
For those with gold kept still to trade
In Perpetua your colonnade
Shall forever rest that fair maid.

I, naive

I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain

Thought those rays of sun weren't burning

I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now

Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things

No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves

When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--

The lowly philosopher-king

Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life

Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night

And every other Friday night

Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"

Slowed down for full potential

Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this


Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling

"Love, how much I'd love to be. "

Kinder. Snappier.
More considerate
Dripping soy in coffee filter
Not too stressed.
Able to leverage trivium
Free online tracker app.
6
on the clock
Postmeridian
Kids away at care center
Glass of wine at business meeting
**** in the streets
Hand slumping man a Jackson
Irony
Better. Happier.
A safe society
Black eye on the money machine
In the store
On the street
In the hand
(Not the bush)
Guns off the street

Cleaner. Trapped.
Gob of brain tasty snack
(was there lye in that wine?)
Sleep in vehicle
Commute carefree
Unaware needed
Dreams defeated

Silent. Nappier.
More lethargic.
No need to ask
No questions left
to answer.
Free energy, Free money.
All that's needed
Is cooperation.
Corporations
Constipation
Laying towers of
***** power
in the open mouths of blind baby birds
With gurgling saliva
open mouthed
open heart
bleeding
filling the blender with sweet wine\\\\

Finally,

finally the winds have subsided
the grasses are no longer golden brown

The world is growing in joy!

I can feel my heart burn, the blood of love leaking upon the planks
But it is safe, it is home
It is the lapping shores of the familiar stones
No violent black rock of dreams to stop me from ascending the cliffs
finding solid ground
growing food and making love to the true beauty of it all

And the islands at the edge of the world
Anatolia, the dreams of a new kingdom
One where I was the man I was
Calyps, though kind,
Was a beautiful temptress and had nothing good to say
Just figments and dreams, illusory
She would never make me king.

So here I am friends!
I, your friend
Your crown and solemn head
Please, I ask with faith--
Give me this place to stay.

They are spearheads
The trees, stewsters in the Grey
On Somber window.

Here I am again
banging and clanging
Pots and pans
on
head of lead
Ripped and tan

Scream and shout
Twist and pout

Aint nobody gon' talk about

you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you,







...and yeah.

you too.

Can you lament the loss
Of art
With me?
That all this--
Every part,
Has to be
Broken
Deconstructed
Probed
For its ichorus juice

And mixed up into a poultice
Of parlor trick
mirrored upon our asphalt
As oil slick

Lament this loss of art
When the meter ***** off
To the picture of rhyme
And the Earth is a ball
Floating backwards in time
As brute animals stare
in constellation
At a star-sketched sky.

It was enough for artists to have to constrain
Themselves to knowledge of the natural grain
Of syntax and measure
In which we design
Our lives,
And passed ourselves on
To the grief of our daughters

With such failure of art
Even they would not bother.

No hope for this,
This is but the status
of dead poets

And yet we do not weep.

No need, we are inspired by the sickly
The eminent decay
She is the muse of our words
The sadist of all our play

Just as when our fathers sought to rebuild their dreams,
Our kin are excited, delighted by obscene
Obscurity,
and isolation of the penitent mind,
To commit societal acts
Of the dastardly kind

I am but a Reed, a float on the stream
I am but delicate-phrased
Scaffolding - -

And even me,
With all my tender lonely
Body,
Cannot in good conscience save
Anybody.



Our world of dreams is but a bunch of rows,
With even the picket posts
Torn from their ancient holes--

This is the fate of the ants of the earth
The dust of the stuff,
The fit of this pit,

Those that have no hope for the metere
Above
The senseless rhyme
Of the lost divine

Limitless space,
The eminent decay,
Atomic malfeasance
And interaction, risqué

Even couplets are ******* in this
Autonomous age,
Even the coming together
Of words on a page

In anything more than subjective display,
This word seeks not to know
Of this limitless race

To the end of it all,
To the flip of the page,
To the top of the spire,
And away from the mire

Enough!.
Too caught
in the wrong fuHawking
Black hole.

Why do we call it a "Performance Review"
When we aren't putting on a show

Why do we call it "talent acquisition"
When nature didn't gift us to them

Why do we call it "workplace culture"
When it's an artifice of art

Why do we call ourselves "employed"
When it's for anybody but the will of God

Why are we stuck in this
Why are we cursed to "field operations"
Why are we lost in "development cycles"
Why are we living for "benefits packages"

Why don't we curse the steel stakes?
Why don't me make our own?
Why get lost in knowing quarterly reports
When there's autumn leaves, spring trees,
summer heat and winter's snow?

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Where your presence is given overtime
Instead give your presence over time
To the love of the one
Who built gardens for us
And will gift us away from the pain of this world
Don't trust any who say it can be here
Don't trust those who say paradise is a product
When we are the product of paradise.

She and me
Kick our legs over the cliff
Watching the water pound in steep
Crests of mist,
Awash the quaking stone.

Drinking through the daze
Withering and coastal
Happy with every day
that drips
And growing older
Sedimentary
Seeking the simple deaths of life.

And when we sang our songs to the flocks of gulls
And they called saline
Eating fishbones
Circling like biplanes
Above the coast
We wondered what wandrous
Raptors out ran the oilpan
And instead became this.

We eat our picnic meats
And settle down for a long daydream
Staring at the overcast blanket
Seeing streaks of Grey dispersed between
Feeling
Warm and a little bit loved by the sea.

Me and she
There was no stopping
Her questions, flying hot lead at my
Brain
Dripping gall juice inside the spleen
Infected and hungry
Waiting to engorge our final meal
A bunch of microscopes in the petri
Dished out and left to drift
Amongst the lapping waves.

Assuredly,
When those gulls flapped their lazy way
Heading down the coast
Searching for simple meals
And calling family in the sky
They wondered to god
about solitary
You and I
And just what was our deal?

Precipitously,
my back-stroked keys
Arrive in formative seas

To float alone in endlessly
From you to you to me.

Fluorescent bulb flicks
I write sonnets to loved ones
That will never be.

Ice caps
Mushrooms with frost on their mycelium
The ceiling of the earth tearing,
Dropping liquid ****** to give quick interest

Outside the planets twirl and explode from small rocks
Impact like pebbles on a great salt lake
The ripples of death create movement
Momentous Momentum

Violative but oh so real
Not too kind but who needs to be
Break down walls and streets and building facades
Say hey, bullets of mind should try again,
Hit something new, slit the hole of older jeans

Plop your tetrapedes between the planet matter and look good for once
Clean unwashed blue and painful on the junk


These favorites are just irises, asking to see themselves selfish and alone
Always alone in the body of god
Always a single cell in the larger overall
Pull-ups and getting down to work
Unsheathed from sleeves and lost in only the most bare of skins

Speaking to the lovers of Horus, seeking sunlight between the zippers of their minds

Rings out the bells, love, death, destruct
All the conscious constructions of the mind

Always of the mind

Never in divine

Arguing above
The corvids seek a meal
caked upon the ground

Do not sell your words to devils
who will trade your wisdom for gold and trinkets.

Do not sell your love to any random house
They have no interest in the maintenance of your meaning

Do not sell your heart to strangers,
if they do not have a soft hand

Do not jump into the sea,
If you have yet to find comfort on the land

Art is opinion masquerading as truth.

When I draw a city, I am drawing the city of my dreams, just as the city that is does not exist.

Putting policy into words in the hopes of having yourself heard is not the point of the philosopher,

and should not be the end of the penman.

When I attempt to make the world see, I manufacture my enemy. We should seek instead to illuminate gracefully, to speak the words beyond the void of flesh, and to touch emotions that swim with depth

It will get us nowhere to make art political, of which it is propaganda and employed many an artist in the past;

whose dreams of good deeds became hung in a museum for all the wrong reasons, leaving a remnant of an unforseen circumstance hanging dry on an empty tour-guide phonecall

Descriptive yet lies

Argue the dialectic of truth than the present purfume of lies that is fumigated from the salivary discharge of a cetaceous yearning of ******* of thought, that leftover dream of God

That all things should be the same, that all minds should think that way-- if they were, we'd be done with the experiment.

Poor man, in recognizing his own wretchedness sole
Upon the Plains of Tunis, and the pillars of smoke

His enemy obliterated from the earth
But their soul,
Not so.

Rome, his daughter, to one day be given to the field
To be cast as coin and
As a slave, sold

The gift of Scipio's victory
Fades unknown
as the iron fence on the gates
Pounded by salted airs
And lost to bitter seas

Or the broken spines of buildings drenched in sanguine pleas
Of the demolished, pitiful
Defenders of brooding earth.

But do not despair young Scipio!
Your tears need not plant themselves upon these sands
And sow these seeds of eventuality

Rise your Saber and shield, order the command
For the sake of love and power,
For the glory of your state

Be proud, you great Achilles, ye servant soldier clean,
Wash the blood beneath you, and give to them their deeds

These men who dared defy you, your presidential will,
The men who walked beside you, who suffered every ill

To them you make this pact, to them your will enact--

To them your curse betrays you, to kin and king exact.

I feel as though I wade through the sickly gait
of butter
mind cast deep into the sea,
searching for a coast covered in fog
barely able to make out
the craggy blades of rock
of that world I forgot

It is imprisoning,
stuck aboard a cork of reality
suspended above a chasm of inconsequentiality
that dives unfathomable below
into sickly dark secrets of dreams and
excitable interactive equations
that lead me towards some inevitability

Maybe this is the special sauce,
that radioactivity
that racks my skull
pushes me beyond the world
and into the dreamland of poets

"Dream, dream until you sleep,"
but I have so much to see,
someone to meet,
you told me!
Why lie?
Why die!?

Maybe its all unreal
maybe its all a sheen
a fake shear curtain
so thin,
impossible to see

White and fuzzy and tickly
down my spine
my lower back
my spleen
my scrotal sack
its everywhere
and I don't know what you are
God, help me

I am getting angry
devil is taking the wheel
and wants to drive me off a cliff
or into some abyss
of mind
and I want to let it
I want to be normal again
only a week ago
maybe never
but my god when do we ever feel healthy?

I haven't seen a soul I love
in far too many days
sinful attitude pushing me deep into the drift
and current events that carry me
into pools of vengeful rage
Take me out deep
among those glittering distant seas
Guide me into salvation
to comfort beyond sleep

I would ask you to clean your staff
Before embarking,
The plebs don't want to see you
With dirt on your draperies

Give them a show and a favorite name
Give them a home and a place to claim

Could you dive
From the 29th floor of a building
Into the waters
And survive?

It has been resolved!

It is a crusted concept, inept and unabashed

It is the last call on a windy city tram to the south side

It is a favorite sports bar closed for remodel

The pleasant bliss of air and undisclosed favorites

I will finally extricate myself from the grips of Charybdis

I will continue on, my sail billowing with glee

the air is my fuel and neverrun empty

Can you give a piece of El Dorado to my newfound friend,

Can you give them the same happiness you promised me

and don't let them wonder too long


These unforgotten experiences that mean something to you--

It is an orange rind in the water, silently exfoliating the ions

It is a concrete structure undefined

All the stones that are friendly and snuggled intently against

the mold

I will find new homes in the volcanic chains and wonder about you

You will never again remember the same way who I am, just the faded constraints of the way I challenged your brain

Think of new things! See the trees as lungs

and breeeeaaaathing

You'll find that love in another chunk of god, no complaints for the weary

The kind and lovable axeman who cuts u--Pondicherry

I am a static mold and will rapidly extrue

All the magnificence of things that I cannot view

I am a rhythm of the heart, a beaming drum

I analyze the air and drink it like ***

Fermented love of god, give me no return

To give that which no man has earned

thank you,
sweet love
thank you for showing me something new.

Love wins?
No, man.
Love IS.

draw a line
divide until you can't no more
realize
its all one big
firmament of a world

but we have to fight
survive
it's fitting
and kind
to do so, they say
so they say
they say so many different ways
so that we don't catch on
speak only hearsay
until the day
we die
and our estate
is taxed back
to Washington
rolling in pennies and lying,
with ******* and dimes

"Oh you're mad,
you cute little Jesus you,
go get your whip
let's see what you can do.

Jesus didn't DO
anything
he lived and died
and metaphorized
his life
in a way
we could recognize
because we only live
in a land of metaphor
totally divorced
from the times

Get with it, kid.

And Siddhartha
and Allah
and all the other pristine figurines
said

"Y'all are doing it wrong"

Of course we are,
spinal tapped out the moment we left
so far east of Eden,
we're chasing the sunset

It'll come
we'll blast off to ride chariots towards all the fun
maybe philosophize with Aristotle
on Kepler 281
-c

So stop with the pain,
stop pushing the wheel
stop teasing your souls
with vengeance and zeal

just be,
be free,
be unshackled of soul
let yourself go,
that's all Buddha told

and Christ,
and Allah,
and Laozi
more

You hate it here?
Grab a gun.
Blow out the floor

Or the roof of your mouth,
End it quick, without pain
watch from the heavens
as your crimson life drains

I've seen it once,
I've seen it a thousand times before
And it just keeps rolling,
Keeps moving onward

A drop in a bucket,
a drip in a sink
swirling and *******
a vortex of dreams

deep down the end
that swirling stream of
tunnel

Where do we go?
Why spare the trouble?

Perhaps something
amazing
toiled and fizzled
for 13.8 billion years
to hear you whine and drivel!

It's okay.
Breathe in, out, back in
if I have to,
I'd recommend
you read this again.

It is early.

and the world hangs silent, but the birds chirping their chime,

An angelic choir of vibratos
And tenor beaks
humming sweet
to the early tangerine crest of sun
slivers a powerful bar of light over the peaks
to a newly brilliant horizon.

Sweeping the dredges of darkness away
as the stars fade
like coal dust
back again, packed into their cupboard of night
one by one,
lanterns snuffed and sent
into the vibrating blue
as if the whole sky should erupt into fire
azure, hallowed morning pyre

Encircled by the gradient hues
of coral pink and castille yellow
Mediterranean teal
A symphonic
cacophonic
**** of birth

Good Day, Sweet mother earth.

Squeezed through the valleys
canals
allies
every nook and forlorn cranny
kissed with her blissful photonic army
And the infantile creatures cry with glee.
The dewdrops clutch the blades
the tender palasade
of petals
remembering their darkened escapades
slipping tender rain
to feed the dirt,
the lonely detritus
elixirs of the lovely night.

And the world bursts into a veritable
kaleidoscope of life
With a trillion pairs of eyes
accessing the mother dream

For a moment,
All I could see was the water--
At night, the lights embedded along the surface--
Shining as jewels.

The air is cold, the kind that kisses the breath of covered mouths
And gifts my own with truly visible spirit of hot air, rising into an empty night.

She's with me here--the most beautiful moment in the world cannot exist without it.

That feeling of love, warms every streetlight along the Arno
Every whistle along the Danube
They all sing, shine, in dance for you.

The years that built those piazza,
The generations who smiled upon the cathedrals
The God who lived and died
To bring us right here,
Toe to toe,
Cheek to cheek,
Lip to lip

Two souls, tangled in the vines
And drunk of its fruits

May we find love in these streets,
On these banks
Rich with the feelings
Of all those who set their feet
To the tune of these sweet winter nights.

Amongst the leaves I am a conductor
I have guided their hue and told them their future
they have agreed

I am a wanderer, I am Bede and lost amidst the cockles
I have bled and tasted the Salton Seas

I will give my entire wealth of the universe which is replenished
I will show the world the gift of my unknown

It is soft chocolate that has melted in the heat
It is a love that is unrequited and dies inevitably

I am a philosopher and upon my hill I view some lady in the garden
She is beautiful but of the state and in that way I cannot be
I am a trader of knowledge and wealth is the secret I guard enviously
She will never have this treatise

I will grow old and wither on the steps of the acropolis
I will become food for the olivine complexion of her skin
I will be the very foundations of her visions
I will touch the corneal fragments of her children

I am a faker and a figment of imagination

Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.

No matter what I said,

No matter how I told you,

the columns
still fall

the roads
still grow old

and the vines
drape the necks
of marble molds

In Rome, the forum--
I can think of nothing but
Madison Square
Gardens
and the stone that should be old

I think of the Roman--
and the fields of wheat
I think of man
and the sowing of seed

how fallow the winds,
how empty the streams.

I think of the columns
I think of the streets
I think of the cities
I think of these

And I
could not help but weep.

Rumi was a great man,

But as the fire that burns in but one hearth,

The Gala Hall remains damp and cold.

Loud scrape of metal
Sunray shafts of brilliance
The miners get dressed.

Grains
Fields
slipping between the fingers
everything good is lost
in the sands

torn shreds
vocal cords
twang
my words and wisdom
petering like a flame
in the wind
my screams
stuck in an empty box

A planetary dance
the ink of night
that fills the void
dotted with grains
of light

the sound of music, haunting on the winds
rain
to wet the fields

I have waited for times
innumerably long
the grains of youth
loose in my palm

rhyme and reason
scope and measure
incongruent and failed to calibrate

calcium oxide
lithium hydride
explosive shells
exiting heat
dying mass
compressed gas

the ears of eden lost
the echoes of crying,wailing eyes
a glimpse of pain
grains of sand

I am violently vomiting excretions of words
that may mean naught
fought and died

dead soul of a long ago
wise words of a passing lad
screams, screams, screams and shouts

empty and wholly without

The air is burly
trees harvest soldiers on the line
combines, threads, manure, life--
A whole world lost amidst the flats

Saplings are the next season's
Almonds, Apples, Dates,
Waiting for food shelves and stockrooms
packed in banana boxes and given a place
They will find the plates of capitol city dwellers
They will be engorged far away from their origins

The Sierra-- oh the great plutonic mass
They are grey from age, peppered with white whiskers of snow
They are asking to be known as the interior

Pilgrims who traveled over their spines, seeking these fertile swampland
Now airstrips and dirigibles

The edges of clouds on the valley, the deserts and the mountains like folds of a book
they crackle in the sun and the skin of the earth shrinks in its gaze

Migratory birds dance in the fields, the lowly clang of bell
Bleached american flags tell us this is the land

The land of things and endless breadth

This is only California, but the majesty of it
a gem valley encased by the rocks, in silicates
A roaming place for cows, wanderers, farmers, dreams

Where the only edge of things is the mountains, saying
-Climb me, surmount me, lay me under your deeds-

I'd traveled the distant vessels
of many an emptied lake
Sojourned fallow desert paths
praying for ancient rains

Great clouds in graceful conduct
Danced their lonely lover's gait
Quenching thirst of other grounds
With such a timely rain

I found upon a poesy
hidden in the shade
Took them gentle to my breast
to kiss away their pain

In creatures here the loss is felt
In summer sun the byways melt
No place for sacred waters run
When Her decisive motion's done

Placed beyond this bowl of stone
The ordered clasts of city grow
On mausolea of daffodils
Her voice forever ceased to know

The glow of sun in zenith speaks
To Her and me through haze and dream
Through knotted rock and speckled sky
I came undone in Her sweet eyes

If the Sun
Were the size of a basketball
Sitting in L.A

The next closest
Nuclear furnace
Would be half a world away,
In Santiago, Chile.

Leagues of empty space,
Blackened cosmos.

Like droplets of rain,
Floating in an aetherous cloud.

We stare out of our bubble and wonder
What is there to be found?

If we are destined to empty space,
Falling upon empty planets around empty stars,

We are a singular flame
In a forest of midnight

That cannot be put out.

At the ending of the world
there is a great unraveling
that celestial bow, wound into heartsong
and maestrate the caring music of things--
with these passions of the mind,
God seeking to unravel himself in the ever-fleeing
moment of philosophy, a Persephonic instance
in the archetype of love, psychotic and misnamed,
strait-jacketed in sin and given nothing but sweet
momentary decay

all the powerful souls connect sexually with the cosmos--
payed off, bastardized with a cigarette between their whispered lips
we hold no wealth but the ever-shifting dollar of life.

Fat Jack, fondly Catholic with angel smiles-- holds a rock of God in his hand, rocking softly
in god's busted gut-belly
spread like butter amongst the stars, asking all the same questions of Nirvana--
The last rumble of a skin-tight drumskin wrapped within a screaming symphonic twang of remnant souls--
Walking the notochord of corporeal form
the fantastic drone of rotorcraft, taunting the angelic lads and their brigadier God, singing psalms of limerence
Charlie Parker, musical sadness
Jack-man gladness
Don't forget them in the moment of monastic incantations

High-risen pyramidicals
Euclidian pitter-patter against the gusts and rains
in familiar, repetitive shapes the droplets of ichor
elucidate the frowns of downtown humanity
the locked door at the edge of the room, the air evacuated in fear,
seeking safety in the favorite belfry of an ancient wailing abbey
the dusty oil-towns of century ago
Imbibes the modern-day Maricopa plain
folk digging for dino-rock and black gold, selling dreams to downtrodden lost boys
the mistakes of RV park families

Farmland road
in Louisiana brew
the atmosphere, keeping personal thoughts trapped
a high-pressure zone
the ever-wandering
churning winds of eventual hurricane
the sequence that tickles Fibonacci's fancies and
calls us to dream--
a great Babel of God's consistent scattering heart.

in this great combustible chamber, loud obnoxious gaseous veils
in a low sigh our precipitate souls
smog on the failed shackles of stale blood
dripping this oil on the lips
holding friendly smiles
hiding sickening grins
callous, angry, the honey-chalice sought be not by man or God
alike;

Charlie Parker, playing the world's instrumentation
a track to follow
faded as the ancient road roaming
Rome's wet snail trail
blinking and shimmering into existence
a dewlit morning
the conglomerate rock is a cradle for human discomfort
admitted and hidden
to be a better hold than the hands of the earth
in these cornmeal roads,
digging out sugars from her *****
and sipping on the liquor of life in classic fermentation

to hold the road in your hands, the world on your lips
to tell the catacombs of love you would be her hostess,
seeking answers in the bones of ancient souls and refining
in deep sighs,
loving the things we cannot be.