i
cut what no one can see
and rinsed the razor in the rain

your achilles heel
blood and skin
and  stainless steel
the moon  was self inflicted
the  stars was all afflicted

i left a lady waited

that the scriptures spoke of fated
when she left and
pulled back her hair
our's was null and vacated

the walls are lined with razor wire
electrified and guarded
the crosshairs never leave remains
and all memories are discarded

i have just come home from a long walk. the time is around 6pm
on an august sunday in new york city
i am listening to a record by cannonball adderley as the early evening sunshine streams
through my windows. i prefer vinyl to digital music. my apartment on 86th street is small but clean. there is fried chicken and fresh strawberries in the refrigerator but i am not hungry right now. i have 2 cats that are both 5 years old. they are well fed and happy. later tonight i will fall asleep in my big beautiful bed and dream of you and about how God works in such wondrous ways.

4 enclosed walls of liquid
in a fluid web i want you
the veiled ivy shadows
in a crowded headspace
the saint of dilated seas
met
the princess of abandoned oceans with daughter
on moonrise cheeks of spilt milk
in the lobby of the chelsea hotel

through 40 days and nights of rain they swore
on a bed of clotted blood and see through chinese silk

her black widow memories lit a flickering path
from attic jets
to basement trickles
20 years before
when the saint lost all trace
where did you go that day?
after our butterfly fields
(sarah vaughan and dinah washington and ella fitzgerald
gathered) a crowd
around you
all wondering where you came from
and where were you going
that day
when Jesus rolled back the stone
from a juvenile womb
the populace of a billion worlds
inside a temporary tomb
the shallow points
between childhood legs
don't add up to what God paid Satan
for your devilblack eyes


the princess' daughter
i
dripped from plasma
source such of
inner working lips
the DNA of the cosmos
in my mother's hips
unending lines that never touch
parallel dividers live lives like
my born father of the full eclipse
as i
make mine this pilgrimage
deep to the overlapping ages
undercurrents rest in tidal pools
the shallows smallest stages

i've think i'm going to take a break from breathing
i've been addicted to it since as long as i can remember
it's an expensive habit
and i can't afford it anymore.
i'm not interested in quitting forever, i just want to take a break for a minute.
maybe i'll put my life in storage for a few years
and pick it up when i feel like using it again.
maybe while my life is in storage i could
loan my body to science for a little while...
or maybe i could rent out certain body parts and bits of my psyche;
my **** to the cheated ones
my ***** to the meek ones
my skin to the ones who are not comfortable in their own
my sensibility to the damaged ones
my conscience for the rash ones...
maybe i could sell off the best days of my life so far
people could buy them and save them for rainy days
then relive them in their own bodies while they relax with a drink on the couch
or maybe
i could sell off my best memories (like the time i shook james brown's hand) $5 a throw for a ten second memento...
because in my life i've been: a son, a father, an athlete, a guitar player, an artist, a lover, a hater
a ******, an alcoholic, a collector, a buyer, a seller, an *******, an angel, a killer, a savior, a graduate, a drop out, a connoisseur, a genius, an idiot, a smoker, a non-smoker, a world traveler and a million
other things that make me different (identical) from (to) you. there's gotta be something lodged up there worth a couple bucks to somebody...
maybe i could patent the idea...or maybe i'll just keep them to myself until i feel like sharing them.....i don't know. maybe it's just a dumb idea...i can't make up my mind right now...

the source of the
world
is a boy chasing
a girl
and trying to convince
her
that he
is

and so it goes with you, my dear...
the only
difference being
i have
not
met
you
yet...
and
i
probably
never
will

in this city's jungle haze
the mortar shells bricked gallows' glaze
every pause for which a breath was shed
has returned now to this blankest page of night
the constant newborn night that wants your haloed angel dead
(above)
from the feline night returning
the baritone blues
stalk halo's yearning
every lissome hustler
knows the answer
cuz he's got it in his blood...
blowing silk cut smoke
before God's greatest flood
(below)
now sapped in amber's
wedded stasis
a knife edge wrought
keen for the basis
of a clean cut amputation
of ***** lustrous hesitation
(equals) (static)
in gutted hovels by the hour
archangels sing of
God's illuminations
and sweetest disavowal