Angel you were once so
Pure,
On earth you looked
Over us all, but temptation
Was your downfall
*******
Crack,
Crystal,
Stardust,
Was your sinful choice,
It took you to the heavens
But with every comedown
The higher did you fall,
With every injection,  feathers did
Wilt,
Diminish,
Wither,
Till white turned black
Upon the wet mudded floor,
You were one of the many
Who had succumb to human
Desires,
Sins,
Pleasures,
That were the failings of
Mankind, but even the
Highest morals can falter
Before they fall,  
Angel upon high
The last feather did fall,
And in to the arm injected
Pure white heaven
That turned you angel of white wings,
To a ****** human how far did you fall..

(            
•
                  )





~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Free ?

                                  Only death is free

See  the dead faces of the high school girls

Sold their souls for the mass illusion

Sold their truth for a good **** fantasy

/////              

Everyone laughing

No - one's weeping

                        ••

Rode the freight train west

Done my best for awhile

EAT **** ?     YE DIE

And they're dyin alright

••                            

It's easier this way

Ta not give a ****

••                                

If YE tell me YE care

Yer just tellin a lie

/://:/

Death is here

Everyone is worshiping down on their knees

Dispassionate heart
Summoning the chill
A skeleton of your former self
Domiciled within
These impediments

Panic prone
Arguing with fate

Weary of your blue
For how long will you
Linger in the shadows

Engulfed by the deluge of magnetism
Senses torn to shambles by desire
My being cannot fathom
The unyielding sensation
Of weightlessness
It ravishes
This acidic intensity.

taking in early October
Vitamin D naturally,^
another too-oft-writ pretense that
Queen Summer yet smiles upon this
erstwhile, part-time,
nerve bundled human...

though facts contradict,
in summer uniform
he still emerges to bay and chair,
his confessional, his holy temple,
his Houdini escape chamber,
though the temperature
will not top 60 Farenheit

duplicitous as long as I can,
in this simple and so many other
lifetime items far-less-than-trivial,
incapable of obeying my brain's map
orders to cease and desist,
(or dress appropriately at least,)
to see the entirety of oneself
in the broadest of spectrum,
all colors unvarnished, fulsome,
truths rawer than any fictional 3D horror film...

what you do not know,
what you shall now know,
is Samuel Barber's Adagio For Strings
plays once more,
this time the strings
pleadingly command that now,
this time I write
unobfuscated and obtrusive...

(Ah,
those thrusting O words,
so employable, making a face shape surprised
into a rounded, somewhat circuitous
O)

decline to describe the decline,
the angle, the steepness
to-be-determined,
not to be denied for the extremities advise
the battle internal has commenced,
and without a band of brothers,
a solitary, wandering, knight-poet errant,
in search of a battle not,
for the embattlements within are
under attack...

yes errant,
off course,
of course,
the errant bay breeze
speaks to me one more time,
chiding the me-child like a goodly parent,
firm but gentle, modulating tween
just cold enough to make me shiver,
but enough not,
no, to drive me inside...

not knowing, that my inside nature
presently rebellious, all manner of riotous
transmissions beseeching pain medication

foolishness all this temporizing diversionary tactics,
the commencement is the commencement,
the beginning signal fires an ending,
a landing on runways unknown,

fear is not present,
how could it be,
I was warned once and then repeatedly,
so the brain begins yet another remapping,
contours of misshapen sensory inputs
distorted and then the  breeze
over my shoulders reads these words, and
disappears to comfort me by
unopposing the sun vitals,
letting them enter unimpeded...

so
smile creases appear
across poet's tempest face,
for though his hands
splayed and warped,
the trigger fingers stuck
and cannot pull,
the nubs obey the eyes
and solace him,
for as he promised himself,
to himself,
those poetic nerves
will write on
long after all the physical ones,
with errant breezes,
and summer peace,
gone, gone, gone...



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
^*(Oh! how that word personal,
Naturally, naturally
doth haunt me,
for mine own nature be the
leader of mine enemies allied)

How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine

( •
• ) •
(
      )
     (     )

///
                                      when I grow up I want to be a Mutant Ninja Turtle

••

Ever since the Bush Family

Blew up the World Trade Centers

&

Everyone pretended they didn't know



AMERICA

( and everyone in it )

Has been as good as dead

////                                        

The corpses dance and then make love

                                        ////

Perfectly sickening

////                              

She

?

Once you **** your spirit

It is really quite impossible to be thought of

as a mate

But you can still find love

////                                          

The true community

                             ////

From the mountains

Dragons come

/:/

If you ask

They'll take you home

the sky on my back
is heavy now, and the thin light
a shadow.
i am perched in my godforsaken.
but my wings dare the holy
and my mind
tumbles up
like a last supper of glass worms
and extra ******
strychnine.

in the blink of an  I
there's a wink
with a slovenly iris...
and a dull pearl
*****-blissed
in the shattered tooth
of my gnawing
gob.

a low frequency
in the high place
of my moon ***** cul de sac...
and an exact replica
of my dispossessed
reflection... a memory
that forgets best
as it mulls over
and dwells more ******
than the asking price
of my naive
assurety.

it is perfect. and glum.
but the gem is the thing
on the tip my tongue -
seeking and slithering
betwixt.
it's a fixed
star.
or
some
awful charm
looming in the dismal
and lurid
in the
Carnival.

you
are the ghost
that feeds my starvation
and the means
to an end.

a complete drink of sour kindness.

lopping off heads
like a queen of knaves and barking mad
mittens.

it's very cold
where we come from...
but we go
back.

and to
return
is to
speak
a
lost word
where we
found
it...

leaping reason like a squirrel
to a bitter branch
where the apples
are stones
and the leaves
are not amazing
today*.