New poems are written from old tragedies.
Oh I appreciate the selfishness of poets,
stealing death to pocket life.
Life for their sons and daughters
Post secondary tuition.
Life for retirement.
Life for life's own sake.
Let's turn on the TVs and hope
For another war.
Government storms countries for oil,
Parading rifles and bombs to the
Children without education
And the bearded spinners who can't
Afford a break.
Poets claim to be romantics and meditate on dreams of peaceful Eden.
But what poets in recent times have written in yellow ink?
Cynic and Poetry both have a simple
Y.
Y
  Y
     Y?

I

****** fire
   Scattered with
salt of sacred youth
  
   Split & dislocation, your empire light
          (A memory/reproached by vines)

          Replaced by hills of small cosmic stones
formed like a scream in the sand

  Pagodas wrinkle beneath
The sunset's ardent temper
                   (nobody can escape the smoke)

Mothers give up their daughters

Heroes are marked by volcanic glaciers

Anthills are suffocated softly and without sound

Death has taken up other hobbies

Cheeks resemble the shade of a dream

I am greeted by your wolf of absence
it's hairs are thick and knotted

whimpering
(a shadow)
of what it once was

The toothroot maw of distant islands
tremble as a foreign vessel
curves around the bend of florid pine

Sails be blessed
              & branded with
                     symbols of balance
                    
Islands echoing polyrythm

    (Small stone houses, ritualistic, romanced by careful horns)

The old are tempted by decorative
horses crafted of leaves which dance and
enliven
                 the warming sea
                
Ladies dressed in Batik patterns
     carve quietly at shopsigns to capture their stale glow
    
I realize now the black underbelly of May

I see
Performances of it's ancient verse in all
who bear children

     All who practice with the weapons of abuse
          & the perfumes of mortal love

In thought
and acknowledgment

(Accompanied by tenderness & pull of lavender in a basket)

II

I have been taught to no longer fear alive

(alive) at the will of taxicabs

Of eyes which haunt the heart/

   (tears)
            
  The strangeness of
  mental carousels/
              
Rapid entanglement/
          
(death)
  
          Palaces conjured by the Sun/
          
Basement conversation/

Iron candy that worships your body/

/////

An ever present sound of black
        
           The black of love &

  nightfall in yearning

Where the Northern sky
dies with adoration,
swallowed by an
orchard's olive skin

       (A wine for exchanging poetry)

& like a static Summer unrehearsed with cathedral orchestrals

Or willow's wind flowing in through my bedroom

I will miss the black animal's fur,
of the silk you covered me with
in my sleep

(midnight shelter)

III

Lamenting with another woman
for another time
devoted yet fractured

A landscape scar
for Springs Bengal hunger

paused
on a door as wide as the mirrored
cavern where promises were forged &
betrayed,

what happened to the Tsunami which drowned your past?

IV

On the truth of time gone by
I wake with the burden of
every season
& you remain even still

You are the day's end

There's a degeneration of Society
occurring in front of the yacht clubs
here West Island
commute home again (again)
Straight men crave the
wedding dress seduction mechanism (Lingerie will do as well)
Funny we buy these expensive clothes just to take them off
on the nights we're not loveless.
Expense is all commodity anyways...
Charity bins full of grief in a loading truck for those who've been
consistently smiling.

I step off the 4 and into the immediate glorified adult night entity.
Sinister middle-aged animals scatter beneath a common moonlight
and to tenements, motels, upward skinny crackwood staircases
to some unknown neon-advertised Leviathan of
skin and sorrow.
ELECTRICITY burns in those bones.
The bones of the Brittle
The Bottled
The Erratic
The Bearded
and Retreated.

I'm here hands tight on a suitcase of whatever you'd like for ANYONE
who will do some good instead of
lightning another fire!
So many now keep to debt on a clothes hanger or
a bedside cabinet.
We're experiencing a surplus of it!
Deficit Surplus,
what a cruel contrary contagion
(Where's the pesticide for THAT insect??)

Don't take this all as universal truth,
rather, it's my own universal truth...

The best way to keep an enemy close is by continuing to think about them.
I'm rambling on and on
and living in a pendulum
of old things and new.
Goodnight.

Wounded
Sterile sidewalk
bent black wood bench
fetch DOG fetch!
the sky is clear today
trees are trying out modelling again, for the painters.
I'm at the public park where Big Satanic Paul used to live in a tent
too small for his heart
I'm drinking another free coffee.
O potential Buddhas all about the place
Loved, loved by all
loved by nobody
Solipsism in tired affections
we've all experienced a similar doorknock on the heart
who's earth settles uncomfortably after feeling like that.
I'm drinking another free day
in my F R E E country
(as we're so obliged to believe. We didn't choose to be born here, but we certainly choose to die here)
Writing on a bathroom wall says something too rude for me to copy in this poem.
I'm drinking another hour
the weather is nice today,
I never met Big Satanic Paul, but according to my friend who shared tent space with him some six years ago, he wasn't the type to get better.
Anyways, I hope he died as gently as he lived.
I'm drinking another Spring.

I - In the active perspiring of
Manhattan dirt

& now I tell ya
The monkeys lost his surpreme gavel
& intimacy finds a false place
Within the youthful realm of transience
(the wide grove of
Grass slowly growing into golden cherries
To be picked apart and criticized by ones who'd gladly describe themselves as Angelic)

A ladder topples over a nightly bistro causing its windows
To ever /so //slight/ly crack
The owner & his two daughters take themselves

(along with his displeasement)
to the basement to conjure up a lawyer made of wax

Meanwhile Queens experiences rain as a cataclysmic shower occuring everywhere
Even the barred 1st floor apartments /

Nearby stabbings\

(74 people watching
  and the screams for help were audible nobody did a ******' thing. We call this the 'bystander effect')

I am long-awaited and less stressed in comparison to the last time I broke the barrier of clouds,
Which decieve America into thinking its
Worth only greyness
& worrying about bathroom Mirrors//srorriM//

(sorry!)

The cinema will show you otherwise!

Minnesota causeway glittering with
Luggage carriers
Alike we are and have been
Bundled together
To read poetics or the sad paper
About elephants in an empty zoo
or the flammatory lawns of Washington

WRAP YOUR TROUBLES
IN DREAMS
(audible from a brunette protected by last year's scarf, the cabin pressure decreasing
my ears feel full of eagerness)

Trunk of the elephant I read earlier
Lets us thru to Airport
The hollowed organics of this passage
Cause my spine to crawl
There are flies bespeckled like
The jewelry of decay

      But soon we are clean again
Yet still without a forest to
         Confess in
               Comforted by shrill wind echoing 'round the wood
              
(as one would say patience is a virtue)

II -   I have missed the first
Haze of every mornings gentle mouth

Strawberries press themselves harshly to lobes
Like oriental jazz
& a collective yawn
As the ground becomes
        nobody
        Wait! Look down there!
        It's my friend welcomed to wifehood!
              Ballads of a long time ago,
                   Humid run-ins with the twinkler
                   Performing a theatrical
                 Tearduct expression

Valleys of varying shades/
Orchards & the Apple of my eye
      Nectar and beggar
      Some Disney story Swiss town
      Operated by
      Language,
       I am tired which causes me to write
       I am writing which causes me to tire
       I am which writing causes to tire
       I which am writing tired causes to
       (the shoreline of a dream where
       Socialists wearing straw hats created a whole scene involving a loud child
       Unaware of what movement he was being indoctrinated into
       And a pocket full of change which was later tossed to the sea
       The image of which caused My Mother to
       Wake from her fainting)

Seance in voluptuous turmoil
Only confronted by
       A vision of the sky transitioned to earth
       & shadow dancing
       Accompanied with the sun,
        its last inkling of lemondrops
        Spread in buttery fashion to my personal
        Horizon
      __________

Fr­ee from(in the) the properties of
Textbooks and
Inflated intellectualism(vast pastoral landscapes)
One can
    Allow themselves to truly sleep in
    Peace
       (of the air)

A generation of pinched
Fruit we
Lay still in a wickerbasket
        & the childless theatre
              Remains grim and nettled with
              Unfamiliar voices

You stray from ample forgiveness
With waxen fugues

       The martyr of unrest
       Keeps to the typewriter
         Imagining dramatics and
         Flowery dust accumulates
over
          Musings of herself
         And the city that has devoured her

Beached priests who
Hear the seagull candor
Kiss windchimes idly,
Staying on a thought of expansive
Clouds with rings delicate around their patient fingers.       The brass clamor of the ocean (assisted by Erroll Garner)
Creates beams of carpeted
Fantasy to the Priest. The wind tugs at his robes like an eager lover
      
Dementia
Of the coming Night
Makes senseless the mortal line
Of sand and branded stone
(the perpetual *** of land/
The curving sea) creates a poet
And kills a priest

Do not ease that Nordic instrument into its casing/velvet Absolutely
Conifer perfume/
   quarell of the shaken gulls observed thru
     A car window
     & lamps cosy our continentless
     Home where
     Conjurations exhibit themselves
     Without expectation or
     Pride
     (a hairnet trapped in the shower
    
     Your sheltered ribbon hung from a treebranch)
    
A spherical whisper with crimson properties
Buried in the parking lot
To be experienced in Stoneness by someone else

& the dying
Retreat back to an overwhelming
Burden of self

....Crayons lacking regal touch to eroticize them!
Do wait with optimism within the jar of
A kitchenette
    
For you and your unmeditated softness to return here to me

A divided composition of incense ash


someone is cutting the grass outside


I can hear the hum, as the hum can
experience its own vibrations, as the
vibrations are experienced by the Earth


grass is severed like a mother's sleep


I'll be getting my hair cut today


there are flowers emerging from the trees


new incense stick burns now


my second destructive composition


the first an informal mandala


tossed away in another room

I

the fear on first approach-

-submerged in reflective twilight
& you think say I say I-

(the island you had voyaged once before has grown feral with age)

where cloud, charcoal mane/the scribe of uncertainty/black casper queen
charges into its young,
a battered sea/a vigilant watcher waned
  
  (Its mercurial body, which folds through
  passions innumerable)
  
The vestibule of Neptune, an orphic
   iris seeking-
  
which causes torn silk of peregrine robes/
the gaelic mercy in your voice
now sinking/smoke environ

"where can I find the spirit hospital?"

howling flower!
cracked serpentine clay!

after thousand veiled dreams/
    the tempest of years pulls up from roots
     your cradled heart-
    
     -to rebirth as color undefined and
    carried by
      curious afflictions-

II

hands, golden hands, chariot hands, holy & wild hands/animal/oracle
hands with crystallike fingertips & listening eyes
hands/fury
practiced/grasping, sweet
spectacle hands/
mountain messenger/
Charon/hands (the silver tower abandoned for faith)

-together,
guiding

newborn
bodies
(including yours and mine)

toward
antiphon

In the caring arms of
candles, bathe
the sky with Autumn pools,
canvasing yards.

Sacrificial intruders, gently
swimming leaves, crying acoustics, Baba Yaga spins
her satin cobwebs in the wake
of morning

(funeral rites a few streets over, hardly paid mind or body)

we are protected now by a sauna, simmering hot stones in our chests-
      -burst forth with passion!
ragged romantics gather
  reaching upward to their forbidden idol (since lost)

coffee, bitter dew on garden, fountain parasol to overcast
dispersion/carving blade/nuptial rumours/nobody translates the sick/everybody is coddled by loneliness (wolf, a deathmouth which has never known satisfaction/mute & watercolor)

shop signs faded white, shoeshiner replacements, faces transposed, day drapes with smoking curtains
prematurely & ur smile
is tortured by animal
vagrancy


lips (siesmic breath)

  lips a
 talisman recieved in charity

another fertile morning kept fruitful for those who value moments & glances 

lips the household fables,
the native porch! (pity)

lips o spirited child clutching hollow whistling images

lips o bedside manner

(I am a feverish mountain branded with snow)

lips cream of dust,
lavender flicker,

(speaker's immortal verse/showering violets)

lips eager to shake hands
& dance
with violence as they
undoubtedly know how

Ink
Patiently
Crosses the premature night,

I am resting to the rythm of a
clock drilled through various poetry

Foggy children dance to
Yemanesh Ayinama on the frozen grass
Like twinkling
Ghasts

Here is the magic hour of invisible death
And your shade has encompassed even
The most royal of graffiti here

Woke to a decorative bowl of
smoking fruit/
the painted message of careful Angels
(you darling you)
Who have nothing to say for now
but regret!
The thinking of an Earthquake

Impressions on a mattress
(LISTEN TO THE DISTANCE OF UNKISSED
MOUTHS WHISPERING OF EACH OTHER)

Gallons of dreamscape silver spill over
  a perfect beach/
Some weary tide makes no effort to
Make profit on it
So the shining opportunity remains
Festive & buried beneath a tomb of shells

A tearful faerie
Held still until
The day this treasure resurfaces
In a naive Summer morning

Peachness warming the hollow homes
& rendering ur microwave useless
(bones underneath the floorboards spur
To life here and pray on such an occasion
The nymph embroiders the whole scene with flowers)
I kiss you
           Sea cradles the land
            Incandescent minds wipe away the indifference of time
          
The skeletons have their hour for laughing
I kiss you

Carpets recede for hidden burdens

Photographs make nice liars
Some completely believe in superstition
Others believe in rosefields or
Simple bodies of water

You were there
underneath strange elevators and
London's tragedy made the news
I don't know what to say                    but

I guess it doesn't matter now does it
(Hillcrest Park's ethereal flow catches the blue room
and makes my cheeks warm)

We cleared the air,
we didn't but we did.

"What have you been up to?"

"Ah, just keeping around"

"Yeah?"
"Yeah"

The voices across the hall a blur behind the door
I
barefoot
             walked down the steps/
                    into the bathroom/
      looked into the mirror/
                     told myself that I was myself/
I still need that reassurance.

Melody melody melody
melody melody
                                               in the skull
it's a calm sound and a violent feeling
I've been kinda sad about it all day now.

(Laying there
the room has vanished)

mute the flower screaming from the television
and love's been paused again
for Summer months.

Outside the barless
Tired wanderer sleeps

softly under the gutter
Of divine prices
and flocks of birds

Tapping on the mind window to suggest

that it's safe outside for the first time he can remember.

He carries himself like a beast of burden

Adjusting to a new pair of glasses he

never asked for!
The Santa Monica Pier

Flashes up like an express elevator in his childlike remembrances

& Screwdrivers &
heels contact with a hardwood floor

Paid for every month with a hard earned dollar
By a hard working family
Who always had it dogged

& Questioning why ah why he's

Slow with the
  kinks in his back nobody knows his name He
  doesn't know theirs either

He remembers the name of routine
offices & the birdsong of three AM

Removed from physicality by then searching for his kneecaps

N constant intervals of unseen shouting from
A block over or upwards to him

The junktruck tumbles down the black Avenues
Another communist is born

& Yawning has grown into language

Poetic verse misunderstood by many

The ministry on ones heels

& Neon has replaced vinework

He's just tired and can't stop rehearsing apologies

Bo Diddley's Nursery Rhyme as the European bus
Cruises past Chinatown a woman

Takes a clove cigarette out from her shirt
Pocket
Laughing to herself

& It travels towards the street vendor
He's making it
and A phone call interrupts the whole scene

A great glowing ship suddenly materializes
(Nobody pays any attention)

The coffee is strong today

His thoughts are being particularly loud lately

The auburn trees
Collapse their shimmering hue

As the sun releases it's hold
The potted plants are writing eulogies

A child runs thru an Island orchard
His shirt sticks to his skin
And the girl
who in eleven years will marry him

Is fifteen miles away sleeping off a fever
She has hazel eyes

& Her mother works at a hospital
She's an only child

She will smell as a poppies seductive
Stare or an Actress perfume
Autumn is

One week off
The ashtrays are in need of cleaning

The ceiling fans turned off
& The desk fans shelved in familiar
Musty closets

Nobody can remember what heartbreak felt like

As for one premature month that year
Everything was just alright

The traffic is busy in New York.
Relationships are beginning and ending.
It’s raining outside in December.
Somebody is contemplating suicide.
A child is born.
Old hotels are torn down to make room for new hotels.
The baby is a girl, she has green eyes.
An animal has killed another animal.
Its not cold enough to snow.
Another year is upon us.
I’m dying and you’re dying and we’re all dying.
The sun will set.
and come up again.
Flick up your blinds,
Good mourning!

The furniture of complacency comes burdened with
Eyeshadow & Mercurial past-idlings/
I have no theatrics to share with you dear
Eccept the sidewalk for all its smoke,
Accept my heart for all its dust

Nervous flames of a violet under close inspection
Deemed too upset for office countertops!
(I will avail you of the screaming that goes on here)

Machinery of white sleep
Surrounded by freckles & laughing
That makes the headboard shake/there is drunken quarrel on the street
There is pacifying the horror of someone's misgivings ! Everything in its place like a jewelled
Skylight or the hallway aroma of stale cake

& a hundred starving dogs quiver at the sight of you
(the sea decides that it doesn't want to **** anyone again
            my shoes are starting to wear down
       The ******* mouth of the sea is sorry
       Is so sorry for all those it drowned
        The lion cloaked in laurel caged at the center of the sea
      Is growing old
      & sick with innocence)

     Bloodied flowers crown her hair and shy roots remember the wars of her thickened heart
     The softness behind her ears like spots of April honey
    
     (A veteran of what we are capable of inflicting on each other!)
    
I know the stench of the sidewalk,
Mirrors do translate the language of thoughts/
                     Remedies are concocted under invisible snow
                     (mist & directionless droplets make clear the sky and
                     The whole temporary palace of
                     Picketed clouds,
                     A visual hurdy gurdy)

In darkroom tone-
We, resigned to another daybreak
In seeking the holy flowerbed-
     Do smear our kissing words to
     Lipless leaves
     & mournful faces

Please there
Dreamy Deity don't
Make me slow once the
Eyes are open and
Consciousness is
On her voyage home
From R.E.M eternities.

Please there don't
Make me SO TIRED!
I can't stand not
Standing
(Too sleepy to know what the words is)

I rather be yawns through hours
Than sifting in&out; of
Hallucinations and
Premonitions of future
Déjà-vu's

Please there-
Be my sleep saint and
Turn my sheets to
Razor wire
(Isn't THAT an incentive!)
Make the mattress a
Silent grenade
(Only chance of survival is
To cross the fingers with eyes
Unshut)

Beacon that bathroom light
Mid hallway
- Cold-water sink
Tap lighthouse
Or tickle my toes.

Oh ethereal!
I want to feel distant
From those drowsies
Filling my ears and eyes.
They do a good job of
Throwing me.            Out
Of the lOOp!
I miss October,
I miss July,
If not the insomnia/
Light switch is off!
And Z becomes my
Favorite letter of the Alphabet..
(Zzzzzzz...)
How am I supposed to
Become Mahāsattva if
The illusion cocoons                                                  
Me daily                                                            ­          
And people keep asking                                          
If I'm depressed?                                                       ­ 
Sometimes I wonder,                                                
If sleep has caused any of my apathy                    
Or the other way'round.                                          
(The chicken or the egg)                                          
                                                                ­                      
None of these thoughts be possible                        
When my bones brittle with                                    
B E I N G       S O      T I R E D

I want none of those non
Natural cures and caffeinated
Horrors
Or sleep medications crawling into
My monthly expenses.
I want none of that trouble or
The trouble I'm already in
I just wanna-

(At-                                                    ­        Z
                                                       ­              Z
this point                                                    Z
      ­                I stop writing                       Z
               due to incoherence                     Z
                                                               ­      Z
                                                               ­      Z
and let the oceans of                                Z
                             ­                                         Z
Night drown me                                        Z
                     ­                                                 Z.............
fast)

In the fountain revelry of a
simple moment

My face is ignited with sparklers
there are crowds shouting joyously

the Omikoshi emerges from my hidden theatre of shut eyes

I still haven't seen you carve out a home within the hilltop

I have never heard your voice cry into the deserted afternoon

where everyone has abandoned their post for sour milk,

(it was just as Shiva commanded)

in a purist's wisdom that we shall sew together

A dramatic sepulchre of landscapes &

Balanced shrines which release

pinkish children to the Spring

I

February

Einbahnstraße in a
night of black arrowheads/jazz, obliteration perfume/
the twinkle of your
eyes which are engulfed
by youthful nymphs

Fur-lined sable coat
& I
in a jean jacket, hair styled back/
the perspiring windows of Paul Gustavus
open to reveal alizarin (death of day)
velvet curtains
(an appetite for moonlight &
mirrors) the reverberation
echochamber settles over us infused
with alcohol and tea leaves

Basement seclusion,
Deutsch in every direction

Woodstove heat/harsh truths exist in
a Blue Rose of cackling ash, left
disentangled ... duskdancer and copperhue-rooftop Saharas
 billowing madly

conversation as a
room full of isolation, lip -
eye, breath -
hairline/drifting to attic enticement,
bedsheets ruffling like
a winged dove

(insertion/devotion)

I am a North American phantom speaking through written paragraphs

& on my second drink a voice
persuasively licks my thigh/come up from the uneven ground

"feed the moon

relinquish fear

-blindness & burden, parish your
      anticipation for fire"

II

In my restlessness later on, I realize
all I can do is keep my head
high, mimic hope, mimic strength knowing we are
but one brief collision of beautiful
time purposed to split off again
towards a chaos larger than
ourselves.

Remembering The Woman in The Dunes..

"There was a drooling wolf...there was the sun. And, somewhere, he knew not where...there must also be a storm center and lines of discontinuity"

our own repitition of love & labor, warding off the deathhand which always comes back around

... How far do we have to go for lasting tenderness?

III

March


Australian sand/I erase my flesh
in Summer fruit/the air is thick,
I have stopped wearing leather

With iron humility
I task myself to
tillling a steeple into
a breaking cloudbeam

Your mind enlivened with roman flowers

The circus of a moment specified
With a pigeoncoop ****** humiliation
And the sewer rid of its own proud disgust

Here you wait on the grass
Watching the attic become swallowed in it's own blackness
& the windows betray your expectations
Of a good wedding

Heater hallways shake beneath the blue sky/
Apartment flash of childhood howling thru top floor window

Pink memories and ambient music
while stoplights blink
for their empty streets.
I'm wandering alone in this town
and the cat is sleeping off his traumas of being a man

"COLOR VIBE
LIMITED
TICKETS
AT ESQ"                   half a sign away from meaning but the abstraction
                                  means something in itself

Black hand pointed to the doorbell of the cosmos
all lit up
I'm present in a quiet
fluorescent shopping complex on the way home,
I like that anonymous kitchens are still unified and yellow/
these pattern lives remain/
optimists I'll never know/
lovers that browse the antique shop up my street and have a certain
fondness for the velvet hat on the rack

(that's     how    I    feel   about   this    whole    neighborhood)

"NO SMOKING
WITHIN 7 METERS"

Means nothing to the morning before bussiness hours

I (August)

By way of magic theaters
& Volumes of intellectual glitter
& Tragedy in the form of escalator dramas
Replaced with alcoholism and the tile floor in need of cleaning

Bulbs green and vibrant
In accompaniment of nearby mechanical ships/
I'm too spoken and the traffic has been melting against itself for the last three weeks

Doorhandles left empty of the
Torch of lost odors
& Bouquet smiles
& Petrichor thru the window facing the street
A shouting sort
And 25 cents in my back pocket

The dream I had yesterday of Bank Robbery
Solipsism

Also sexuality revealed as
The Camel's endurance
For kind people

Everyone around me in the bookshop starts vocalizing my internal scatterings
& The whole thing becomes surreal
Corso waves as I walk by
I'm afraid if what might happen on acknowledging it

Lamppost summoned and
Violent
Carpet is stained with the footsteps of people you don't want around anymore

Your gigantic ego had a hard time fitting thru the doorframe on exit


II (September)

A woman is reading a japanese book on
Windmills
Cradled by a sweater the tone of
Sunsets

The hour has devolved into silhouttes

An internal voice peaceully sings its way higher into the skull to be remembered/
The melody of September

On the verge of permanence at all times
& feeling it now!

You will never be this shy around
Orchards again,
Once the Hotels quiet down &
Autumn laurel replaces the crow of
Current conciousness

Ur journal is a series of wet shapes
Lucidly mixed with Candlewax air

Have fun transcribing Burmese papers
Or attempting Monkhood in Vermont!

III

It has been easy attending
All these social Funerals
And watching the Hospitals keep busy
As water is drained from countless fountains

Meanwhile a dog with a crooked lung is manufacturing a vivid sense of
Totality with the garden
Tongue out
Unaware of the Sun

and after a
death nightmare like that
I can't help but think of Corso's gravestone
and how much the clouds really do
mean to me

O how important
tattoos of ailed hands become.

appreciating
the flowers of May
as trees become aware
of the cold every year,

me, teary eyed on waking
and realizing
what people close to him must be going through now.

Cut, *******.

Scar, Australia form

on lower thigh.

Dent, puncture

in thumb.

Bruise

on

leg.

Where did you come from?

My body remembers

more than my mind.

The great final sleep of death,
slowly it aches our bones and weighs down our eyes.
The eternal sleep,
tiring us with time.

O bridal eyes! the obessive mixture of
doves in Winter's desperate grasp to retain the memory of itself
        and I
        , remaining lively in white to pass over
        slow, patient
        and flashing like
a celebration film reel
      Set to your favorite false orchestral

I adorn the sky, whistling to lost
   phases of the moon,
   meditations on a canvas of pure
   noise !

May the passive cedars grant you
passage to their primal love

-without its social preliminaries
            without its reliance on flesh
            but rather

a peculiar divination
no amount of ****** lucidity can know

Your final sight
the floor and myself

it is over with as quickly as
you expected

   with your jewelry spilled
   graciously on
    the floor
      your final sight
      
relieved of pain
   your expression mirrors confusion
   and a sort of gladness
  
     it is over quickly
    
     i retreat back into life
  
   your final sight is life
   spread clean with your death

Patchouli incense, chestnut thighs

(the stoicism found in
clocks made of paper)

an impressionist's linen,
fingertips all too aware of their own alive/

the chimney's formless eye
awakes to Mattress & agedviolin & I

turning to beautiful October taking off her whistling clothes/
yawn n gasping in gossamers ghost

The weeks bobbing (interminably) like an optimistic pond of
matchsticks

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

(three strikes of a distant Mountain
bell signals reflection at Ryōan-ji)

(we abide by the fury of charging organs)

loveliness, willing to empty
our bodies of day
and fill our heads with
  goodnight

an hourglass garlanded in stems
which
the years turn over
pillowlike

II


(((((blink to
summer rain    

my heart has become
occupied by an unfamiliar
Canyon

(summer(ra(in s(um(mer rai(n)

Easel pink brandish-
markings of bold
Panther shadow/transfigure
to Mariposa sweetly

Sunset sleeper, Mediterranean
heath, silver sailboat idol
chanting in wind/undulating mica-recast

(your teeth unravel
  like hazardous
decorations as you approach
with sand in your pockets, shoes beaten together,
you shut the door behind you)

I've done with
stagnating, a freedom
figure replaces the routinely/becoming

(May)

a joyful repose,
                        now sojourned to
                           subtropics, a wanderer-
detaching himself from misconception

I am the Devourer of
my own time

A practice in diverting expectation,
the micrososm perseveres
over the macrocosm

(pale elevator magic)

Sand is not enough, nor the perennial heat, instead, I chase my green-eyed children,
 escaping a slow but forceful
 jewelled jaw, for birth
& secret kissing with the dawn

I act recklessly in
faith of foxgloves, harmonica valley
idlings/the sentence, in your own words/my sentence

The crescent court
decided I wait in Guangzhou for several hours, to compare my many lives with eachother, as I wonder what day it is, what my past-self is doing right now, if he's getting along fine, I'm a little sore

Druidic anthems/harbour &
hibiscus, fulfillment that feels strange to me, tea by my side, paying attention to "Idiot Wind" until it gets too dark to stay out

Surreal in experience,
passing winter castles
& carnivals on stilts, foreign cemetaries,
temperamental waters, Afric breeze/
Art Deco saccharine
pink

Now, to return
for an interval of Pacific Spring, an embrace of the howling shadow, banished by process

cultivating The Farther

(An ivory veil/withdrawn)

On a throne of spraypaint driftwood
                   I watch the sailboats glide,
A painted aluminum ocean
                                               With Sunsnow reflections dashing
                                                         ­                      across the waves.
Lovers in their old age cause friction
                                         in the pebbles
                                       as they walk,
unlike many things, I refuse to believe
                                                         ­                       romance is dying.
People like them help solidify my hopes.
Gulls                           approach the tide wavering in the wind.
                              Another September has come.
                            What should come with it?

Old friends have found their place
in Vancouver.
                                                      ­          Some shall return here,
In attempt to                                                 escape desperate situations.
                      (The recurring waves are calming)
               Smoke and vapor
                     cloak the mountains softly still.
I'm unsure of where things are going,
what a change of pace!

Nine months
                     since that night in a hillside cabin
                                         where dreams foretold
wound up in chaos.
                  (More to change is on it's way)
                                              But for now, I'm content with seeing the cities
                    continue g r o w i n g.


.........The seasons sway with the breeze.

The terror in the wind was returned

the terror of a faded chanson
  
my nose is bleeding again

  The banished outlaw that lasts
   through February surviving off therapeutic liquid (from the river)
    
    desperation settles in my head
  preparing his rounds carefully
  
  how many times
       the cycle continues
               how many times
                     the ranger wonders
              
A tower of roses lay dormant
in exile, unmapped,
waiting, and my heart persists to see it in person instead of this textureless carving of memory

  like a poem on an olive wall who
  seeks an understanding with the
  c
  h
  i
  m
  n
  e
  y
        its narrow, black eye
gazed at silken eternal and
        the Sun
        & romantic language
              O to be grateful for the Moonlight
                kissing me at dusk
                (The wall dreams)
               now focused on the living room clock. expanding
              
                the Winter coming to its end

Balsamic parades
appearing
before you now

A cosmic                silence
fettering                O fair winded fury
      
PassionGlancing

   delicate fishnets casting for a stage of Arab desire

        Neolithic pattern &
tender reflection does welcome the stone
which an ardentness accompanies

    Long, Long and carried
    and curious
    
  a glance of eyes/
         your cavern for splendor
        
               freckled blossoms, tired
               eve of tiger daylight &
              
steam whimpers from your
               shadowy ash
church bells ask drawn-out questions for dogs that have long been dead

     vision of an ambigous
    baritone presence
    
     daisies & mist settling over the valley
     & the estate burned down! & multitudes of trees pray for your shoulders to be relieved of dragging your own grave
    
      & expressed expressed expressed
        until exhaustion
        
         & the thread of thought is naked the tone is optimistic
        
          The miracle is upon us
(the miracle)

            shrines are rebuilding
            patiently
            
I can feel a pheonix glow
can you feel it, too?


(and I and you and the animal outside and its noise and how it increases in size
and how the earth shakes from the vibrations and we try to sleep it off
we cannot distract ourselves from
the wind
is tearing apart the decorations we had on the balcony
the land is stirring with consciousness
it is whispering but the whole world whispering is
A great tectonic force

we will not run
we will sing too
we will sing)

my mind river pursues this
event

& babylonian cities flower from
the weathered
sea
      eager to join our laughter

In suspended cotton glow,

My ****** architecture wondrously

waits permeated with the hollowness

  that comes with mind's dissolve in love.

(Even the birds read ***** politics and would rather hold wings to a drastic shift in light as appeared thru the nest and branches so connected with foggy earth
&
Even the jesters who's knees ache with
Lost children resolve to speaking Poems to the Forest who have not forgotten June's princely fever
& Even the cynical italian officer
Who's briefcase molds behind his arched
Brittle spine can relate to the fullness of
His daydream
& Town Hall accounts for each passing hour
& Taxicab antlers offering welcome thru its veiled windows do keep the radio of India praying)

I am finding more and more used condoms on the carpet of anonymous rooms/

But at least the refrigerator is stocked with Wine!

The prettiest butterflies
                                          tend to be those who wash their
                                          c o l o r f u l    wings to   p a p e r
(ANGELS  PAINTING  TRAIN  CARTS)

I
find
everything
every
day
to
be
so
tired, tired, tired.
                              Children are decaying faster than those who raised
                                                                                                             them.

Love
        in
            a
              dark
                      room
                                set to
                                         ambiance and
                                                                  laughing
is an overture to some future fascist

(Or a whole generation of fascists)

I have found myself enamoured
With that slow kind of dying,
   the kind that allows a stone to mold over with
Stern fungi
Or
that which is observed in
one shop being closed down and removed from time
for another that plays better music and has nicer staff

& there is the final confrontation
coming
one evening
I will be held by accidental virtue
and my breath will be weak & accordion failure
Swelling from the heart
out thru the mouth in dry release
& some queer observer watching the whole scene play on
will claim my last words were some
comically insightful romantic notion
*******
I was simply trying to feel a full Northern breath,
As in life.

The sound of this poem is
Harsh grating steelwork
In a wet and lonely subway.

You are in love
it is almost Christmas

The smell of this poem is lilacs and the recently deceased
Which isn't exactly sweet or
ugly I don't care anyways

The owner of this Poem resides in
Regret
Which may show
    But really
            On the precipice of an alteration of
                            Identity, he dreams every
                            Night of
Freckles & medical examinations

The hero of this poem is you, the reader,
who continues into the unknown progress of day
Perhaps whistling the song you have come to associate with a year now gone

The end of this poem is
missing! ,

The other day

I saw some children laughing.

In a room with their eye-sore red

little couch, multicolored

carpets and rugs stained with crayon

flakes or juice in

so many different shades.

The other day I saw the children playing

in their shielded world softly covered

by tall watchful oak trees so full

in May they blended into

their parks & playgrounds.

All you could hear was the laughter.

The other day I saw

the children get older

their hair thick and greased, worn bodies

scarred or healed from injury,

it wasn't the first

it wouldn’t be the last.

Sometime later the colour faded away, their red couch not

so red anymore and their rugs replaced with cement.

The other day I saw the world turn grey, and so

another day went by.

It wasn't the first

it wouldn’t be the last.

But at least the children are

laughing.

Palms burst forth
   In whistle tones

a fountain has its face relaxed
  the marble body of lions
  exhibiting a quiet African pasture

your blonde hair wrung though with Summer light/

       Suddenly, a communication of harpsichords
       in our chests relaying to each other softly
      
We cannot understand it, with the exception of a hum which
measures thru us

    now the able instrument of love,
so to converge and eventually

        The warm vicinity we've forged
forgets the rest of the boundless
terrain which created it

(freckled freckled freckled eyes/

dew/pattern smile/you are eager/the

humidity dims the shadow/relapse/

enticement/the beachhead is creating

splash colors again/the tide applauds

gratefully/hair beam and glow of green/

scent of exotic oils now coalesce/

meditative lovers/idol obsidian, great

brass bird n neckline harp/quartzstone

tendon/consume me into the ardent maw/

dear,

valley for waxen bones/decay, sweet

altogether now/O half moon descent/

reconstituted daisy/you there, resembling

yourself, familiar of a fleshseer/cleansed

in white tended theatrics/become/

beseech/diluted symphony, Egyptian

security/It is time to leave behind your

midnight)

There will never be enough

poems

out there

to wholly describe

the simultaneous

allure

and disquiet

of isolation.

Flashing Monet garden blur,
central eye signals up to the core of the brain
until entire body shudders silently beneath the brightness
of banana visions and white blood cells
circling a small dot which fires
down a shorter path in this large bleeding space.

Pupils rolled into sockets,
losing sense of body and of self/
just a floating consciousness/
vivid rainbow lacework pattern into
a vibrating eye
staring back at me fluctuated
in flashes of
flower and
numb fingers
asleep
with absence of mind.

Soft mechanical shapes
swirl about the washing machine,
my head no longer attached to the body/split down
de/
capitat/ed/
consciousness wanders, circles back ethereally
to the room behind me
sees clearly
and expands out thru the window into the grey light of the morning
to see nobody awake
and the vagrant eidolon
can feel me staring back at it for once,
a presence not felt before..
..and the hum in my body rushes up to my head,
intense vague visions,
the weight of my feather-sensation
increases to point of fear,
disorientated upon opening eyes
and centralizing myself
to the room
and universal position.
                                                       ­ Breathing deeply.

Woe is a horned creature
      Color/blue (soft)
      Youth of savage taste
        
Piano is envious for magic
(The noise is disquiet)
    
    Angel wise and
    a whisper

Mother cleaned up her
violent act on stage (a highwire)
    The temple forever stained with
     birth
    
          Garden of age/
          
       A river's foolish plea with the moon,
        
People wrapped in ivy dance holily
   With their April patterns in a truly
    Dionysian scene
    
         I am there (a poet)
             day belonging to death
as death is owed to
life

   I feel balanced in this state
   (on the edge of the river)
  
       we are joined by harmonies from the Valley,
         they can be heard from above
           flowing
           downward
           featherlike
           unafraid
          
           (a warmth/a womb)

II

   The sea is still alone
   (chasm of black)

Thinkers chase its waves &
Our eyelids disappear like marble
into empty flies
  released from a tropic fantasy
  
    The inevitable scream, humid &
     Covered in ash (volcanic)

III

Illness rejuvenates the dream/
questions remain questions

   An elephantine flowerbridal looms/

Smoke erases the memory stained in each ring of each pine,
          burdens relieved from the Antlers of
ancient death
         (smoke, tide, branches crackle in a flame, peace is envisioned here, I love you)
         Narrow ceilings attempt to re
         create
The sky/      
Paint flaking off pathetically (the palace)
darling ember washed away with simple time

    (Where has our capability for survival gone?)
    
         mapmakers and children watch their hair fall into a promising wishwell
    ...kept secret and sacred
    
         those who see the bottom of the well are branded with eternal laughter!

IV

? Healers hand
       (You've arrive
       d
       at the entra
       nce you once saw asleep)
      
                 The conquest for simplicity is finally realized as no conquest at all
                     You're in love again,
                    
(Yellow love)
!

The hysteria of doubtful intoxication
Three times I love you
The crooked man howls from the chamber of sleep

Mouthing the sharade of footsteps
Wicked in a large flannel crib and Autumn thyme pavement you look like a golden dream/
and I'm slowly drying up with sorrow
Because you do not see me like I do you
I'm screaming for your heart to listen to me !

Darling sways her legs on some brittle branch,
A barbaric stag whistles the end of time
To you in a vision his eyes say something terrible
And you're convinced of the violent October wind I promise it isnt true!

Some glasswork magic
Persona of a modern man
i cannot sympathise!
Rocks do fall onto the sidewalk and I ignore them as they cut my ankles like an insomnia or dentist

Looking up with wild alert at the headlights reminding one of
Death and that you're not paying attention to anything other than your poetry eating you alive

The occasional raindrop like the sweat coalescing under ur pillow/ A damp nightmare

As you **** that cross eyed stranger I lay in the grass
Feeling empathetic with my lamp as it welcomes me from the rain more than your hungry heart ever could!

I become shielded here
And sorry for myself
Ashamed of myself
And the lonesome mattress of years
Dictated by you and your lavender skin
As it exists in the idealism of the wardrobe of conciousness I suppose it doesn't mean anything real anyways pfft

Do not armor yourself against my arms
They envelope themselves desperate against the fog of a witching hour
You do not see a
Single figure arrowed with your alpine eyes

(run you cloud creature)

And a sudden mother who's sobbing into my shoulder regarding her inadequacy I told her be the best example of good for her CHILDREN and she continued crying and ran towards the pornographic hotel that stole her car keys
(she may have been murdered then I will never know and that thought deeply unsettles me)

We are all a little sad & could be doing better
And more than 65 made beds are in love

..As the self is sacred like lillies!

and deaths callous fingers are no good for
piano playing
            
    The current posture of America
    Has the optimistic
tossing marbles
    
    I have seen the fetishized
         Kingdom
Of music & body made white
   By our very soul
  
   We have made it clear in ourselves to shoot the floorboards with pig spit
  
   Induced by
       your twilight  
       Canine flash exhibit

(sacred like lillies & willows
& whisper & yellow & May
& yearn)