To start before the beginning

Before the earth embalmed me

A time when Cyparisse

Had not yet set root in my belly

Nor made sap of my blood

It was a time when it was possible

To speak to Panza’s donkey

When I thought of Zanzibar

A time when the vagrancy of my soul

Had not yet embarked on its erratic itinerary

Plunging me eventually into the bright light

Of a tainted and squalid reality

To elusive, to elusive a possession

This human identity, this love

To emulate the poet in justification

To imesh my mind in insoluble difficulties

To find strange colored images there

And yet with such derangement

A loving dispensation pours forth upon me

Extinguishing all else and restores

Stability to a battered self in awe and wonder

In the shallow capacity of a dream

Whose nightmare is compulsive

Whose argument is a melancholy

Of intoned attuned contradictions

Of that which is arguably another

With an express made more sober

By an emphasis of obscure fragmentation’s

That effects, in ambiguous contradictions

Mists that conjure in artificial reluctance

An unwrapping pretense that grows heavy in the palm

Making sleeping bruises weep

Those that have placed themselves

By treaty or inheritance upon a soul

And embalm a presence

On announcement of resurrection

For those who awake

Thou hast  bequeathed me

Difficult circumstance

A Monster of iniquity

Where comedy and tragedy

Form themselves upon

The rhythms of my life

One that is not

Impoverished of ridicule

This is for you

You nearly destroyed me

With frostbitten

Prowling fingertips

And never ending tongue

I will not be the map

Nor Constellation of your

Permissible presentations

Or improvised gender constraints

You do not know me

For I am all the possibilities

That are, that have gone before

That are yet to come

I am a trillion blazing suns gently burning

This is for you

You nearly destroyed me

With frostbitten

Prowling fingertips

And never ending tongue

I will not be the map

Nor Constellation of your

Permissible presentations

Or improvised gender constraints

You do not know me

For I am all the possibilities

That are, that have gone before

That are yet to come

I am a trillion blazing suns gently burning

how long has he been alone

he does not know

only that he is made of light

a non molecular form

that brings him into focus

a charcoal stencil

on the dimensional planes

of an imagined luminous sketch

that constantly flutters

like a black silk stocking

falling through space

forever tilted with expectancy

but impeded by a blank inertia

a stream of forms blown into light

but he has a relationship

a relationship with a double

dust jacket and book

for we form an indented regularity

frock coated mourners all men

standing on the roof tops

while a silver haired woman

speaks through a megaphone

with a Calvinistic zeal

though her voice is lost

in the howling wind

smile unsmiling smiles

terracotta soldiers stand

in rows around this

grotesque assembly

while large disembodied heads

at the beginnings of thoroughfares

impede any progress

sinister flags smirk from

countless one roomed wooden houses

the terracotta soldiers laugh

for they know they are but dust

then the high frocked coated

male mourners smile unsmiling smiles

and say to us

"the future we bequeath to you"

there is a lifeboat in the street

but no water

we sob...sob...sob....sob

for there is no future

the birds all fly away

no future just an unknown place

determined only by the mediocrity

of its frothing melancholy

what have they done

jesus what have they done

Let all the masks confess

Shame the world

Let the bowstrings

Of love confuse them

a shroud approaches me from the side
it's grey with wide, wide eyes
it follows me and brings a melancholy
it's wide eyes are like bloodshot
wolves in water
why does it follow me
what have i done, i know not
i do know it means to cause
an uncalled for resentment
where the implement of death
will furrow the fields
and blood uncalled for becomes  
a withering harvest of tongues
that cast upon the world
vile, putrid and villainous words
whose untruth becomes the cause
of bloodstained vocabularies
way beyond all compass
giving speech to black shadows
where these congregated silhouettes
dump their nightmares  
and two perfectly disturbing towers
plant signs in defiant ground
ignoring the tragedy this setting shall provide
causing a destruction as it goes
destroying the sparkle of the universe
through all the ages
ending in an eternity of shrouds

Bleached skin propels its self
With such luminous darkness
Compelling Pleasured blindness

Makes teenage eyes blink
With measured softness
Stains our pants

ghost, anyone’s ghost, perhaps your ghost

steps back from the mirror

a door into the imaginary, an apprehended space

where is visualised a discordant haze

a pulse of implosiveness

that never intersects with anyone

yet stares back at you

releasing a helix cycle of identities

where in indolence cleanses

are made lamentable

with odorous contempt

for the pitiless destinies

of ghosts, anyone’s ghost, perhaps your ghost

Give me something lost

Something out of chaos

Not distinguished solemnities

With delicious incompetence

Of well meaning features

Both charming  and possible

No, bring me an uncertinty

At once plausible and disturbing

Such as would I discern in a puzzle

Whilst trying to find the coordinates of an allusion

A distance that evaporates in poignant lament

In a comical taste for the grotesque

That resides beyond the horizon of conceivable vision

With a more capacious understanding

Of implausible supposition

That would fragment a fake authenticity

Despite such choice by another eye

Yes, give me something out of chaos, please

Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse

One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference

To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes

Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus

That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation

Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies

For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation

An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions

Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses

As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet

Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression

Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity

In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry

The obligations of a universally shared human existence

Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims

For the enigmatic logic of life

Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought

From Everywhere and for Always

there is a warmth

in the cold glow

of articulated extremities

that occur within

a biospherian belief

in the isolation

of esoteric initiation

of discoveries and

aspirations that allow

self consciousness to expand

to that dimension

isolated within brain cells

that can assimilate

and instigate great changes

in a personal universe

Then when the pens
Of oriental scribes
Descend, I find
Grief which undermines
Unstudied tombs of unlost time
Foundations of existence flood
Over me, as if in ambush lay
Unendurable pain is felt within
Its blame the extinguishing of the day

I wander

In a wildreness

Of turquoise monkeys

Each demanding my flesh

Purloined pleasures
Of unsolved paleness
Was pleasing, Per laughed
When he spread me
A wish bone
I enjoy his fun

There is….

There is…

Do you hear it

The color, the color

of a wall what r

Is there an r

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….

Through the shadows of evening

I brandish my grievances

Tortures that shame me with a fatal incompetence

That disperse nothingness, while about the place

Threads of mist hang in the air, ghostly blankets

Suspended by invisible strings perhaps portents

Prophesies of future events

Beyond my mind there is a silence

A silence without end everywhere

It is as if the very elements themselves

Hold their breath waiting for something to happen

A silvery unexplained light floats like mercury on my mind

The world looks on in hideous and embarrassed silence

I close my eyes

Through the shadows of evening

I brandish my grievances

Tortures that shame me with a fatal incompetence

That disperse nothingness, while about the place

Threads of mist hang in the air, ghostly blankets

Suspended by invisible strings perhaps portents

Prophesies of future events

Beyond my mind there is a silence

A silence without end everywhere

It is as if the very elements themselves

Hold their breath waiting for something to happen

A silvery unexplained light floats like mercury on my mind

The world looks on in hideous and embarrassed silence

I close my eyes

A wind blows like a wilderness of wolves

A vendetta, an apocalyptic vendetta

In its unpredictable, accidental quality

That swerves images of realization into tragedy

Neglecting all with swift intent upon a fallen fortress

In complected interests of caresses

Neither invited nor encouraged yet displayed

Displayed vividly with exclusive claim to that oppression

That howls by casting itself as a consequence of transgression

Upon a conventional expectation that claims a privileged sense

That persuades without an orator grotesquely amputated shapes

Extending extraordinary artifice as its priceless wealth

But who, yes who, has envy of so rich a nothing

by the lake at sunrise
a strange dedication hangs in the air
concealed in threads of mist
that hang here, ghostly blankets
suspended by invisible strings
there is a silence without end every where
amorphous, it is as if the very elements themselves
hold their breath, poised
waiting for something to happen
while a silvery unexplained light
floats like mercury
on the lurid waters of the lake
the world looks on
in hideous and embarrassed silence
as I taste the lamentations of past times
a discord of sympathies swirl about
i cry out strange words
like making a wish in Latin
i am carried in a high altitude of color
through a French Pantheon of poems
and by the lakeside emaciated figures
form a density of mood
dripping in emotional subtlety
which cannot be properly named
my eyes gaze out upon the lake
in a vocabulary of incoherent signs
images that have no articulation
like that of a rancid stain
of ***** on a curved floor
that compares effects of sensitivity
to neurotic symbols
that rest uneasily on the walls
of hospital waiting rooms
a poetic syntax of sonorous symbolism
sensuously slashed
like a very, very sad crossword
I am high by the lakeside at sunrise

in that moment
that most precious moment
all moments disappear
and before me
truth fills the open coffers of my mind
and leaves upon me the most openness
that my heart is as wide, open I say
like a scar on a wounded soldier
yet his voice makes me feel
like that of a girl with a bright blue dress
I don’t know why
though to be with him colors are much brighter
mirth much more merrier
and the velvet complexion
of his softness consumes me
and I smell the scent of his hair
blinded by the tiger experience of his eyes
feel the slightest brush
of his fingers upon
the upturned romance of my plam
a 21st century Romeo
shall I return to school
and face a turmoil
or relent and let torment
by betray that has not led me there
then now I think
this is like another skin
and feel that I may fall victim
to an infinite permanence
of lives accepted
for when he speaks
I see his sentence
visible in the sky

With lips intoning

A litany of endearments

In a language I fully understood

One kiss, one kiss, one kiss

Conjured up all those remembered

windows of the soul softening the

Jagged edges of the world

Erasing the stultifying atmosphere

Of unmistakable applications of

Symbols that try to unmake thought

His kiss provoked new meaning

The glamorous sounding world

Of ideas; A bewildering emotion

One that could not be filled

In with a charcoal pencil

A sensual communication

Only he could deliver

Wonderfully ******

Oh! The memory of the moment

And lift the curtains

Of the fringe that

Framed his face and gaze

Deeper, deeper into those

Smiling eyes; in sensuous touch

Of naked sound

Taste mysterious pulses

Imprisoned yet unbound

Spangled light reflected all around

Then we made words that pierced

The ground while echoes of

Forgotten laughter fluttered

Like a thousand birds

One moment, this moment

This kiss, Oh! His kiss

Holding in its tender touch

                                                  The promise of a lifetime

Pictures of shadows

Turn their faces from me

Words run away in fear

Streets are crowded with

Screaming squealing sentences

Squalls of colored vowels scurry

Furtive and fearful consonants

Collide in panic to escape

The blinding ignorance of 'normality'

Hunts down the paragraphs

Books, notes, letters are piled high

A bonfire is lit the flesh of words

Of thoughts of alternatives melt

The flames are stoked ashes fly

Spiraling into the air

A smell of bitter blackness

Pervasive and prolonged

A bleak confession to tragedy

Jaundiced minds
In Red, dim lit rooms
Speak of the burning rain
With barbarous
Atavistic articulations

i have seen a brown tardis

sitting on the rooftop

now a green one

red and purple lipsticks

walk hand in hand along the boulevard

unaware of what lurks atop the roofs

and in each dwelling lives a cat

called rudimental fish tails

who ask themselves

what did the Berlin orchestra do

during the war

how sad to be misunderstood
to be evicted from life
to have the full tenure
of a torrid human existence
gesture horribly at you
in faultless reputation
like that of a rancid rage
over a lost trinket
or to be quarantined
while fingerless skin scolds
and noiseless voices are raised
in a donated generosity of savage ignorance
striving to make copious amends
in vain efforts to regrettable
slow acting poison that boils the mind
oh how sad to be misunderstood
such varicose viciousness
oh it’s sad quite sad to be misunderstood
to live through and inoculated hour glass
giving limitless time to a wildfire of idiocy
and when your breath speaks they laugh
black laughter that shatters wet umbilical truths
shudders
knowledge gestures to smoking nostrils
oh how sad, how sad it is to be misunderstood
to be drenched in the rain but not get wet
in which antiquity rests with its
mythologised stupendous ill effects
getting  vivid shadows massed all around
oh how sad it is to be misunderstood
until dactylic, hexameter, elegance
completes and slithering syllables
by their antiquity  focus a shuddering shriek
that sends an exploding heart through your chest

the inexorable finality of time

that outlives us all

clutches at exaggerations

that would conform

to pretentious intentions

and succeed in consummating

an accentuated design

of limitless flaws

There is a terrible existence within me

A tortured skeleton, an ossuary of disturbance

It glamours at my skin, it listens, it listens

Where hunger speaks of canibalism

And scratches at the stone floor of my chest

In blurred echoes of a censorship

That erases occurrences on a Ducassian

Dissecting table with an infinite whisper

Of morbid intention in disordered silence

Shouts with immense calibrations

Its pale impatience, its pale impatience

In agonized incantatory obduration

..in anguish it tears from within...... binding my flesh like ropes upon a main sail...screams like the ebbing of the tide and weeps in perpetual choirs of creative impulse.....and its arrival of always goes everywhere.......

by god something has taken control of my mind
for it is no longer mine
what do I do
ha! ha! ha!
I am overrun with joy and sadness
at the same time
what does it mean
whatd does one do

Oh once more for Absinthe, ***** and rhymes

To allow the steerage of my passage

Without pious pilgrimages to empty silences

That contain an eternity of tears

It graciously offers a coverage

For the echo of footsteps

Allowing the magic moments to come

To be part of my existence

Master of silence it offers knowledge

Of invaded consciousness

A Bedlam of paradise

It shows me in its single breath

A complete dispersion of the

Boundaries of my mind

And tears alone remain

It is true, I have seen it

I awake and the earth is dead

Its life has evaporated

They plundered it

Their persistence unremitting

Surviving their own fragmentation

By storing ***** in a refrigerator

And leaving, abandoning the earth

Accelerating their departure

As if the earth is a transient consciousness

Their trajectory pursing an arc

To a timeless interior they flee

I awake and the earth is dead

Doctors say I’m mad

there is a long pink road

lime trees walk its path in judgement

twists of dazzling colors

zigzag through

unclaimed silences

coaxing a belief in magic

dismantling and reassembling minds

i remove one eyelid then the other

there is an immediate

diaphanous color of red

a flimsy dimness

that shows an escape route out of time

displaying the fragmented mosaic

of my disordered mind

scarlet watches me

searching my face

trying to seek out

a geography yet to be discovered

i feel an overexposed rhythm

of alpha spirals

they collide with the colors

among the lime trees

a coca-cola bottle

smashes somewhere

I hear the secret song

played in the time of the assassins

Lifeless beauty that lives everlasting

Time that reason cannot change

O enchanted torture you have stolen

The taste from my mouth

Masked I against the spectre of reality

The complete disarrangement of all my senses, myself my I

Is threatened with the bitter sound of uncertain rumour

That possesses an urgency of unwillingness

An incomprehension of thought

The improvised mediocrity of relished indignity

Asinine questions, absurd and ludicrous probing

Accusations and primitive propensities

The deformities of exaggerated obscenities

That blame and brand myself my I as mad

They have stolen liars tongues

The cannot hands

Of voluptuous calms

Who wish a difference

To inverted comas

Caress a careless charm

Beneath a cold metallic rain
I hear its name, in ordered chaos
Feel its colour and its claim
A nocturnal light descends
Penetrates memories
And I find myself, I abandon
Trinkets and incense in favor
Of iridescent sounds
As powdery blackness violently
Calls; I see and weep
Buried in elegance of tenebrous
Shadows unheard;
Clothed in misfortune;
Scarlet tragedies of all the books unread
Are we living or just not dead?
Shaded dreams of mock disguise
Dribbling faith and ancient time
Dark suffering farce; I am gone;
To be a very wicked madman
A pauper of the mind
But still wearing my red jacket
Leave for Africa
Where the sun drowns every day
In a deathly sea
Here I try to hunt down
My memory
Yet inhale the perfume
A million scents
And become beyond my own logic
Where I find ecstasy of discovery
In the world of my mind

watch gray inking night
turn to amber
like a special ink upon
some mysterious blotting paper
and the same state as previous
of profound emotional turmoil
thunders within my heart
what cause is this
that has so overwhelmed me
what sorcery is it that binds me to tears
that blink through wet stained eyelashes
and wash upon my face in tumbling droplets
form a recreation of heightened moments
of my consciousness the weightlessness of inner thought
It makes me know the winds speech
realise the attempted elimination of identity
and I try desperately to hide
from the gargoyles that now stalk me through the streets
and smell their black breath hanging in the air
like some kind of numbing intoxicant mist
and I try to resolve the enigma that is the core of my being
that which contains the esoteric voice of the wind
in rapacious resoundements of remembrance
that cannot be recalled to mind

.........there is a blackness...a black calm...a relentless silence...the sun has disappeared...an hysteria of suppressed gasps...all is black...soot black...the sea is a massive wall of water...there is such a calmness...such a calmness....for I have witnessed it...2061...2061......

like a histrionic mutant
involved in false calisthenics
he leaves the books unread
reaches for a burning ghost
there is no light, no colour
just tears of illusion
only three and a half thousand
square minutes
once the thickness of a sorrow
that is both exuberant and hard to pin down
the vaporious experience of breathtaking emotion
like a day smoothly solved

a cult novilist in Blackpool
watches Martina Navratilova
throw sugar lumps
at passers by
as captured teardrops
in a teaspoon
call, plead, for understanding
perhaps release
for they’re not the
obsessive prize
once hailed as trophy
but simply words in the air
that execute that which never comes
causing a retreat from an ordinance
of nothing
where time defiles itself
a red speckled jersey
whose arms, once occupied
are too small, limited
like abandoned prosthetics
leaving rotting flesh
to slowly scald the earth
with a vaporous experience
of emotional contrasts
like that of mesmerising serpents
whose visional embrace
stares deeply with such a charge
of ****** energy
that causes the air to weep
and poses the question
who shall give me leave

i have been searching

searching for something

something that remains

always beyond my reach

like a post apocalyptic

nuclear holocaust of the mind

that which is sought

appears blind with

burnt out eyes and silenced

in case there is death in sleep

or a river of blood in the after life

then finding a reason

for that which is sought

everything becomes numb

sacrificed to old Polaroids

floating on the edge

of the solar system

where desperate people

dream of the best way to die

Among an uploading minds eye

where doors refuse to close

that which is sought, it, still eludes

transparent boundaries in a mind
mark out the blank vacuum of space
scrutinize other minds discard all trivia
extract with a kinetic incisiveness
required information
in a chronological diversity of images
speak with the fluency of an abrupt halt
which is maximized to reduce an effect
on the skeletal calisthenics of
introspective histrionics
by acquired extrasensory faculties
by that very mind, by that very mind
a neurobiological transmutation

I wish to see the mountains
but they disagree with me
the sea it cries
its tears unseen
there are coloured winds that sparkle
and flay a million reposotic waves
who on call
dilate to a lacerating urgency
of anarchic, elliptical rebirth
supported by nothing
again and again and again
I wish to see……………………

I wish I was in Zanzibar
to walk upon its sand
to feel the impressions of poems
that explode within my palms
and all the ink that baths upon
and calls itself anew
is but a shower of raging sunlight
that drags my heart askew
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to walk upon its sand
to feel his beutiful fingers
entwined within my hand
my arms stretch out above my head
I really do love him
But know that he is dead
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to feel its gentle waves
its foam like Can Can dancers
performing on a stage
and one day soon
I am going to have to go there
and then they all will know
that I am a boy, a mere pretender
in slow motion in the show
and here I will look for butterflies
as I make my way to school
and claim the part of intelligence
or perhaps that of  fool
I think in velvet red
and dream of the day it will be me
naked upon the stage
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to feel its gentle rage
and put my palm to ink and pen
and write upon its page
I wish I was in Zanzibar
its where I wish to go
to play all day upon the sand
and be in its strange and wonderful show

The poet has imprisoned my consciousness

In a consumption of such tolerable

Totality that breath becomes a vast wind

One that sets me free

With spectacular deranged sophistication’s

The only thing is I can not remember

Not to forget

Not to forget

nor does the love of flesh
portray the enormity
of the ink that weeps upon my page
nor give sufficient life
to the words that cling to me
like orphaned children
in search of a family
such as pain of mind
that amplifies an unjust justification
that allows shadows to linger on my mind
that which allows the trickle of tears
to slowly wet my cheeks
a blue blair, dead, still
that adds to the temporal ruins
that violate my freedom