I can believe
In you
Halfway

And the rest
Needs
To be
In parts

Facing
You

Fading me

Tiny
To the
Very end

dickens might have complained
how unlucky
it was to be born,
poor, helpless, friendless, body-less
painless,

my lies lie with my sins
like white **** frost
trying to warm my heart

Modern pieces less than broke
Greater than places to store them

Less than assunder
Torn
greater than
By bankcraft
Greater than
Frightened less than
By Cowering
Wretched
Towering

Greater than shivers
of unending
Guarantees of happiness

Basically

unkept
Promises

Opening up to swallow
Your less than ninth
scented sensed
Throated
Greater than less
Om

"I bequeath unto me
an impartial you"

Happy, alone,
Depressed
Again

How
Many mind-numb-fullnesses
Do I have
Left?

Looking out the window
gazing vacantly
At
Vacant lots
Tripping over
white lies
To tell
Her
I am lost

While my stomach
Works on its bends

A final punture
Of its fabric
of hope, peace and kindness
Leaks out

We, once strong in tolerance

Were the ones
That
kept you afloat

We,
the one ounce olmec
Cabezas.

Has there ever been a time
I have been so wrong

When feeling something
for this long?

Quits.

The tremors of the heart
Can be mended

But slowly, slowly, slowly

Would you care to be laden by the fire?
O, someday, someday, someway

Will you dare ever waken to a song?
Sat song, a sitting song, that you wont need to don’t get up

Far be it from me Mr. Snead
To level off on the misty foutenou

Winding down a path of fortune heading south on
Bare breast street, looking for but longing more

Under-bred sister with her family get-togethers
Passing the
Potato famine remembered story

On the rhinebek [Rheinbach] mountain top
Swig after swig
Dwarfing all that come after
Our being here

Let that be the lesser

She,
a Prophet
Running

guided by rails.

Smashing
cities
Like pumpkins

Gliding currents
underfoot

Shadowed
by rats

A marshal’s maxim -
Crush thy liberty

again no proof
Of humanity.

Cold and hungry
I see you

Falling off the track
I say,

I'm sorry

I can't

Help
You.

*

Subway wheels peel
With Liturgical
Regularity

stepping closer
To the edge

Steelpans
Are on the
Rise

A central pin
Bears the brunt of
The ride

the axlebox reeks
Of sin

Some unknown passenger
Is sick
and tired
and running up costs

As fast as he can scan the car
He whistles a merry tune

From the sounds of horns below to the bells above

I keep remembering
What I said,
“I'm sorry, I just can't
Help
You”

describe your aura ana
ana roxanne is your aura
the color of the sound of
ah's

roxanne for strength

hapless and helpless we
will not fade in the eternal night
a nocturnal eternal says,

I see an immediate future for you,
I recall your arrival.

For an eye
A pyramid

A statue enclosed.
Stuffed in a grotto
A shadowed niche
Ensconced in shadow.

You didn't tell me
I would be left alone

That
You would die
Along the way

There was something I wanted
To offer you

Something larger than

An empty void

Future projects include, trimming my beard, but only to replace the one I have.

Another project could be to omit the subject noun whereby relaxing any proposed meaning to superficiality or replace with an Ubernoun to be discovered later.

I am writing in the stile of Typhoon Murphy.  

I am having a profound realization that my non-writing writing has gone all wrong.  I, for one, am not worried as much as profoundly disengaged.  Dot, dot, dot.

A bio-recap:  If I am conscience of God then I am also wrong about many other things too.  

If I ignore my thoughts, they then, in turn, will ignore me.  BUT STILL...it hurts.

If the water I drink is tainted then I am slowly poisoning the earth EVEN AFTER cremation.

you are a release
unto my thoughts
of thinking

to non being
too benign

our heads nod
to our chests
in
supplication

in embarrassment
in ignorance.

you are a mist
of clouds
boyued
in a queue
of
unending
ripples
of
dread.

come now
into the open
so we can see
you

for you
are
awe.

Children do not follow
But become

A Serious burden
To unthink
And think again
Like a child

Caught between
The reality of being in the world
And interior being

Once thought to be
down and out

I was reborn
Into
Nothing

And again,
I am now reborn

Into a room
Now empty

And you,
You are forever still

Here
And still

I can barely hear
Your melody

a person could write
a thousand poems

and still
not be read

until one fine day
a Reaper of thoughts
feelings and signs

falls deeply
deeply,
into
slumber.

and when
holding
that chalice
of light
and blood

taketh unto
his breath
the utmost
god almighty
   and sighs,

'to be your beloved
what mighteth
not die?'

I guess I want

I want the prize of youth
I want an atheist certainty
That pride in knowing how things are
I want that person who ignores me

I want what my father and his father want

A faith that has a dollar sense about it all

I want that death knell

To freeze.

This then

Is a last ditch effort to throw words at you

Without hate.

I did end up writing that letter to Kristen Stewart
the letter that my sponsor said may not be a good idea to write

he said it escalated
my acting-out
by writing her

I can see what he's saying

it’s like writing to you
to write to her
wait (as if I’m KS)
I’m a little confused
if you love her
how can you love me?

my sponsor
my sponsor
wherefore - don’t forsake me on this one
you'd think he's my Lord and Master
God
or something

though if you should meet him
he'd talk some sense into you.

who am i kidding?
if push came to shove
I’d choose KS.

I mean c'mon
she’s a fractured heart

she is
vulnerable
and open
and takes my breath away
I die
For her

Maybe we like being held captive

the need to feel victimized
reigns supreme
in love poetry

like troubadours singing,
'a hey and a **, what about me'
'am I chopped liver, nonny, nonny?'

then, say I, alas like:

end this pain and stick a knife in me
so at least it will be the last honest feeling

(your eyes cutting deep into mine)

we feel.

Dia says,
Kick rocks
so,
f'y'all.

and Isaac,
complains
nada
solo
as
usual.

(still I like who he follows)

people
living off
other people
is a another version
of
send in the clowns.  

please don't get me wrong.

I stand on the shoulders of
Tijuana,
Monterrey
and
Coatlicue

hey
at least Coatl'
will
tell you
like
it
was.

the rest?
don't even bother

I needed that

I wanted you

But I got

What He gave.

How

Can

I

Thank

The Emptiness.

pitter patter
oft night
breeze

rain
pelts
the screen
of a tablature

a little
scream

or whimper
because now he whimpers
in his sleep.

a little further
down
the
neck

and he
jumps
off
the
table.

bright
like
a child's song

hopeful
like
an untouched beach

mindful
like
a fallen
son

a son behind
me
a son
besides me

when you come back
will you
fall before me
like
abraham?

Meher Baba has said He has not come to teach but to awaken mankind to the reality of God.   Only God exists.   Meher Baba has said He is God in Human form.  My understanding of what Meher Baba has said is God descends in the human form age after age to give a push to further man's consciousness, that man and God are One.  God has never left us, though the role of the Christ, the Avatar, God in human form, comes time and time again, the most notable, the most revered ones are known as Ram, Krishna, Noah, Abraham, Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad and, in this present incarnation, Meher Baba.  One does not have to give up his or her love of Jesus as savior, Jesus is Lord and He has come again and will come again, until mankind leaves all his material wants and desires and follows Him, Christ, as Jesus the Christ.  When we follow Jesus wholeheartedly, 100%, then there are no divisions, no divisiveness, and in my opinion, no bible, because Jesus was lawless in that He makes law. He is God in human form and no religion can capture who He really is.  Only God is.

you said something
but
I did not hear you

or

I wasn't really
listening

to be or not to be
is not a question
but more the answer

I am
I'm not
eternity

blank into blank
forgive
me.

twenty hours ago
I was a different man

a person who could not
or would not
Know.

It is said that
science is the man

And happy
is he who
Cares not,
Feels not,
Or prays not

for he
will
forever
be

headless,
footless,
and
friendless

dead to the world
You might say

Tell his remains:

we now know
loneliness
can be cured

I have nothing
For you but
Adulation
(And sweet remembrances before)

Later, after grief
Overtook our glances
Once so filled with joy

Of love, what of it?
If a beast can channel
Its muscularity
Into soft loyalty

Why can't I?

Forever,  whenever
A Painful sincerity
Reaches longing heights

At one end
Someone is
Looking down...

How dreadful
A benign
Cist
Can become

... staring at the other.

People of original intent
Don't always signal
The right way

at first

You think,
oh, yeah, sure
Take a right at the first
Bend

Then straight you go and take
the first bend
on the right.

Missing the bend
Not heading
Right
At
All.

Later,
When you have all but given yourself
Up to the dogs
     (always those mangy scavenging, crooked-legged dogs)

They happen to pass by
And
Point the other way

The way we were suppose to come
In the first place
Had we any conscience

sure I get excited
about
love,
***,
and
violence.

sure there's a hell

but what's your feel about feeling
not so
good
about
your insides?

lonely,
LONELY
an      
only 

a drop in the bucket maybe
and who gives a **** anyway
you say
it's just intonation.

I will rise
I will fall
I would in fact
follow you.

(and just for context - the feeling of minor keys played on a outdated 70's moog, well, that sound would take anyone down).

we don't care
if you are a
moll
just come back!

because
I am still
in love
with
you.

just waiting to move forward
when
the past gets in the way

you
stop.

the last time
He was with us,
was He listening then?

the time when I said
‘help is on the way’
were you helping?

Later after anger
it pleased me
to be pleasing to you
when those
who, being foreign,
would not care.

but they didn’t know

know me
or any of us

When we,
the sigher's
sighing
in an open vat
with an unpleasant
and ferocious
appetite

and they, the doer's,
makers, breakers and goons

hatch an escape

thence, Isaac,
the exodus will happen

just like that time
four thousand
grains of sand
ago.

a pain without limits
by spoils of nature
a mind unreasonable

set in an entablature

in the space between
you leaving
and
me
never coming
back

A little left forward
And the creeps come out

A little less
And we accept
A Creep

Hmm.
Past the forward
Leave in a lurch
The smell of baked clay
A mudslinger's holiday

Liver
River
Pees.

Open or closed
Closeted or out

A cloistered sound embanks a noun
Static chairs
Helpless stares
Shares space with

Charismatic
Specs

A dog makes a pet
Only if it
Follows you home
And even then
Needs to be let out

People don't realize
The only real sense
Of taste
We have left
Are the churning juices
Being deposited
In our cholera

the last gasp
asper coin
of the night

to wit
no one comes to mind

I once had a notion
to remake
the
world

bit by bit

in my own image
of course

but who else can
save it?

so
fast
its
undoing

beyond
finding
an
end

what else
can
be
hoped
for

but a trident's bindng spear.

I partly refuse to write you
As you were

The opening part
Was bitten

Chewed more like
Into little infinities

Until nothing survived
But an underwhelming
Bite mark.

We will never get to see
How good you were

We will only see the title
Of your life

Only foot prints
Will remain

Of all the lost has beens
And rope-a-dopes

Having my edges cut off
By a living monument
Heaving plastic stones
Outward
Toward space.

I stare into the mirror until the light (life) goes out
don't worry about the fly

 I am thinking about two paintings by Gustave Klimpt

Eve undressed
Adam undone 

my mother the ******

I still suckle at her ****

and worry about the larvae

truly one dreams about floating down a river
and emptying into a lake
then the wind whistles
and the lake freezes over
now there's no chance of swimming out alive
or floating to the top
just sink to the bottom 

ice cap crazy, I say
he never wrote me after that frigid stare
(when Art died I got up and left)

a frozen lake, a frozen stare (start), who dreams like that?
maybe this won't come out right
the end is forced 

you see I don't have much time
and I don't give myself much time

a life no one else can use
must I?

it's like people who complain about the sun

complain about the sun?

yes, the sun is at fault
further, it's the sun's fault
not who complains

what is the complaint anyway that the sun shines or shined and is now gone?

no, stupid
that it rises.

whispers of
Sainthood
to an outspoken sinner
Ever sinning, ever eager
counsels a thumping

smashed

lightbulb

stuffing a
banana peal
in a glass

like the word -

trumpeting

for example, a grocer on fire - -
(quit giving them the good stuff)

There is only One
God  

the father

And (in Hebrew)
He never saw his children again.

you say these things
as I scan the stars for cheribum

how is love
what is love
who am I to love
if not my wife

she is all that is love
she shows what it is to love
how to love
what is love
is her

Sulfur burns blue
Base and
Depraved
To me its best observed

I did not choose


to see me suffer,

You exact your revenge

on one-sided moral conclusions

Leaving out
The one thing
That could save us

A lesser G-d would destroy
You

A stronger one
Reaches out his hand

The irony,
my dear,
Is
We choose
Not to

many upon a person's prayers
too often quoted

least begotten
a son
forgotten
when he comes back

for He has.

AD.

His name is new
the message renewed
Love God
with all one's might

forget the world
but not the duties

the world,
that
forever forgets
who we are.

A forever pouring into
My dear

And flowing back
Again

Lifting you up
Setting you down

Holding you tight
Never to let you go

Lifting our eyes
Over the waves
Taking a deep breath
Into the ocean
Our hearts contain
All emotion

Lifting her up
Holding you back
Only to find

A helpless

Child

Offering a drowning
bucket
Of things

What my dear
Can we give
That hasn't
offended her
Already?

Sunshine rises
Rose
with a pounding
Eraser

Emptied --
Stilled by
cooking bourbon in tall glasses,
Emptied again.

She, however, almost
Falling off her
Chiseled bottom,
Sprang up and said
Oh, but a drink
Left undrunk
Is impolite

A wry wink
A dry hazard
To guess

One can never
Better too much
Courtesy

Write again to a commodity

The comotose of freeze
Written before even you got here

The world may have been invented
By an orange

So sweet
So colorful
**** yet heartless

A man died trying to get it straight.

If I said,
verily unto you there is only God
would you believe me?

knowing you,
you would scoff
or worse
turn away.

if in turn,
rain fell,

(the sound that
befalls
all
tears),

and ran
away
with
your
life

would you believe me then?

nothing auspicious
here just
synagogue
like
symptoms

an empty urn
turned over
like so
many
tombstones.

help us dear G-d
to keep what ever peace
we
have
frozen in time

until then
little remains
in me.

That poem was almost
There

It was so close
It passed me by

Stare as I might
It kept moving
Right in front
Of my eyes

I hit the brakes
But couldn't
stop

The poem?
Who cares
No lives were lost
No rhymes
Like Frost

And not a moment
Too soon

An angel has entered my room.

to those souls
who's only purpose
is to
make other people
their slaves

be ******.

may the force of evil
that once ruled the worlds
keep silent.

may the voice of love prevail
to the tiniest degree
fortifying
all mercy
beyond
limitation

alah, alaha, ahuramazda,
god.

help us all to love

you
beyond
our
understanding
of
you

I just found my mother
who she is
what mother means
to her


her whole world is
her motherworld
and we are her children


and I
her son
though
I was never her son
at the beginning

55
years
of
pain


and now
I see her
finally
at 89
totally
dissembled

unearthed
to be
buried

under the earth

dear God
restore us
to regularity
without humiliations

popcorn kernel on the carpet green

bored,
hapless feelings
on a cardboard screen
a scented card to mom

like

hopeless victims

listless

dragging their
knees
in prayer

pleading
to God
who knows
not where.

I am not sorry for what has been done
double peddle drum

I am not your fire
to put out

my only disinfected wish
was sincerity

I have none

Genesis says
you will be forgotten

give up
you
temporary
nothings

dotting
a quarry of immense
emptiness

who can write on
an open plain


as long as
one can see

a vision would appear
where no horizon exists

looking as far as
one eye sees
squinting
in the sun

pitchwhite.
leaving
no room
for doubt

about
thirst.

Little stories
Do tell

One time

A lit evening rush

A full throttle
Spirit
brush

Holding hands
At strange
Hours
Each
slips
Past
The other

Beholding a dream
An ember flickers
Like
Skipping breaths

Both our lips

Now
Captured
sounds
Seen through
a tunnel

fulminating
time

the drain on 42nd street has
rats in the tunnel
rats on the tracks
roaches on the rail
for all the nations let them have

a beautiful life
underneath the sun
like a vagabond
who has no where else to go

I am empty now
below the street
people gather
some push
some saunter
some push there belongings before them
some stare

at humanity
with a smile
with a sad smile
with anger
with rage

some people help
other people

more than once I witnessed a person who
dropped a glove or a hat or a phone or umbrella

and someone said, mister is that yours, or ma'am your glove

we on 42nd stand aloof
regarded as nobody's
and regarded as kings and queens
as natives
as the original dreamers

the first drainers
upon the earth

Happy thoughts?

press them into vinyl

don't they deserve
to be embossed
into
something
real?

happier times

that's the stuff of
our parents dreams

we remember
maybe
how we wanted
to
be

different than
what we
are now.

surely,

a golden
disk
has
played.