this is a poem for the night
and for the dawning
of the darker dream
where we’ll go watching
waiting for a sign
that we might be free
of ourselves
in laughter
in a moment
in response I can’t tell
if it’s serious
are you serious?
am I serious?
are they serious?
on the other side
where everything is made
of eyeballs math and color
are they serious in the capital
or more serious with lights off
when the mask of form is stolen
and then free to create
are we free in dreams
or do you dig the weird collapse
of the winking eye
to reach a point of limitless cohesion
in a black cup
do we take the leap
of faith to sleep
a second longer
knowing that our dream
is the more real &
the nightmare is an image
of inverted faith
decaying in a flash of
meteoric sparks burning
up the sky to light
this new joint in the atmosphere of
the living room
dropping LSD in
VR
to paint a picture
with mental pixels
or build your inner fire
or net an alien
or get in bed w/ grandma
& her bronzed boots
behind us where an open window
calls the night in cool
cascades of secret drunken knowledge
or else obnoxious wisdom
with apology
when we’re closer to
that which knows no logic
moves in shadow backwards
up the wall
to find us
when the sun shreds all
we thought we knew

Incessantly
The kettle steaming
The drums beating
The cats racing
The mind moving
The bedroom walls
Losing their color

As the body
Loses itself
In its own rhythms
Til the whole world
Is a steaming kettle

Then nothing else is
Known

If you try it won’t happen
If you don’t
It will

Kali, make me an implement of your final cruelty and wisdom
Where there is motion, let me slow the vibration
So that your senses might attune to stillness
So that you might destroy my innocence and abolish my existence
May Kali Yuga swallow every form
May the myriad wonders go rushing, gushing thru your fangs
May the birth pangs of tomorrow chase the fortune of today
May the endless hours be abolished in calamity
Teach us to acknowledge the concrescence of our essence
Show us finality of form
Destroy the walls of every home—for we have willed it
Forever in a vacuum
May there be no sound of seasons
May every reason fall to chaos
You have made us in your image
Teach us to recognize
Where there is form, void;
Where there is truth, deception;
Where there is certainty, a cosmic pun;
Where there is reality, hallucination;
Where there is touch, neglect;
Where there is growth, a garden full of ashes;
You of many names: Anima, The Serpent Mother, Blessed Other,
Mind of Nature, Mind of Man, She Who Can, She Who Is, Spider Woman, Tao
Bring us to the edge of the unspeakable now
Disrupt our petty play
Absolve us from decay

Amazing how we’ve come so far
And are still so far apart
Everything is natural
I tell myself
But then
What makes us so strange?
Something here is strange
We seek to make it known
Like a deadbeat injuring himself
On the job
In Tennessee
Subject to
Endless repetition
In the marble quarries
Of old Athens
We copy what is known
Expecting praise
While cities of the night
Reveal an ancient face
The body is the portal
The world is but a riddle
On the stone cells of
A tomb
Golden wax
Breeds life
From the base of a great tree
Where an old woman
Sings in praise of Kali Yuga
Calls the pasture to her hand
And all the humming things
Come forward
Blind & obedient
Like unpolished flesh
The drapery billows w/
No motion
Sends the eyeballs off
In search of internal shadows
Where the Other waits
Where it always has
Where it will be confronted
Where it will be embraced
Where it will be known
Or die to our division
& cover up our genitals forever

They come
They leave
They seek reprieve
We need a sound and a light
To keep us conscious
Of whatever
I am conscious of something
There is a barrier

Young girl in black jeans
Glasses
Apron
And a fry cook
Battering Nova Scotia
Halibut on live television
I send a message to Adonai
Wyd?
He asks me if I will agree
To his new terms of service
Which makes me uneasy
He tells me Carl Jung
Wears his glasses in the void
He looks prophetic and exalted
With some black folks
Sitting at a corner table
While being interviewed
That’s amazing
She says
So cool
She says
That’s amazing

And if our eyes meet
For too long
We might know some
Secret truth
Which we make
No effort
To conceal
Are we already
In perfection?

the way out now
is only through the dawning
of the darker dream
the twisting of the spiral to
an indeterminable point
the realization of a magic balance
whereby opposites are well
positioned though never gaining
sight of one another

doomed to drift in undulating
furies ever further from themselves
never to escape
the way out now
is through the collapsing
kaleidoscopic  door of time
the biological rhythm of a
living universe whose name
is indecipherable except
is on the tongue of each and every
hungry soul who's ever tasted language

I'll write to you
John Wieners
you old twisted fruit long
dead & drained of brilliance
brain inherited from Burroughs
you analytical ****** John
long gone are the hours you
spent in bars in bed in someone's
*** like Ginsberg you are the
emotional man who ran his
fingers through the flesh
of frozen moments tenderness
exhibited in elegies of
departed lovers no dope
sunrise sheltered by your
words the refuge of poetic
gnosis brought from Beats
to Black Mountain *******
Moloch men mounting
one another thighs apex near
sun to receive the final fatal
flash of pleasure then descend
again to madness like
Kerouac you sought the silver
honey-milk of bohisattva jazz
jive held eternity in a frozen
moment and a moment on a
page made offerings to the
hideous grey gods of machinery
and read the neon streetlight
hieroglyphics you who busted
mind-forg'd manacles of Blake
with consonance and assonance
and *** of boys born bravely
to the ecstasy of final drunkenness
& one last cigarette O
prisoner of earth and of the body
you are risen!

skirting all the
animated moments
move swift
fast in ****** muscle
recollections he was
wounded in his chair
there seized upon the
revolution from his
own side was to watch
her three trips for ****
that Sunday he was
spending and suspended
by a strange hand as
balloon him falling
forward always faithful
you should call him
I think we're making progress
marijuana chocolates
no violence ******* pull-ups
in the basement sitting cross
legged wondering and
heartsick seized upon
some love of colors
giving in most pathetic
but real love there and present
finally quit the buffet job &
am I crazy now?
tales of DMT and pink-flash
of white hot nothing
abolished in after-image
finger traces hold the
third **** then
thru the kaleidoscope
door where not to
be abandoned to
utopias rather fishing
for an image of
divine mother pulled
out of the background
subtle nature language
wove in one's own tongue
never have you known it
but it's now & faster
than imagined
a world which breaks apart
into fractal building blocks
of source code neverending
as she's on the couch with
snapchat filters absurdities
of alcohol and everything
startling the sleep sick
senses