A Song for L Cohen

It's fun when praise is done. It's cold and razed when broken. Hallelujah. She rejoices in Jerusalem dress, gathers her Israeli hemmed forces; She's not seen the sun shine.

She paunches Markiplier the gamer and hears his night cries. Maybe her star numbers call us by name, courting with love, but all we've learned is how to quick draw ya.

Our proud Mother, her endless Voice, and every Hallelujah was breath drawing to shoot. We humbly exterminate the casted people, thrusting evil doves into us. A singing Harp in cheer. Hallelujah. Remember how we rhythmically move in us?

She hides in clouds, prepares a mountain with tear sprinkles and told me still when to till her verdant knoll. She feeds the caged bird and hears little crow howls cold and broken. Hallelujah. She rides the bucking horse; is not satisfied with a man's leg, and knows not victory in love's march.

We fear, hope, and grant merciful praises but live alone with a marbled Zion flag. Hallelujah! A high room walked with blessed Rapunzel. Baked peace, wants, and the best wheat on our lips.

She orders fast takeout, brokers deals, and cuts Samson's goldilocks, all from a mainland kitchen chair. She weaves snow wool from the falling ash, baths in moonlight and glows tawny from quickdraw fire. She weatherproofs our faith with winter's bite. And sends fourth, preaches fifth, exhales minor and lifts major -- A baffled Queen commanding.

She and Jacob wages in jurisprudence but we can't pay the music bills, can we? She did no one but keeps a secret progression that leads to Lehman's judgement. Hallelujah.

In angular moment
my Habit resists
his strong effect

a Strange muon
positively trying my
ungodly K hole

Nun shall pass
save the Charmed
and evil Mr.

B gas lighting
my safe Zyklon
moment He's

no Mr Darby
come strolling down
a dusty Holocaust

lane My weak
Forces atop Space
and Witch Mountain

fluctuate between his
goofy Disney village
and Strong atomic

world It's a
small one after
all I suppose

Sunshine stains my
****** hijab with
spotless and lazy

after Thoughts like
white umami pudding
delivered free by

familial ghosts Each
birthing pack crying
parables of Pain

Each warming quantal
offering us happiness
for changing Time

Delta girls under
smooth curves find
Calculus without spin

Lehman's Medicine Song

I lose nothing
as She herds

in fecund fields
filling our Cantina

with refreshing milk.
Our screen rates
are set right
by Mos Eisley!

In the Valley
of dark ****
I'm not afraid
because Obi Wan
is with me.
Your team and
our team help
cheer me up!

First we Feast
on movable tables
frontin Death wings.
Don't touch eyes
or brush heads
with anointed oils!

Click truly here
to follow kindness
and love me.
All my likes
are housed virtual
Forever!

There are rules and protocols;
movements and routines.
Not quite episodic and semantic.
Nondeclared transition and rituals.
Rounded manners distinct
from infinate loop
and routed inner biplane
hemmed to a sight line,
spiraling death down.
Earth or Spitfire flare dare?
Grounded embrace forever comes.
I move, postponing
and extending.
The declared break is now.
Airflow ripples,
and eyes tear.
Straining shear forces
reducing reasoned response
to instinctual joysticks.
Old, new, modified,
learned, sticky
quirks of friends.
Lost love, lingering,
switching *****,
adjusting yaw, pushing yoke,
subtle procedural affectations
stolen, infused in
to fly, bank, and escape.

Sir, we're looking for me? We know me?
Sir, we've distant data on me? Are we tired of me sitting and late waking too?
My ghost, bugs, and Sir, weirding way are all known to us.
Sir, we know everything.
We grab ***, squeeze ****, and put high finger on it
Such wrapturous goodness for me myself and I, but where?

In Crazy Horse Native Americans strip mall?
In ridding me of a brown heritage we desperately want to keep?

With every two drink minimum we are there Sir
With every bedding down in our laps we are there Sir

In ******* Dawn on Carefree wings
to lining our sitting Sea

Our hands, guided piercings
of me we are there Sir

We sleep in darkness sweet til
babbling Brooks wake us from snug slumber
When even Darth night shines with Gwendolyn's tomorrow
And inside my full belly, we stitch our patched life quilt
Of praise, amazement and montaged
secret places

We see Degas tattoos on milky body without form
without preconception

We count precious thoughts to fall
asleep in dark innocences, in stuck vengeance
only to wake with us, always with us

still

If only I could **** an atheist
to quench our tribal blood thirst

Our folly speaks evil
I hate those, who in folly hate us
I count them as us in the Game
of finding deep hurt and worried aunts

We hurl away insults to leave bare haters and me
eternally on a path to we

A Song of Lehman

Me: Just listen to my reasoning.

David: Oh God.

Me: Continuing our daily conversation; listen, our poem is prayed from common mouths but does that make our rightness any more meaningful even if it comes from Kristen's Good Place?

David: I feel you. Microphone checking our heart: 1,2,1,2; what night is this? Nothing beats nothing.

Me: X-mouth, foh sure. Men at work? More tongues from your lips? I'm X-mouth, foh sure; far from a path of pathology!

Come on! Step in with me, or maybe I should step off to pass.

Call, listen, move; it's stay the same game, hear it? It's the same holler, it's the same collar. Feel our words?

Big mamma hands us a Thornton, makes us moan and cry, makes us mourners mourning against them others in the fields still fighting.

If I die David, would you save my single Odin eye, and leave her under the crow's wing to claim the hated dead around me?

David: Shuck our fat mouth and throw away that proud husk;

She stalks our steps now with fellen eyes, like a lion hidden, waiting to tear a byte us.

I say meet her half way, at least wake up and throw her a bone; maybe give her our life with a sword.

In my hands, my flesh, my men, my women of the world, we part our lives, part our flesh and fill them with treasures. We hide there. We happy children coming from and inheriting privilege places.

Me: Facetime me David. I would be so happy if we were right in our picture too!

We can squeeze sage word
from Reagan's dead mouth.
We pull pithy page
from Mao's hollow ear.
We find cryptic gems
from Tzu's strato-***.
If they all ring true
what difference which
hole dig us from them?

Give me liberty
or give me...
what the heck
was all that about?
It was good in effect
and in moment I agreed
but in passing
what the heck
was all that about?
Impassioned flee,
logic remain
and I...
what the heck
was all that about?

the time she
slips away and i
am desperate
as a cod wiggles
in my hand

This is not it, but if
she were it she'd have
skin as smooth as a new dollar bill
lips painted like a street corner
and proper dark eyes like coffee
on a suburban living room
table

This is not it, but if
he were it he'd have
shoulders as broad as a Titanic
arms smoked like an oak
razed by wild fires to a fecund
ash that grips our waisted
tomorrow

life is Good
this is not it, but if
it were Deus, it'd live in the sky
above us in a squeaky clean bath
tub

This might be the Real
Transmission Mechanism

The niggerly water
lubricating a Trickle
Down

Greens in Rich hand
gets miserly saved

Yet earned on Poor back
miraculously makes it Rain

Washingtons fall
a few Jacksons scorch
land in lap

Even a Benjamin
swallows Trick Dollar
to **** a positive cash
flow

Bills stick on teats
just enough to buy

a comfort Doritos
bag a Brand name

snack for her little boy
So he'll grow up knowing

What value-added Marketing
taste like.

I am the eggman
you are the spoon man
we are the Walrus.
Earthly pluripotent garden
with shark attacks

I am the shallow water
you are the whitewater
we are the Foam
Heavenly layers differentiating
with each successive Wave

I am the Brand
you are the religion
we are the Cortex
Solar same same but different
Inside Out development

My existence Transparent
Yellow perch precariously half eaten
On ledgers of our Life
Win/Lost columns
Love as defeat
and Possession as Victory
or a slab
underneath which
Death sums up

I hear a great Joke
The punchline comes
And I understand wit's dagger twist
It's too funny
I laugh, laugh and laugh
I'll remember the Joke
so that when I meet another Jake
I can decide whether
to tell the joke or fall in Love

I fell for a big Jake
the punchline came
I understand life's dagger twist
It's too sad
I cry, cry, and cry
I'll remember Jake
so that when I hear another big Joke
I can decide whether
to fall in love or cry laughter again

Save me in Preservatives I trust
Something like vinegar or briny Word extending me
As an add-on to faint hearted lands spurting
blood offerings to the massive goodness flight

Bad airline brands are barely mentioned while
I fall pass small screen shots on back headed Seats
to our Heritage sure room

I find good advice under glass
blessed plumage from a Jurassic age
that guide our voice controlled nights

My right hand justice isn't interested in Absolute
but hopes with Mama heart and soul

Leave me outside the mechanized church
underneath our short coated lives to flash
Joy and her sister Faith
pleasuring our cheap tomorrow

.symbol

A child traces animal ghosts on a cave
wall Left
pictures we had before
our memories and youth
were in them

.family

We dig down Trees in primordial
dirt Left
hidden as roots-- a Dad our Moms
found still loving us diverging
green offshoots

The furrowed brow on an infant's
face Left
impressions within a big sister's
emerging intelligence the natural
heir

to an ancient
matriarchy Left
here full of media streams
saturated with siblings
nieces and cousins

.network

Will social constructs
connections Left
on neural networks firing
locally across our communal souls
be remembered?

Enjoy the Saturday
in our Frigid
air

Conditioning response
as our Kevin
touches

Bill and Harvey's name
on our wall
white

washed

clean

The golden egg
congeals
on a car after our
mischievous
midnight's vandalism

It leaves a trail of pubescent
nonsense
yellow stains marking our
English
classroom past

We find childhood artwork
pinned  
as a patchwork of our
Hester
scarlet badges

Down the historical spinal
cord
mini trophies become our
reactionary
silver astrocytes

who make scar and transgression
fasciculate
into fuchsia bundles in our
new
Hope homes

A Technicolor Dreamscab
preventing
the regenerative return of our
plastic
polymer Messiah

Should I? Must I?
A tender gave, gotten and allowed to leave,
looking left, sawing to the remains
caught?
Should I? Must I?
Take this catch, crooked took listening,
learning, a dramatic shock taught?

>translate.google.//english.arabic.english.persian.english.
هل علي أن؟ هل يجب علي؟
أعطى مناقصة، حصلت وسمح للخروج،
ينظر إلى اليسار، ونشر إلى بقايا
القبض؟
هل علي أن؟ هل يجب علي؟
خذ هذا الصيد، أخذت ملتوية الاستماع،
تعلم، صدمة درامية تدرس؟

Should I? Do I have to?
He gave a tender, got out and let out,
Seen to the left, spread to the remains
Capture?
Should I? Do I have to?
Take this catch, I took a twisted listening,
Learn, dramatic shock taught?

باید من؟ آیا من باید؟
او مناقصه داد، بیرون آمد و بیرون رفت
دیده شده به سمت چپ، گسترش به بقایای
گرفتن؟
باید من؟ آیا من باید؟
نگاهی به این دست انداختن، گوش دادن پیچ خورده را گرفتم
یاد بگیرید، شوک چشمگیر تدریس می شود؟

Should I? Should i have
He tendered out, went out and went out
Seen to the left, spread to the remains
Catch?
Should I? Should i have
Look at that, twisted listening
Learn, shockingly taught?

We treat others like dirt

A lot of dirt makes a Mountain
and when the Mountain moves
the Earth shakes

A Mountain does not quake
at being treated like dirt

Dried **** burns
A mountain of fertilizer
explodes with a spark

We treat others like dirt
We treat others like manure
We mix ourselves together

And plant our seeds
on this excrement Pile
hoping our next
generation Children
will come
On a new cloud layer

Zephyrs lacing leaves
Brooks babbling over roots
Precocious progenitors
come to rejuvenate
humanity's Mountain

I have my breakfast
I have fool's art

I have my bass
that never learns
a slapping face
wears fine lines
between syncopated opiates
and rhythmic beats

In our Populous cities
success crescendos
to demands for a stadium
full of gladiators dying
in entertaining tragedy

We have time
We have loose change

We have youth
that imp which finds

Romans still sneak
under progressive lust
beneath beer fences
and Coliseum bleachers
with girlie giggles
and stiff speared Heroes
into history

What does it mean when
Our impish curiosity at forty eight
grows tired and ridiculously became
an Ancient soul at twenty three?

What is poetry heard when
Our otic form invaginates
to a nothingness shape
worthless for publication?

Who inherits money when
Our optic evagination
lives large and expands
sideways not in Academia?

When do features play at
Our theaters twenty three
weeks less computationally
intense than forty eight movies?

Where Is Rogue One seen when
Our self-organizing map
projects friends and faces
onto a understandable dimension

Our two faced goodbye, Ciao

are when hazy mornings rise
in O'Keefe's blue note
meeting our Aloha
surfing stem cells reduced
in the returning space-time
tide to a 1D-film

We have two ins but only one out

... the kingdom of heaven is an internet cast into humanity's lake to catch all the colored fishes. When full of complexity, the investment fishermen pulls it to safe harbor. Then sitting down, they bin the good ones, and throw errors for bad. This is how it will be at the end of the Age of Pisces. The ghosts in the machine will come and cluster the good bins into productive castes, and collect all the garbage, permanently deleting time in a blazing shredder where there will be weeping at airports and gnashing of teeth.

For me we it
comes realizing later
that Chris Cornell is gone
same as Dad but different still
we have our Garden
of Sound with weeds sprouting against
the grim Cutter hoping
for a missed experienced

Maybe the refugee's trauma
have dried all the tears on
lonely crowded airfields
of a long ago Vietnam seeding
salt from a Grandmother, mother,
father, aunts and uncles,
paladins in our child eye dry
because of the stampeding Thestrals
we shouldn't see

And now almost 50 we know
better the slings and arrowheads
of fortune the calcifying currency
souls make by roughing the round edges
of damning tears scattered like petals
over littered cigarettes killing
us softly because they've metastasized
from intellectualized Lung ****
to a flowering carcinoma

It is the sheep in
wolf's clothing
killing with
a smothering love it
is a viper in the eye
**** the amygdala
condition

It is Zod kneeling down
with both Hands
on the wheel

It is a tied die
shirt we wear an
autoimmune shooting
a Lupus in disguise
an Ewe in disgust

Can I get a witness

We return
a cabal of Suns
an outer layer
standing
pyramidal over  
angled mica panels

We guide sacrificial  
light to a deep
mercurial crucible
within the Capital
of creationism

We twin feathers
from a same
sugared Phoenix
of socialism

Atop a clear plastic
mountain box
random syncs
side with me
lying in bed
And we peers
through the murky
clear polymer
haze to see
reflections of us
Artefacts stored
in coffee cans
used empty
translucent existences
and by observing
transform our
historical objects
to Art permanence

Where can I find Kali?
I have no Gold to Gamble
No body wants me
A cyclopic *******
Perhaps I can find her
In my massive consumption
of Drink<strikeout\ing\>  and Swine?

Love the Center thing
Miss that
and miss Everything!

Love the Center thing
We miss that
We miss Everything?

Love the Center thing
if we Miss that
2e'll miss Everything#

#2e?!
@2e

What is the Sparrow to me
or I to Spared sorrow be?

They like we dart
in visual space
trying not to ****
from exertive Race!

We fly on Change
loose jangling face.

Venom eyes range
with furtive cover
for succulent dress
to stripped under
talon's caress.

I'm down with OOP
You down with OOP?
Yeah you know me

Somewhere before
the code was
the Word and
the Word was
the Class and
the Class was
the Word

In the beginning
the Word named
the Class God and
called an instance
ourUniverse

This is ourUniverse
There are many like it,
but this one is ours
ourUniverse is our best friend
It is ourLife
We must master it as we
must master ourLife

There maybe many
other parallel instances
but ours is our favorite no
butts about it

Yeah you know we
Who's down with OPP?
We're down with OOP

A shaft of Sunshine
thru the Looking Glass
window

Dust dance
in Brownian Motion
atop the air

Reality's trembling
leaves flicker on my
Plato cell wall

How long have I
gulped Heavy
water?

Fire! firing
currents on greasy
Myelin copper wire

Spray the ABC
at a spreading Cortical
depression

Like the day
she was dark

no color
Like the night
dawning

no darker
Like ink flowing

no whiter
Like a rooster comb
stain on ***** sand

no deader
Like deepening
purple washing
a ****'s crow
into bleached
seas

no
she was

and here I sit, at the bottleneck.
a postdoctoral headlock squelched
in an economic ice age.
what idiosyncratic feathers
will we evolve to make stolid
careers ****?
is it possible these colorful
plumage have unintended
consequences of flight?
early real down
or Icarus waxed illusion?

I'll love you till
the day I die
but I ain't living another
day with a handful
of weekend vacations
and spurts of popcorn comfortable
nights

I'll love you on
my death bed, but
I ain't your mamma

Give it to me
I'm worth it it's
you and me
in our rough *** cell

You'll  stand at my funeral
after working the most boom
***** to death
and say

I ain't sorry
I'll love you till the day I die
but I ain't your daddy

Children forging
ripple across
a deafening dune  

Flowers bow
their head to pray
lulled by the sound
of pillows

Our sappy creek nearby
sinks in time silence
trickles beyond
a graveyard


Was I in the wind
beyond clouds
beyond angels?

sand falling through
tightly laced
corset

can only know
neoprene kisses
purple from asphyxiation

my kefir spurts
sour oats
to the dry wind

never finding
spreaded parchment
smiling

never inking
sailor's story come
homely

what the **** is a Nightingale I
know its a bird I
know there Florence Nightingale
and in my abstract mind I
see a bird of the night
sitting upon the chest of my
sick child

she's not plucking her
eyes for food instead
she's giving her Dark
magic from our book

she's nursing Midnight's Children
with kisses as tender
as an obsidian blade
shaving pubescent legs
to a sharp sheen
ready to cut morning's
edge with ebony rage

In twilight of cloudy morning
I look unglassed into a mirror
and sight nearly the old
face that use to be

In reflective hours of still
young morning
I listen for passing echos
from cars and passengers on
their Work way that will be

In greying silver of late morning
Summer I feel expire
as the class of 2020
arrives at Harvard
wondering want can be

May the Force be with you and also
with you although me walk through
valleys Solo Han'd we're not fearing
any man or Cain any Able
minded soldiers packing power
converters once more
unto the breach

It's October 25 for David
and the 3rd of August for me we
both had always known
that graduate school will be
the best of times as David
reads Auden, Freud and
Lionel Trilling who? while we
read mysteries about NFAT, Fos
and Jun who? we
both imagine a wondrous future with dolphins
in Space and Uplifting worlds we
had so much time
to binge and watch
Netflix being born
as DVDs through the mail before streaming consciousness
remembers our Dads taking us to see
the Yankees lose
or buy comic books we
lend out to friends
not realizing we
haven't asked them
to please take great care of our
small instance of the Love class

I hardly new a girl once
in High School she was a Home
Coming queen in her late
forties now probably
married with kids
and a husband spreading
out a little
but when he stares into
almond eyes he still sees
a petite girl
with a raspy voice even though
she's never smoked
a day but maybe inhaled the Hours.

Dreams they drown
under the Stone
under the Star

At least we
Stole The Show

Our Houdini act
of failed dedication
defiant to the End

Fragments float
up scenting a
stream with rotting
love locked
in the truck