As now I had finally heard her churchbell voice,
I knew from that moment on...

I had fallen in the hands,
                                            Of the almighty God!!!

Let the morning's light bell ring
because it is the bell of days
that leads, leery, into other days
All the time making tired weary
or still smiling from a dream.

Call the churchbell to then ring out also
The master of hours , It's spring concerto
for life is song with lung fulls or whispers
reaching behind ears, that strangely echo

May everything you touch be smooth and calm enough
this mourning ; no chills, no blisters
No untimely words that bring the scare of mortality
May the ones you love go on loving
Not dreaded out of by life's chaotic meanderings
Breathe this day, bring to yourself the sense of wonder
that Miranda to The Tempest brings
Only clocks, after all, measure out wanderings
Not footfall, maps, forgotten as carelessly as good fortune.

Because light does fade: even the moon's light
Captivating for a few forgettable moments to replaced
By the the realities of night
Of unspoken humour and desires in darkened rooms.

So if you cough, cough out only the disapproval of yesterday
which today does without.
And out, and, and in, and out
Triplets followed by a last diminished chord.

reverend, hold on to yours heathers

pay homage in…

cold handshakes, several different when

shades weigh the same together

pretty present in existence

since sense began…

priests dressed in electric black shells

figurine sand to ocean bell sickness

pushing gapes

pulling weight

praise and break

point and gaze

motormouth mona and water without europa

wont causeway why…

mind, body, soul and soda

your holy holes in water cry souls and cola

jade green ***** curdled in cloth

terrorise terracotta blue…

his scissor cynicism floating down deep

too far in thoughts honed in drunken sleep

rotten down faith

mustard and grapes

horses in hays

the churchbell face

sipped tears in a moody blues foot

heavens name

boredom, chair tippin’ lemon gums loose

sevens straight

one is day

horned rims and your empty plates

passing on passing on passing on shoes

passed out passion with the stuff you use

no collide no collide no sliding streams

wont bother anyone but simply confuse

kholum bala froze dog brush minds

chrome collars punching trees and diamond vines

woke up at your stomach and started to sink

doesnt it look like someones had too much to think

man/woman, father/mother, sister/brother

simply cut curtains at every corner, hastily turn

to your side and roll onto the edge of your forwardness

diagonally push a fist backward from a snowy pitch

roll ten thousand times in a smooth fabric yaw

and **** down the barrel of my jaw

this piece is to be said as aggressively as possible without stopping, only a sharp directed breath may interrupt





Sam the ******
I remember the first time someone called me that
I didn't even know what it meant
But I walked away from it
Carrying in me, like a violated orchard, seeds of Hate

It must have been middle school
Way back when everybody was trying to be cool
Packs of brown skinned wolves hunting away my innocence
Wearing away at a, soon to be ruined, patience

I told my mom what people call me
And she didnt blink
Well what did you do to them?
That question rocked me
And fractures gave introduction to faults that would never find meeting

Mercantile in nature, fearful but loyal
Friends I may or may not have had kept me inside myself and corporeal
But I was a teenage solider
I hated myself for fear of affirming, the notion that I was no longer a controller
I hated, and that was the story

For a time anyways
I had no god, no group, guru
Who could teach me to grow and perhaps love
But that word tore everything I tried to learn to shreds

Sam the ******! Theyd yell whenever they knew my skin was crawling
And all I had were crutches and journal to keep that big bad wolf at bay
Each brick I lay became ash
Every star I counted became a nova
My white crippled wings became leather

I could have recited thousands of mantras
Ate a million crackers
Sang a hundred hymns
But hate was in my heart

My short comings and any kind of flaw
Was not a burden to be lifted
It was a fire that kept me warm and sane

Every voice in me said to be vengeful
Many said to stand against the wolves
And a few sometimes said to love
But I was an ant fighting the sun

And the only way to live was to hate

Not the way of redneck rhetoric
But the kind that made me a social heretic
Stay by the flames I would ponder
This weak skin will burn away and no longer wander

I had to become the iron clad infrastructure of my own life
To straighten up, tighten, and become repellent
Like the skin stretched tight across the war drum that was my young heart

I will stand resolute, and triumphant
Foster my hate into purpose
A heart colored black, to fight against wolves numbering in the hundreds
Armed with a new weapon of strength, forged fresh from the furnace

Hate was my god, it saved me
While others pitifully succumbed to theirs
Like Acheron, it ferried Sam the ****** to safety
I learned to hate equally and with cause to quench the burning with pause

Language became my sword and my shield
The deadly omnipotent airblade that could keep me alive
Even when all I wanted was to die
I wont be happy until everything is dead! Said Sam the Fagggot
But The Melting Man inside me was the inhabitant

Of this mind
That would hate in the defense of those who are weak
Which would always loathe those who let miasma make them meek
I was a cracked churchbell who would ring to free the ears clogged with ignorance
And my hands would wipe away the blinding tar of intolerance

It wasnt until I thought myself a poet would I know
Hate was an archaic riptide that killed the minds of many with its violent flow
Sam the ****** was a beast, something akin to a weapon
And I had learned to dismantle it and leave deadened

over-quoted or overlooked, but advanced into ridiculousness nonetheless, sam's the man for all things barren, but at least sam's was a time when you wrote a book and didn't have to endorse toothpaste advertisement. brand the ***** with clinical white, on the bone, on the bone, but mind you, tattoo the skin in octopi ink. now imagine it not so: little words don't belittle but also don't engross, fluid they are, fluid. so, mind you, it's not true when you say it's true that: poet gives homage to a writer, by trying little plagiarisms like this to see if some deep blue somewhere could relate twos grammar into ones and oneness binary - little wording, just a little like that, is a poet's homage to sam's stage fright. so odd they said, so odd, no matter if many ifs, buts or maybes, the kasparov accusation bloated techno techno ?, so much so that beep beep b beep made it on the dancefloor: that rigid phonetic ring with a machine of answers, also known as the churchbell tower: i believe i believe he took one maxim unto himself from nietzsche, sam the man did, he took the: believe in grammar believe in god, don't believe in grammar don't believe in god, throws god out, writes about god, with a disbelief in grammar, or a grammar of disbelief; which makes sense, given that - the sun shone, having no alt., on the nothing new - sound est so so goo.

a cigarette ****
misses its mark, the largest
head
the child’s
ever
had…

the shut-ins
meet their food
halfway

the angels
burn only
the books
they’ve time
to read

it snows, churchbell

snows
on the crippled glow
of an Ohio
cemetery
where later
I’ll brush
a white hand
from the arm
of a stone
cross

I'm falling down a stairway
I never wanted to behave
I wouldn't love you either way
My eyes are fallen in anyway
I couldn't stay forever
The other ways are better
Oh, love me like you said there
You want to live forever
The times are never changing
The patterns rearranging
The gospel said it's all ours
Never believe it's too hard

My droning spire at night
Believe in tires to hide
A fantasy is rising
Never believed the sky beams
Undo the undulations
Forbidden conversations
Ecstatic violations
A good reincarnation
The sun receives a vision
To me this is all risen
I can't bother to listen
All saints, all sinners missing
The good parade ambition
I will not see you mythic
I cannot be a ribbon
Tied on the box of rhythm

Follow a sacred passion
Redo restore the action
Go like a churchbell hatchet
At night it's all reactions

I believe my mother when she says we are here to forget the girl god was trying to impress. that we are to follow starvation to its wrongly named foods. that breads are condemned

birds. scissors the writer’s churchbell.