Lingering in clusters around the idle seas
leaning inward dotted by
dried, them channels of hyacinth rivers
come like an old city emerging
out of the clouds like hundreds
of coloured cardboard boxes
packed away parted by unruly lanes
and withered lakebeds
and winding roads laden with lamps
the hunger for the sky has skived
away granite, now lakes
them empty quarries that grin
like the old grandmother
toothless, whitening hair thinned out
those forests now reservationed
rises a spire, aspiring for heaven
from this mud rolled windwashed earth
I wear you 'round my neck like an accessory of empathy.
Better than a cross, you're my treasury to sanctity.
I'm trying really hard to not speak so condescendingly,
But I am not your maker nor a lender or a borrow be.
Cause you got some issues that you need to work through
And I am not the glue bouncing ideas back to you.
I'm not your beast of burden,
Not your Fight Club Tyler Durden,
I’d rather be a bitch than a fool,
I'm just not the one to grace with servitude.
My time is an indulgence and I'm all about myself.
I'm the taste of melted chocolate inside my own mouth.
Or the way satin looks under a fan,
Pulling back the sheers over my canopy bed.
I'm the touch of velvet
When you least expect it,
But a bad attitude and frayed around the edges.
Like your favorite jeans that go with every outfit.
I'm every predicted outcome
Just like when the Reds won.
Calculated, cold blooded, and something you've never heard of.
I don't want anything from you 'cause it doesn't benefit me.
You're trying to hard; Batesian mimicry.
I hope you get to a place
Where you meet people of similar tastes,
But I'm not Deep Blue Something
And this isn't Breakfast at Tiffany's.
I feel too much, like, all the time
And every now and again it serves to remind
That wearing the weights of the world on your body and mind
Leads to spiritual decline.
And you are an amulet lost as sea
That's drowned sailors and shipwrecked engines of steam,
And while I blow off some steam
Take it from me:
You don't drown others to keep yourself afloat,
And you don't start fires if you're allergic to the smoke,
And you keep your head down to ensure you don't choke --
But that's not to say that you're out here on your own.
You've got that snug fit,
That winter glove fit,
That touchy feely hug shit,
Dial it down to one, bitch.
Take your time, don't gotta rush quick.
Time may be fleeting but the longest time of all that's ensured,
Is the duration of your life, whether it be long or short.
It's the longest that you have,
Make the most of what you can.
No man is an island;
We are never truly alone.
You may feel as so,
But feelings come and go.
And when your feelings for me fade,
Into the jewelry box I've laid
The pendulum that swings.
Fragmenting light, blinding dove's wings.
Takes with them the accessory of empathy
For whom the bell rings.
We don't learn by Doing the Right Thing,
We learn from doing the Wrong Thing.
We actually develop skills in our sins.
That are applicable
When we are trying to do something
BENEFICIAL to others.
That's the Strange thing about Life.
Virtue can be Cowardly,
But Evil is Bold!
Be proud of what you've accomplished
Be proud of what you're capable of doing.
Be proud of the skills you've developed
With rigorous practice.
There is no need
To be too proud of Who or What you are.
I'm a "Descendant of King David",
But So What?
If my Mother was a prostitute,
Should it make any difference to you?
My Jazz Has Changed
My jazz has changed.
Warts and all,
Jazz is my call
Reflecting life’s endeavors.
I could never leave it.
I mature and it matures.
Meaning: freedom and invention.
Freedom of invention,
The sensation near ecstatic.
Who cares if I use elbows to create a chord?
Who cares if I make screw up,
Am not a nerd – part of the herd?
Everything is up to me, in me, from me –
Each note, each beat, each melody.
Coming each year, parting fear
That was and used to be there.
A ready leaving of control,
Letting an other whole come through.
The point is: no one knows or cares but you.
The freedom and invention where it should be
At the very point in history.
My Jazz Has Changed 4.16.2017
Vaguely About Music II;
The oblivious avian
Has yet to comprehend
The existence thrust upon him.
Atop his perch,
Peering through the gilded bars
Of his confinement -
He awaits the feeder to be stocked
At the idea of assured sustenance,
At the thought that this space,
This place, is his own
Through this glass house he peers -
The cage became a home
And over time hes grown
To accept that life is as it is, but
The life he lived
Was not his,
This collective of feathers
Has failed to see, that
He can live a life,
He can simply be
Devoid of pain and sorrow
But at the cost of not understanding
The use of 'tomorrow'
Or to feel progression
For time has no place
For our fair feathered bird
Whose captivity grasps
Further than he can retrace.
Currency is of no use to him
And time is a human construct
A lack of philosophical conduct
Would argue there is no price
To the life he lives...
His wings are not bound, yet
He is bound from flight
The room is warm at night,
Yet never feels quite right
The songs he sings are
Only replied with echoes
Of what could've been...
As he watches the fireplace nearby -
A mesmer of light
The glimmer in his eyes
Gets just a little less bright.
The epiphanised avian
Has just begun to comprehend
That redemption is thrust upon him.
Forefathers shedding blood
In a spectacular
Bravery and unity
"A violated-not sovereignty
And self confidence"
What is more
An unpolluted culture
And intact identity!
Thus, maintaining integrity
And hard-preserved identity
Getting poverty and lack
Behind our back,
For the coming generation
We have to pave the track
With Mega projects Like
So that on a bright tomorrow
Our children embark!
My original spring was wound,
Tight as a Swiss watch.
The fore-finger and thumb
Of the nun turned the crown screw,
As only the Sisters could do.
Any subject could be converted
Into a lesson of the life of Jesus.
A plus sign becomes a cross.
Even Jesus knew the angles
To be a carpenter and Savior,
Grace and Faith kept time.
The Sacrements were frequent topics.
How many would we receive
Between Baptism and Extreme Unction?
After Confessions, I once asked,
Is it possible to sin between Penance and the curb?
All things are possible with God.
You didn't want to die with a blemished soul;
Being responsible for more thorns and nails
Pounded into the emaciated, pitiful flesh
Of the one to emulate,
With Grace and Faith.
I was fervent in prayer.
I wanted to carry the Holy Eucharist
To the housebound or hospitalized;
Through the throng of thugs
Ready to defile the wafer.
I was ready to die a martyr,
With a benevolent, sober Jesus,
Guarding from the clouds,
Right hand raised like a Judo chop,
Blessing me, preparing me,
Protecting me with a corporeal force field.
Grace and Faith kept time.
I pined to wear the Altar Boy's Cassock,
Soutane-like, long and black,
Topped with the surplice;
To ring the bell, light the incense,
Hold the Communion Plate
Under Mammy's chin
As she knelt in supplication,
Before the Madonna,
My blessed Mother.
Did she envision me as a Jesuit,
Tending to the lame lepers
In the jungles of Peru and Africa.
Me, who issued forth from her.
Faith kept time.
The dark hour was closing in.
The spring was loosening,
Unwinding as I relaxed.
Marian sat beside me,
Thinking of our orders
At the drive through.
The Nehru-collared clerk
Slid the glass window,
Listening to our wants.
I offered her a napkin
To keep the crumbs
Of her little black dress.
Slowly succumbing to the burning tranquility,
My mind dreads on these moments without you.
A dark and cold sensation strikes me with agility,
Turning my burning heart ashen, cold, as fast as you…
…ignite it again.
Is this Nirvana? A place avoid of everything but pain and you?
Or do I have monsters inside without which I cannot live?
Without which I cannot be human? What can I do?
Can I only wait and suffer through this calmness and give…
…my scars time to heal?