The angels are falling
They burn like Icarus
Falling from above
The building below
It looks like it will collapse
My eyes full of tears
The start of this sacred week
Begins with the flames of a fire
It takes out an important symbol
But things are saved and stored
The angels though they've fallen
Still guard what they've guarded for years
Though in doing so they were burned
Still here I sit waiting for better news
Tears finally falling

You swirl my mind
behind the shades.
Dreams come and go
to Mary Jane.
You stir my dreams
all of the day.

Then, when I warred,
nothing could stop
the storm there in store
for me.

My central column
is prone to shift.
You have acid spit,
and kiss me there,
between the atoms.
Realignment.

What is
a holy moment?
When you
share a gaze with one.

What is
a definite end?
When you
find the beginning.

pleasant is this adverbial, complimentary-angled accusation,
but a ball masque covering
the huge desert ****** stretches where
water and words are one hundred
days and miles apart, with
no filling station on the navigation app

the relentless sounding silences
reverberate angrily between the cochleae,
spiral staircases to no impulse power space,
the impulse to create needy for a clean sparking,
**** if life doesn’t get in the way,
the responsibility tonnage, the never altered
‘to do’ list that knows only additions and sedition

have come to believe that poetry energy,
cannot be created and destroyed,
so pray the unwritten poem souls
are conserved further, awaiting a rainbow
Noah signal, that the *** of poems
are poet-that a-way, in attendance for me,
in attendance for a parental permission slip
from me, my father, my sons, and the ghost
that has never left but promises,
one day he will, absconding with all the drafts concealed

4/3/19

Go & be the light

Recharge and face the darkness

The ordinary

for all that’s good on Earth,
for all the holy virtues,
for the greatness and the purity of my authentic spirituality,
the presence of epiphany which helps the poor become the bold,
the necklace of the souls once bereaved and insecure,
I, for the grace of humankind,
give rebirth upon a world of lost ancestors,
to come from so afar what I perceive,
to bring me the pure and the kind,
ferment a shape, a pyramid of light and matter,
water the land, germinate the void with seeds of creation,
a hope melting all my dreams,
give birth to a diluted wonder,
the fertile soil of innocence and power,
earnestly conjure from thought to heights of infinite,
abound my being with your lust and wishes,
may all the grace of the genesis be the sojourn of fantasy,
my precious thought, my enlightened heart.

/There is no fellow in the firmament.
              but only fire can cast down raging blood,
running through the city, flagrant
         smoke on a collonade of scepters, raised
— line by line: note the conspirator in the masses
                 Doth not Brutus brotherless kneel?/
traitorous hands, leaking red
                 /Speak hands, for me!
— from a dagger plunged deep through the heart of eruption it
                                          spills chaotical, arterial, sinful
                                      down and down ribbons of life
        crown in rotation: halted
on tumbling tyrrant, passes guiltless largesse from hand sought to
hands yet seeking, searching
[whisperings]
         "but on what grounds is usurpation justified?"/
         "what cavity yet persists in the dawn of these reds rising?"
kneeling king, sodden with loss
          bend for me —
                       Et tu, Bruté?/
screamitbloodymurdersingitholydivination
                      ­                 Then fall, Caesar.