Pressure puckers &
a migraine blooms
parachute leaves looming
from my mind,
moonscapes of bare rock.
I've been waking up in a tomb again,
mouth mummified &
crusted over with drool as
my body jolts up at 6
6:45
finally 7:
I rise from the dead once more.
Yeats spoke to the Beats & he speaks to me,
feet creaking old floorboards
in a house with no internet.
"Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'"
I ate artichokes for lunch on pizza &
lost a piece of my soul down
the toilet of the coffee shop bathroom.
I came out of the womb once & I think that was enough.
I cough up brown mucus
& I'm glad I quit smoking.
One of my ribs pokes out
& picks my lunch for me,
pointing rudely,
leaving blood on the gleaming glass.
People around me discuss
the value of places they've never lived
& a homeless man sleeps with his mouth open.
I drink an infinite iced tea
that refills itself whenever I get thirsty &
a prehistoric potted plant
belches dinosaurs back into existence.
I clean my teeth to become
the princess of the salad greens,
eating olives with the tips of my fingers
the way monsters eat eyeballs
in the nightmares of children.
Everyone shakes,
terrified to look at each other
mouths bleeding confetti & glitter.
A remedy to bitterness: simple syrup.
I want to write love letters
to the boy who broke my heart &
still has all the shards.
I found out yesterday
that I'm a woman of hard angles,
that my moon might always be fighting
to whole its halves.
My calves are sore
& I'm glad I quit smoking.
I'm afraid of empty bird cages &
waking up without a tongue.
My lungs do a dance under my rib cage
& shake my skeleton out of my body.
Hot toddy & we drink on Tuesdays.
Any available body will do.
Picasso's blue period never seemed more lifelike
than when I try to jump
head first into the nightlife.
Nothing can be proven true
but I think my respiratory system
is at least not false.
If I believe hard enough,
I can feel my pulse.

A dim light-bulb flickering, needed to be replaced.
A clock clicking, time needed to be reset.
Lots of mistakes, everywhere, needed to be erased.

A messy room, needed to be cleaned.
An empty bed, needed to be made.
Lots of mistakes, everywhere, more than you ever dreamed.

Slackers, sitting on the sidewalk, needed a home.
Thieves, stealing, needed to be put away.
Lots of mistakes everywhere, more than would've known.

Why can't the world be a better place?
One w/out any problems, because there are,
Lots of mistakes, everywhere, needed to be erased.

I would have loved
to have had ***
with Kafka
Nima said
something about him
the photo of him

I sat opposite her
in the café
in Charing Cross Road
she had a coke
I sipped coffee

I feel the same
about Marilyn Monroe
I said
love to have got
her in bed

Nima looked at me
disdainfully
you would
she said

not necessarily
for ***
I said
just to listen
to her voice
sense her being there
the scent of her

Nima shook her head
ok I’d listen to Kafka
and sense
his being there
but *******
his **** off
at the same time
she said

an old guy
on the other side
of the café
gave her a look

have you read
any of his books?
I asked

some
she said
the one where he turns
into a big beetle

actually it doesn't say beetle
in the book
it says gigantic vermin
which people has interpreted
as a beetle or bug
I said

she sipped her coke
it's his body
I want to go to bed
with not his book
she said

he's dead
I said
died in 1924

shame
she said
he doesn’t know
what he's
missed out on

I guess he did
I said

she smiled
have to be satisfied
with his books then
won't I

we drained our drinks
and went on our way
I went to Dobell's
Jazz Record shop
and bought
a Coltrane LP

then we walked
to the train station
where she got a train
to the hospital
where she was being treated
for her drug addiction

I went home to play
my Coltrane
on my record player
via another train
thinking of her
and Kafka
and me and Monroe
having ***
in that cheap hotel
off Trafalgar Square
where Nima and I
once had *** there.

Happy to be a crack within the wall,
That sinks as people think and pressure builds
To strive for freedom, love and life fulfilled
Beyond these callous constraints of control.
Abiding standards set by- who? We fall,
From Self, the Source of true condition killed.
Accepting life through these rose-tints we will
Barely breathe the blessing given to us all.

Through all distractions you cannot deny
We're here. We're- where? A spinning ball of being,
And yet we waste this time, find faults and criticise
Ourselves, and others, still longing for feeling.
The only things we need, an open eye
And mind to help us find our way to healing.

When thrown into experience we lose
The true condition of the self that proves
We bloom. In spring, in summer; everyday
We have the possibility to Be.
To be aware of who we are, and not to judge
The actions that we take as result of
The limits we perceive through human minds.
Through it all always desperate to find
What lies beneath, the truth of life; our light.
Just let it guide. The rest comes easily.

With hearts for love and hope, not hate and greed,
I'm constantly left contemplating, why?
Willingly in the dark, yet claim to see,
To play the game of ego with the self
While others play along, won't ask for help
Or find it in themselves; refuse to try
Then wonder why they just don't feel fulfilled.
It's not a case of finding light outside,
Just realise the life that's seen in you
Is all the light that shines over the view.

focus needle sharp and glowing
piercing the rare white winter calm
of my mind at rest
like a ray of too bright to see sunlight
too hot to do anything but set
the edges of conscious thought ablaze
where they blacken and burn fast
curling inwards with steady flames
roiling over ashen fingers grasping at
the long forgotten Morpheus's throat
prying wide the sleeping god's eyes
fastened open by Prometheus's chains
Hades, Tartarus, eternal penance,
for bringing inspiration into this
dark human world
the price I paid in sleep for grades

From one thousand mountains the hawks flights are gone
Soaring freely & thinking clearly through the clouds in the sky
Not looking back persevering to fulfill the dreams
The dreams aren't solely an illusion in the mind
But a preview of future times
For the reality in the hawks mind is dreams of happiness
Clashing between difficulty & a paradox of what is seen & what is not seen
What is believed has 20/20 vision
A clear sight with no eyeballs
But a driven mind with great visual
Anticipating the future of success
Feeling blessed and alleviating stress
Persevering and passing all the tests
What lies is the wind which is the past
Securing things of desire at last
Achievement is a good friend
Resulting in a fulfilled end. . .