wrestling with angels

slept three hours max, my brain is a stew le ragout,
***-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a  internet-fast way to fast fame!

one who dares to tell the Boss to fk off, who takes
none of the deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections

all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime and get tears vicariously, like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so, even though, everybody knows that

wrestling is so fake.

the desk drawer was open, extending an invite,
cheap blue handle scissors, easy see, on top,
robbed of excuses, went around the house, all my
personal goods, mission oriented, trimming away
loose threads wherever they were hiding in my life

no expert in love, for sure, but struck by you people
linking love and dying, over and over, like they are
hyphenated, siblings, separated twin children, that
long to communicate, checking each other out on the
internet  anonymously, cause these two linked in ways
not understood, loosely tied, a threaded linkage, can you
please explain?
(mysterious)

is loved only fully realized,
when it phoenixes?
burnt, slowly agonizing,
arisen, resurrecting,
is it one cell endless
dying, re-splitting?

Paul calls,
asking:

“and you wonder why we, why you,
why I am still crazy after all these years?”





12:04am
Wed Sep 9
plague year

this is how the poetry bows out



the tying of the tongue,
fingertips are shaved, nubbed,
heart seized, it rhyming ceased,
veins are dammed, arteries blocked,
the emotional fled, to a wild wind wed,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out

the remainders, sticky stuck, viscous,
through small pore filters they leak,
with the soap and the sins, all drained,
the shower uses holy water to no avail,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out

the brain cognitions loss, realizing a release
ending, time sensitized, the mantelpiece badly
cracked, each of the body’s words in reliquaries hidden,
the other worldly acquaintances greet him joyously,
commence a choir chant, a motet centuries old,

this, this! is how the poetry bows out

someday we’ll meet/(the agenda)

in the flesh,
touch elbows,
staying masked
investigate each other’s
eyes;

discuss
rock ‘n roll
choices,
favorite
anything;

no need
to start falling
in love

with you.

unmasked!
we been there,
we done that.

so,
everybody knows,
that’s
old news!


p.s. yes babe, that’s the truth

no can do the turning of water, the greatest magician’s trick ever, but
turning words into wine, that I can do,
ready your life, go get a wine glass,
sit down, this is heady stuff, be prepared!

you’re thinking, shoot, I can do that too,
no, you just think you can, for if you could,
you would be drunk already, making typos
all over your shirt, thinking’ bout your next

verse, a great love affair, the one you never
should let get away, the wrong choices that
fed on each other, living with a hateful woman
for the better part of your whole life, the children
who don’t even call to wish you happy birthday

and you would be drunk already just like me,
writing poems like this, a poet sitting on the roof,
and you would have written this whiney poem,
not me, pretending wine can wash your conscience clean

<>

“I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream”

Losing My Religion
Song by R.E.M.