"condors" poems
The wheel of the quivering meat
conception
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the
jungle,
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills-
All the endless conception of living
beings
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind-
Poor!
I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead.
7k
*I’ve traveled
a million miles
on an open road
with memories of home
strapped to broken bones.
Mama,
these dreams are heavy
against will
that’s strong as stone,
but I’ll carry these feet
across the desert ground.
With the moon above me
I’ll hear my spirit howl.
Like the wolves that run
protecting
their forest ground.
Mama,
I’m meant to roam,
to let my spirit soar.
High as condors
above the mountaintops.
I know
freedom
comes at a cost,
but so does
happiness
that has to be bought.
Mama,
don’t you worry
I’ll never get lost.
I have the stars,
and a thin blue line
between the folds
of my map.
I don’t know
these strangers
or places I stop,
but my eyes are open
to the hourglass of time.
Mama,
I’m not scared.
I know
where I’m going.
My destination
is everywhere.
Mama,
don’t you worry
I’ll be fine.
When my cup is full,
and my heart is whole
I’ll follow the stars,
and wander back home.*
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
I walked alone with Incan spirits,
lost in my own thoughts
trailing downward
over maize-covered fields.
I breathed chilly air
with the condors
wearing neck gaiters,
thinking
how lucky I was
to commune
with jet stream angels,
safe and in one piece.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
If i had wings, i could fly,
I wouldn't even have to try,
One touch of the sky,
above the clouds, so high,
Playing tag with eagles,
Hide n seek with falcons,
Getting wisdom from condors,
Being naughty with sparrows,
This ambition got me feeling dry,
But that's the reality of things.
My wings are clipped,
Now i walk the ground,
Never making a sound,
Making good of what i have.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC
We spent three months of our lives
Together almost everyday
In some formation
We formed our own family
Dysfunctional in all the usual ways
We're all young
And still in love with the world
But terrified of our own lives
It was a perfect mix
We spent car rides together
Squealing and singing, dancing and shouting
Watching flamingoes sleep on lake shores
And llamas grazing by the roadside
We saw condors swooping overhead
As we climbed what felt like mountains
Compared to us
Sleeping underneath more stars
Than we had imagined were in the sky
We got lost and found our ways back
We got happy, waiting on lay-bys
We got up
At 4am, awoken by the sound of
Out of tune harmonicas
And your shouting
We fell asleep
To the sound of each other's heavy breathing
Exhausted but satisfied
Now we're apart
But from our own bonds
Woven like siblings,
Like friends,
Some of us like lovers
And all we have left
Are the photos we took together
And the memories
That I hope will last my lifetime
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
i want to die on the road
at the hands of something beautiful
i'm not quick to
leave this sad place behind
but the beauty -
the scarce amount of it that's left
in this cruel world -
is enough to make me feel so insignificant
that nothing is really worth it
and nothing compares to it
it was summer. nights out west were hot and dry. the highway stretched ahead of us for days; no one ahead, no one behind; just us and the road and the star-laced sky above. i kept thinking that i wanted to die here someday, under this same sky, counting stars like seconds. one-one-thousand two-one-thousand three-one-thousand four..
they really mean it when they named it death valley
take one step outside
and every
last
drop
of water
every
last
inch
of hope
leaves your body
in that very instant
the sun is angry
burns every thing to a crisp
black, blacker, blackest
you ever seen the grand canyon? nah, man. not pictures. seen it. been there. looked over the edge down at the drying river below. stood a little to close for comfort, hungry condors above you waiting for you to fall. sound scary? you can catch yourself. mama nature has a way of granting mercy – whether you want her to or not. she'll catch you when you fall, baby. she always will.
let me tell you
how powerful
this world is
to die
by the hands of it
god what a beautiful thing
the last thing they see
are the rocks
and the niagara falls crashing over them
it has the power
to possess
to hypnotize
to seize
carpe omnia, baby
did you know that the most beautiful place in america is the most deadly? it's so deceptive; a sleeping god yet to unleash his wrath. the beauty with the ability to burn, to scar, to **** deceptive splendor in pools of sulfur, deep blue like sapphire bleaching rocks starch-white and murdering trees. i saw a bison laying at the edge, the smell of burning fur hung heavy in the air. everything there was dead and it was a tragically beautiful thing.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
finally i am slain by
having my armpit sliced open (i feigned death the first time but
Death always knows.)
after death/
anno domini: **** me.
when you’re dead, he says,
you can **** god.
so i did.
how, then, did Death take me
by the hand (Death
in His neon green track suit)
to tell me something I already knew?
after death you can feel
only
pleasure not
pain and i guess that’s just
the cost
of a pound of flesh
an ounce
of virginal tears:
starkly they are abandoned by
the prison
industrial complex /montage it all goes
comes crashing
down like a game of mexican train
Planes crashing into trains crashing into cars &c.
into the chaos i am flung
atop a hill and there are five
rainbows, maybe more
as dozens of little silver
crosses are fired (don't get caught in the
shot up &
flipped they
land spectacularly on top of the hill. Huge
condors I mean huge
are circling. they hoist
things, possibly creatures,
up into the air but i didnt know
what they were.
a small child turns out to be the
culprit
i think through
mind control?
the other inhabitants of the
domino city ******
each other slowly
(The old lady next door donned
a green jumpsuit, snuck
into her neighbor's house,
and attempted to plant some
weird perhaps poisonous succulents
there.
knock knock—
interrupted & the knock
isn’t her neighbor
somehow she escapes.)
disposable people jump in front of a
semi. two women,
fighting tooth&nail,
make a sudden and tacit
suicide pact & jump
in front of a car together like
two virgins before
the bomb.
this is what triggers
the chain reaction of vehicular crashes.
there are phone calls.
cell phones die at critical mo-
ments. family: all three
siblings sing
(a karaoke version of) a song we didn't know at
a birthday celebration for
someone we didn’t know you
finger him and he
protests.
everything is probably a neurosis
And from somewhere comes the word "ratiocinative"
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
-
**Sinking slow the mire
Of touted soldier’s stare
Blindfolded, seeing inside
Stood straight of knotted shame
Condors perched waiting
My last cigarette damp
Lips nicotine cracked
Useless circumstances cry
Unforced tears fall
Guns raised and aimed
Bayonets point a finger
Discharged of itchy indexes
Ripping antique flesh
Puncturing vital statistics
Sorrow in tattooed blood stains
My dense skull explodes
Shards of bone fly
Dotting soiled landscape
In a mosaic of lost dreams
Shattered with one foul mouth
Loose like the cannons
Flanking the homeland
As I consume the sludge
Of final foolishness**
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
Ancients stare down
silently,
sitting atop
the inscripted stelae
from across the plaza.
Icy winds rip
the Altiplano
& if you listen,
listen hard enough,
you'll hear
them whispering
the sacred code.
I've heard them twice,
it gripped me &
I stood frozen in my tracks
to hear the condors
sing primordial tidings.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
I saw the vultures roost today
On a corpse beside the road
They feasted in the morning grey
And tore the flesh from bone
From rot in wound, the graveyard worms
Writhed from the carcass' flesh
As buzzards congregated 'round
To make their carrion nest
The days are getting longer now,
The vernal sun rose soon
And yet, and still, the vultures shrill
Stood fast, well on past noon.
Then passed the gray, into the gold,
Where sunset sun sank low,
And then the condors huddled 'round,
Into a branch they flew.
The world's growing greener now,
Narcissus has returned
Yet invitations to fly forth
All seem to have been spurned
I saw the vultures roost today,
Upon a rib cage spent.
Now white, now dry,
The doomed-to-die
Vultures took wing.
And went.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Put me down to desiccate.
My mind
My body
My inveterate vision.
Fragmentary, ornamental,
desirous smiles
adorn my face
And separate once I swallow them,
where then,
they play inside my head
and disperse to deluge into fumes of
blues and violent reds
where condors convene and condone the nature of my agony,
which they burn straight on through
then train new thoughts to thirst for more.
Stuck with a mind so full of
contortionist thoughts,
containing the notions of submerging illusions, luring me away from veracity,
into anticipating rapture.
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
Spaghetti condors and
Mango vultures,
Gobstop gumbo;
Velociraptors in the Bayou, and
Doves made of mildew.
Tell me, is it all
Getting old?
Jun 1, 2024
Jun 1, 2024 at 5:48 PM UTC
Cement formed volume,
Honed to the shape of a missile,
Spun like stars and stripes of red
In redundant revolution.
Then Orbit composed another turn
Through fluid streams of time,
Those dry and slowly-sorted sheaves,
Darkening pleasures for the Lion.
A dusty labor to be sure
Of moths of brittle fame;
Thus, the rocky mane eroded
And the beast no longer gained.
He went aloft as condors do,
Borne from flickering fire
'Neath the black Atlantian Sea,
Where none should have dared conceive.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC