Crippled creature broken in ballistic bone fracture about the blind tile,
freckled in blade licked flesh,
back strap shoulder blades quiver gaunt as skeleton wings
sprinkled in splashed satin fruitless reds and auburn oils,
the child’s insides splattered across the stomach of the floor,
limp muscle binding that of bundled circuitry,  
the boy only resembling needle and sticks
a mass of anatomy straightened out in lifeless splendor,
bone splinters clotted in saw dust muscle grindings
the face showered in locks and tangles,
galaxies and embered suns,
tassels golden simmered,
the creature’s hair a mane torn over his black socket eyes,
fierce in ferocity growling,
a monstrous roaring of prideful bangs,
Fallow face and cheek stomped to the floor as a rag
his form splashed about ground and surface.
Skin nearly bleached in cancer cell white,
a body folded as parchment, joints and ligament playing the part
lightless strewn as an idea lost in lifeless.
A white room hollow, muteness staling,
the busting of a boy broken in scaffold limbs torn
intwined amongst netted nerves wound about spindled bone
branched out in checkered blood stain
Shattered arms resembling puzzle pieced wings,
boy bathed in synthetic sunlight kisses,
But a watch crushed in brittle bronze shards about God’s feet

(A wall with grainy, white tile misses being appreciated by the passive glance!)

This open Hotel window reveals the encasement of a city wearing its own
Labels stirring distinctly

Monochrome sculptures
Increasing eye the gradiant of
A voice
The dialogue of a coffin sleeping
And the
Waterfront smokes tired cruiselines and
Already wishes for Sundown & good spirits.

Some burdened Animal lept from
Its grindings of clean survival &
Has written an essay on

Fire in relation to psychological warmth
& the associative memory response to comfort

(The fireplace is your Childhood & lost Faerie Mother)

The lapse of this Tidal Concerto
As wet pebbles ripple over each other like Tokyo haircuts,

I am the collector of
Distant and missed opportunities

I keep them close as potentialities and not regrets

I have a fishtank full of drowned Bees
& phonecall revelations

As Humidity only sensed and not sweated
Boils from a desk drawer in the Summertime

LAUGHING STAIRCASES/
LOBOTOMY IN NIGHTMARES OF VICIOUS ORCHIDS/
THE CRIB HAS LOST ITS FUNCTION/

           A CRABSHELL HAS REPLACED
           THE PILLOW/
          
           MY TEETH ARE NUMB
           WITH YOUR KISS
          
           YOUR KISS ERASED BY
           THE SUDDEN SALTWATER OF A
           HIGHTENED MOMENT
          
           DO NOT RETREAT BACK TO
           BRASS SPEECH
           OR COMMON BELIEF


Stresses paused on
Gysins colorful meditations
& Nat King Cole sings of no
Orange Colored Sky instead
A silent rotating lightbulb
And the sensation of lifting off my chair

(few nights in a row of this ambience behind a glass door)

"-the illusion of existing on the edge of a comforting unalterable space and in being so close to it, I blend into it!
A man with a telescope residing on a mountain top can observe the town below in a detailed entirety. It's the larger and more obvious/physically active space. The mountain distant from the town is a space of reflection, where things are less chaotic. Where peace is more inwardly recognized in its external shelter. In the corner I have this illusory telescope and I am perched on the mountain, who's properties have flattened to the dimensions of a coffee shop, or a general interior. The wholeness of the mountain reserved to the confines of a dark corner. Behind the brickwork exists a vast valley where this mountain once stood in its humble yet ferocious silence. The space which now exists in an imaginary context. The expansion of darkness in front of us!"

           Come forth from that Mexican
           Practice
           Or the vengeance of a sobbing
           Hand,
           Friend

I, willing to play weary in
ur aztec smile/
Am to slip from a shivering
Elevator
To ***** my finger with a name

A name that I have never interacted with until now!

"UNE FEMME EST UNE FEMME"
Followed by gossiping
& accommodations
Downstairs,

I hope you wake easy to find my
Skinny hand warming you from December's hesitant grave.

The reflection that peers back at me,
In my jo-black coffee,
Is taunting and eerie.

With every sip my face ripples and grows old.
The steam that was my youth is no more,
I have grown cold.
Like the remittence of the coffee that once was,
All that is left is grindings and sugar,
Undissolved.

To be drunk, regardless.
Coarse, as it runs down and grazes my throat.
The person who was staring back at me is gone,
And with every coffee that follows,
an unknown reflection, it will host.

Like the empty cup,
I have been rendered useless, by my own nihilistic judgement.

rubbing my rummy red eyes
against the harsh hard light of morning
last nights laughs and loves gone cold and bitter
staining the satin sheets we shared.

i woke up alone
wondering

if you were really ever there
if anything really happened
or if the drink finally seeped into my head
and conjured up a wild night
leaving me
laughing alone in the dark
naming the shadows and whispering sweet
garbled nothings
to no one.

i would like to believe my own
imagination would be kinder
but i know differently.
straining the grindings out of day old coffee
i wonder where you have gone to
what your doing and
where you are....

but i know the danger and the
foolishness of such thoughts
so i toss them away along with the
dead soldiers
of last nights wild war
sweeping up the leavings
helping along the hobbling thoughts
that last night was a dream
and you were never there at all.

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the ***** streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their ***** beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and **** and endless *****, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars boxcars 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No matter the apple is ripe it is bitter in the end,
Tinkles of wine on the forehead and the mood is in swing my friend,
Love is in the air, the nerves are ever so pumped,
The innocent, heart, the true never knew of the later grindings,

Fragilities hit upon the tree birch and the leaves fell,
On to the grass trying to rot under the shadows of entrusted love,
Kept lying around the seeds of the fallen fruits around the well,
Shattered to the core like the fluttered wings of the dove,

Heavy price paid, to shed off the burdens sailing in the salted emotions,
Cushioned the pins thrusted promised to handle covered by hard earned situations,
Snap of the finger and the promise to live and die, ended too soon,
Unnoticed it went, deemed as mistake, deliberate the actions you were the fool,

Could feel the sweetness on the tongue, unable to handle its effects,
There were a few roses left in the garden, all had come with some or the other defects,
No room for rush at the bottom of the cliff, too crowded with the bodies,
Wish you had kept things pure and not landed in the state of sorries.