"hexagrams" poems
I think it's my eyes.
The glowing hazle stare
blankly piercing through
whatever bubbles you've shielded
yourself with.
Arms crossed means you're defensive,
raised tone towards the end of a sentence
means you're lying
but when your lips scrunch together
you're holding back something.
Maybe it's
my thought process.
One second
I'm talking about polar bears
celebrating birthdays with ******* and hexagrams
when I shift
to a rant about my self empowerment
through meditation and how astral travel
might be real.
Perhaps I'm too comfortable
with myself for you to handle.
I don't give a **** how tangled my hair is
or what weird religious doctrines you follow.
Let's have a conversation,
not an unruly **** measuring contest.
I truly love you,
and all my mild frustration
and slight agitation is radiating
from a place in my heart
that tells me I want you to succeed the most.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
unsuccessful potatoes & you found a tree in the ocean
i spent the afternoon digging, digging
my fingernails into my own fear of commitment
the fear of my own reputation
now the cat's in heat & richard nixon (the dog)
is teasing her with his trump card
she takes it
& squeezes it
very gently
then rips it open madly & snarls
& it oozes and drips out of her mouth
we all pick up a thousand pieces of a minute
i cremated my sister this morning & new spirits
arrived at my doorstep before noon
they sang to me of instinct,
whinnying about the antique zenith
up in cheyenne
"gimmie some secrets" she said
so i carved them
into my arm
into a minotaur's chest
into a giant looking glass
into a wooden boat
& i set sail for the sundial,
"there is no truth"
my eyes are wax & the ocean
means nasty filth
but everything is useless now
frogs carry high powered harmonicas
& walk into the spells of Poe
& into the hexagrams of Hamlet
i do not want to carry a pitchfork across
some godforsaken desert
i do not want to feel my own evaporation
while the real artists brood in the meantime
i want to waste away on a slushy evening
i will live in my armpit
& hate you
& never wear deodorant
"your mind is small--it is limited--why must you understand?"
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
䷇䷄䷂䷀䷊䷌䷼䷶䷩
Jupiter and the moon take most blows for us
a very nice arrangement for blithering piles of pus
intelligent design or some grand coincidence
the phenomena that is life is no mere incident
64 hexagrams comprise the I Ching
64 nucleotides in a DNA string
anthropic anthropomorphic antagonists
dripping and drooling with dread
that (what if) God caused the thoughts that reside in our heads
the phenomena that is life is beyond your stead
Big bang
hot thing
can't explain
why the rain
brings gain
to the blamed and the sane
God isn't real, that's their deal
religion's exist because you feel
pithy platforms of persistent intrusions
pulpits of platitudes feeding delusions
the phenomena that is life is no mere illusion
Church day, fey day
leave your questions at the door
harken hear the story
of God in all its glory
the grand and the gory
the mysterious phenomena that is life
䷇䷄䷂䷀䷊䷌䷼䷶䷩
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
Piercing the white veil,
The tarmac steaming
from overrun millions.
Dotted yellow hexagrams,
lost in a backward glance.
Far from precious cerulean skies
Farther still from incarnadine sunrise.
The predawn grey swirls it's silken dress,
Alluring all towards the edge.
Heavy hands hold the circle
while bleary eyes fail to pierce the translucent fog.
The black road;
smeared with last nights fallen remnants
begs for another story to travail over it,
or fall prey to it's countless tragedies.
The taste of stale coffee bites,
with an acidic bitterness that gags.
that memorable flavor
Combining with the old taste of the last cigarette,
brings the pain of aging headaches,
and memories of stories before the road.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
I see you sitting
on the red bed
drinking Retsina
against the white wall
where we had
drawn hexagrams,
in your black slip
smiling up at me
in the pellucid
Greek light.
Since that moment,
Forty-five years
have dissolved
like tears
in a hurricane.
You are only a
ghost who smiles
in my memories.
I never thought
I would find another
woman like you,
strong and complete.
But I have travelled
far and long
and like magic,
here she is.
Thank you for saying
that one day
I would know love
because I was worthy.
And you went away,
and she is here.
Ghosts always
tell the truth.
If you are patient.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
nutemeg oil
drenches
An Index of Hexagrams
delicate as an fairy
her knife dances
The Galaxy into Her Skin
sleeping on her
bed of bay leaves
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Im order, I'm nothing, I'm something
Like the seed in the soil that blooms the thorns that creates flower
Im like fluid
Im direct and passive
Im the father
Im like the 72
Im in the eyes of you!
I absorb, i destroy, i create
Im the form of chaos that creates purification that creates stars
I go by many names
The tao knows me
Im the never ending space
I implode and i explode
Medieval Ages used me to win wars
Solomon conjured my names
Blackmirrors are gateways to me
The hexagrams speaks my process
My formation is limitless
The observation defines me
Everything returns to me
Im thee .
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC