Tonight, we will sink

take 8 deep breaths
place a hand on your head
pray that you never know pain

I hope
(for your sake)
there is never a locomotive
in your pristine living room
or bloodstains on your flawless carpet

I hope
your mirrors never shatter
                  into a thousand
downward kamikazes
glinting with deadly glory

I hope these things
because I know
the dark side of stage-curtains

I have seen the wizard.

and if you can keep up the myth
of bleached-out living
    then maybe someone
             can finally rest in peace

A ravaged beauty -
long threatened tired life,
riding appreciated  


Friday’s  off-road cycle ride started late with a heart-choking chill head-wind blown rain - blurring my glassed vision, so I trusted into the triple lanes of colours slicing through the Vale of Neath.   Here a builder’s ladder jumped boomeranging off it's white van - attempting to decapitate me - behind me it’s miss was announced by squealing brakes and crunching impacts,  scaring alive splattered visions of a flat-end and being posted within a near drain.     Surviving today's devilled ribbon of the dangerous windscreen imprisoned - sitting with pub bound murderous cohorts - I found off-road safe solitude’s mountain bike path East to Coelbren - joining new, a fine yet unsigned cycle route curling around Mynydd y Drum, to open views of Cwm Tawe as I pass hunting twisting through woods a single Red Kite.   Then  gravities speed, circles barriers into Ystradgynlais top - a narrow ribboned descent, hemmed by cars and paved children to the rugby fields.

Senses travelogue -
previously un-experienced,
time spins slower

Here the trails old section points to Swansea - winding lost betwixt fields, paths, trees and roads to Cwmtawe Cycleway proper, there to pedal beside and across Afon Tawe with repeated special offers of  child saddled exhaust roaring  kamikazes, bicycle maiming broken glass, proudly owned attack dogs, branch hung ball-sacks of excrement, visions of the lost ripped-away steel gated stops, hacked-off wooden fences and never-there deceitful dreams of red doggy bins all disguised what passed for hidden beauty, which he called lovely ugly.    Backing-into Pontardawe to crawl away below the dark bridge, past a single inviting  pub - I accompany the Tawe and it's twin a decrepit polished canal through ***** alleys - until our hero stutters, gapes then tunnels under great noisious noxious ribbons of hurtling tired....

Pressured paced life -
impossible  commitments,
Living organic**

.

heavy clouds hang loftily
in the somber grayed skies
as infant drops begin their proud descent
tiny kamikazes upon our bare skin
like kisses from butterflies

the moan of muffled thunder
interrupts the tremolo whispers of the rain
as our naked toes dig into the earth's
sticky-wet clay

laughter drips from your wind-burnt lips
like the droplets from your hair
scents of sweet-rain and mellow-mud
wafting through the air

your wrinkled-prune hand nests within mine
as we slosh and shiver upon rebirthed earth
baptismal puddles swallowing our steps
our sins begin to dry

They throw bombs like I throw parties
And it’s equally hit and miss
Often a mess, never a success
And still we throw and throw

They have Molotov cocktails,
While I serve the regular kind
They’ll bomb your mind to pieces
While I serve peace of mind.

No bloodshed but ****** Mary,  
No barbarian, but Cosmopolitan
And my Irish Car Bombs and Kamikazes
Don’t bring death, but only fun

And the Paradise I’m aiming for
Contains gin instead of virgins
And Nixon doesn’t feed the flames
But keeps us frisky with its whiskey

So we’ll keep on throwing parties
And they’ll keep on throwing bombs
And we’ll keep on serving cocktails
Just to keep our conscience numb

Tell me about the dream;
where you found yourself surrounded in a sandy vacancy
and the sweat on your face glistened like wishes in a American fountain;
Tell me about the dream;
Where you saw the remains of the house your mother grew up in
And how you were amazed by the black shade that skeletons could take;
Tell me about the dream;
Not the dream you had when you slept all night wanting to go back
inside to your mother’s womb; the dream about the inconsistency of light in your apartment;
Tell me about the dream;
When you were five in Philadelphia, it was snowing like bed sheets like falling stars like—
I can’t remember; is it amnesia— no I just can’t remember;
Tell me about the dream;
Where rain kamikazes across your windows; shattering themselves into millions,  for the sun to take back
Tell me about the dream;
*The inconsistencies of light; how a bulb dying is similar to us; the way
Its flashes in front of itself just before it goes dark;

My Prozac Princess
Shooting Kamikazes
I admit, I'm emotionally unavailable
You keep looking at the time
And you've become obstreperous
Looking for press coverage and putting the peanuts in size order
I go over your poorly hidden fragility
While I work the graveyard shift

the movers the shakers
the doers the bakers
the candle stick
and rocket ship makers

a race of captains
setting course
on circles of pyres
bereft of remorse

parsing madness with words
in reasons on reasons
giving life meaning
against inner treasons

founded on tissue thin
mental accumulations
biases and ticks
and vague assimilations

with subconscious shadows
over Palimpsest traces
we are convinced
we know our places

building the self
on struggling riffs
captains of the dual
navigating ships

occupying armies
assassins lens
horrible secrets
terrible rends

are we not in control
making choices
weighing and calibrating
hearing whos voices

thinking there our own
between good and bad
but outcomes are crazy
dragging mad

do we choose thoughts
from shrunken forms
from rotten gods
in darkest storms

or perhaps possessed
by invisible believers
pulp hearted  creatures
pulling our leavers

that possess our soul
choose for you
what you think
and what you do

emanations from spheres
through our core to our brain
ephemeral forces
a patinaed, puce stained

skyway of cruelty
kamikazes dread goon
gods crossing each other
poxed ash moon

can we stop reflexing
with brazen compulsions
can we stop lying
with wrenched emotions

can we defy the elements
make someone care
transcend all that harms
and bring love to bare

can we shed
all we know
choose to move on
and choose to let go

are we trapped
in space and time
will we not struggle
Sisyphean blind

or are we mere avatars
in a game from x box
acting out our program
like a hunted down fox

we have five senses
to get through the day
with infinitely more
we could smooth out our way

brains like thumb stumps
form violence and hell
hooves of dragons
we buy and sell

what is a puppet
it moves as its pulled
by forces beyond it
is that why we are fooled

are we deluded
that we are the doer's
could we be puppet souls
of gods that are losers

Cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
ellos que tienen geishas y la sony
y samurais y teatro no
y kamikazes y kurosawa
y matsuo basho y panasonic
y aprenden flamenco por computadora
y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra

cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
supe que por fin había empezado
la sutilísima la dulce
venganza de hiroshima

i'll show you... the meaning
of blood-money - die blutgeld!
i'll show you for what you really
                              are,
frivolous debters, frivolschuldners!
die deutsche
machen wie viel wie jude-mensch
       sparen geld... kamikazes of debt..
i'm not repaying my
student loan, not unless
   i am employed
by a chemical company... no! *******!
   i'm not paying a penny back, unless
i'm working in a chemical company!
no!
             *******!
**** a lemon and then attempt a smile!
   o.k. o.k. squint with our eyes an attempt
at a smile... funny... the spaniards
have eyes that smile           (       (    
even if their lips don't engage an       )    
parabolla... evidently two negatives
make up a +...
               i always prefer seeing smiling
if not laughing eyes, than the orthodoxy
of the mouth faking it...

i prefer truth-telling eyes than
than the mimic of lying lips
and mouth...
    spaniard's eyes don't lie
when they're clearly laughing,
joyous...               (                        (
for when a man cries,
  his eyes are "smiling"       )             ),
wimbledon final, muguruza...
doesn't she have the perfect
smiling eyes     (                  (     ?
she does...
     she doesn't even require using
her mouth to smile,
  her eyes are already smiling...
its a spanish trait...
   no other ethnicity has that potency
to create a smile with its eyes...
     equation:
) + ) + | = a northern lament
                    ( + ( + | = a spanish smile...
<>: and that's a rhombus.

shore to shore
with a big blowtorch
till there no more
lies in my path
they’ll all turn to ash

I will burn bridges
by land and sky
with kamikazes
that I’ll fly
till there’s no more
caustic fuel
spilling out from the mouth
of a mule  

I will burn bridges
that cross into places
I shouldn't go
burning them slow
into the ground
till the fires lights up the black
and sparks of memories
are hacked

I will burn bridges
and then build new
with my hands
laying every plank
as it were seed
and plotting it out
braiding the tweed

Making strange sounds **** noises, beneath the covers,
Pompous poots from buffet lanes smells like white supremist ***.
Kamikaze!
Evil ******’ stinks!
Sounds right, smells wrong.
Gung-** to go.
Skechers without Tees sketching out
Smells like Mind -******
Not what’s up. What’s the sound
Of Empty,
The same as plenty
Time enough to Experience it
Heart full of heavy
With nothing at all, spiraling
Down
Drinking Kamikazes
Instead.

Waiting on the inevitable, waiting in line for broth and bread
Mass bombing campaigns, civilian casualties casually cared less about
Please clean water, please rain, we're licking the rocks, eating our boots
The rats are at war again, tails tied together, consuming eachother
Nuclear holocaust, the very idea of vaporization, lives lingering as black shadows on a wall
.38 special, black and white, execution in the streets
They pumped their caves full of salt water, then diesel, then burnt them alive
Kamikazes were told to keep their eyes open all the way to impact
It makes me tired, all these pills, all these useless cigarettes
I want to go in the woods and dig a hole, never come out, grow my own rotten roots
Waiting our turn for things to fall apart, that'll be $19.95, delivered to your doorstep
The conch shell is shattering, a spattering of mud for the city on the hill
How many bullets, how many bombs, how many broken bodies
How long until we overcomes, how long until we see ourselves as a species, not a flag
A day in our dreams, currently it has wings, twists away in the breeze, good luck catching it