"philosophizes" poems
The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,
or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,
or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******
as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.
Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.
or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments
from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.
Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.
“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
I speak two languages
English and Mandarin
I have known them for years
they are my friends
they are my enemies
Without the right words
I cannot understand
the language of art
of poetry, of writing
of what it is to be human
When the right words come
it slips subtlety across my lips
Boreas, the Greek god of the cold north wind
descends upon the staged mythological scene
with violent purpose; all is a torrent of charged masculine rage.
Such sense of impending danger
describing a force beyond human
yet carrying a distinctly human emotion
Rage and violent anger
Words show me what I cannot see
Beyond the brush strokes
Beyond the composition and form
I hear words that describe
that philosophizes and enlightens
the mind, soul, and body
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 8:27 AM UTC