Like Oedipus I am losing my sight.
LIke Judas I have done my wrong.
Their punishment is over;
the shame and disgrace of it
are all used up.
But as for me,
look into my face
and you will know that crimes dropped upon me
as from a high building
and although I cannot speak of them
or explain the degrading details
I have remembered much
about Judas -
about Judas, the old and the famous -
that you overlooked.

The story of his life
is the story of mine.
I have one glass eye.
My nerves push against its painted surface
but the other one
waiting for judgement
continues to see . . .

Of course
the New Testament is very small.
Its mouth opens four times -
as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster,
yet somehow man-made
held together by pullies
like the stone jaw of a back-***.
It gouges out the Judaic ground,
taking its own backyard
like a ****** daughter.

And furthermore how did Judas come into it -
that Judas Iscariot,
belonging to the tribe of Reuben?
He should have tried to lift him up there!
His neck like an iron pole,
hard as Newcastle,
his heart as stiff as beeswax,
his legs swollen and unmarked,
his other limbs still growing.
All of it heavy!
That dead weight that would have been his fault
. He should have known!

In the first place who builds up such ugliness?
I think of this man saying . . .
Look! Here's the price to do it
plus the cost of the raw materials
and if it took him three or four days
to do it, then, they'd understand.
They figured it weighed enough
to support a man. They said,
fifteen stone is the approximate weight
of a thief.

Its ugliness is a matter of custom.
If there was a mistake made
then the Crucifix was constructed wrong . . .
not from the quality of the pine,
not from hanging a mirror,
not from dropping the studding or the drill
but from having an inspriation.
But Judas was not a genius
or under the auspices of an inspiration.

I don't know whether it was gold or silver.
I don't know why he betrayed him
other than his motives,
other than the avaricious and dishonest man.
And then there were the forbidden crimes,
those that were expressly foretold,
and then overlooked
and then forgotten
except by me . . .
Judas had a mother
just as I had a mother.
Oh! Honor and relish the facts!
Do not think of the intense sensation
I have as I tell you this
but think only . . .

Judas had a mother.
His mother had a dream.
Because of this dream
he was altogether managed by fate
and thus he ***** her.
As a crime we hear little of this.
Also he sold his God.

trippin on a drug called power
elevated from the ground like sky high towers
turning mortal men into monsters
turning gardens of goodness into demonic dumpsters
turning flowers of love into ****** barbwire
slow soul subtraction assets quickly turn to loss
turn a snot nosed punk into a shot calling big boss
turning stations and twisting knobs
small tin soldiers turn into genocidal gods...
with powerful rods of wrath and revenge
creeping death on the end of a syringe
on a neverneding binge burned and synged and set to devour
trippin on a drug called power


false prophets,preachers, and puppets bring that ridiculous revival
on sweaty sin stages of strength and mad survival
slaves and kings on ropes and pullies
helmets head get struck with bullets
and prisoners of pain they wither into nothing
strong ones die like there's no tomorrow
trippin on a drug called power


i rise like the sun and fall down to my knees
that drug called power leaves me dark and diseased
the heartless warden laughs as he dangles the keys
he screams like a ****...."WORK WILL MAKE YOU FREE"
i die like the grass and toxic trees
i swim with the fish in a cyanide stream
satan feasts on my flesh...he grins and he seethes
seconds and minutes march on to meet that final hour
trippin forever on a drug called power.

Pullies pulling from known meadows
Reels in Dark hallways
The patients' rooms shine reading lights
But flowers bloom outside

Hope's aura locked from blind eyes
These bricks must hold the key
Boom sounds the drum, a distraction I suppose
But break this padlock free

I'm a genius, I can't be held
Every chamber I've decoded
Slash these chains, still I haven't found
True light remains hidden

"Give up", says the voice
"Home is gone, forever undiscovered"
The drum beats on and so I follow
And become the light of others

I've always thought about making a photo series of only people's hands
And sometimes I think of my own hands at different stages of my life

In childhood - filthy, bitten fingernails

That time when I was 15 and I decided I was done biting my fingernails so I painted my nails black every day for 3 weeks - only to immediately start biting them again.

The pick pick picking of the skin near my thumbs. Every partner I've ever had desperately grabbing my wrists, begging me to stop.

The actual hundreds of times my fingers had part time employment dunking in bags of molly.

Nervous hands slipping baggies and money in palms on the dance floor.

My sweaty palms when I get too high, fingers fumbling to get the **** baggie opened.

That time I sliced my thumb open when trying to learn to shave because I was too embarrassed to ask for help. I was 13.

My finger I re-sprained over and over again for 6 months doing yoga.

My fake knuckle tattoo phase - oh to be 2006 again.

My hand holding yours.

The first and only time someone bought me a ring, and I put it on my finger and felt nothing.

But I left it there.

Guess I'm ****** up/

Callouses across the top of my palm from 4 years of yanking on swan-boat pullies all summer long.

Sometimes I look at old pictures and I look at my hands and I swear to god I clenched my fists for 3 years after my father died.

I look at my hands and I think of the all the things we choose to hold on to.

And I'm always reminding myself to make sure I let go.

Sailors tie your knots oh
How form the dew-dead day
With yawns, fill with yards
How long we long to see.

Polyglot plow yank the pullies up,
Dumb-mouthed in them foaming
Naught and naught not,
Want is feral need.

Peach of preacher's pitcher
Dally down there mince one would away
Oh docimer and dale how the summer's sum
Would taste of eden milk and sap-spring age.

Diamonds polish
Hear me as I wake
And shakes of the eruption gape
Typhoon tongue all luck god made of colors.

Versailles sails on gleaming wave,
Wails sun licked flowers
Ford bread and bread plumb thigh
Feather bald mark the mist
And text is bound in spinning
Spun pink lipped
on promised the Fruitfold heart.

Ampersand revere on fast the raft
AMpersand and apple
Eve and illum.

Discard your tear,
For flair and fear
You are the one and one only.

Fine-finned tune and tossel
Soil green and brick red beach
Pennies cross
And churchyard grave
Good faith forever.

Heal and heath the number pallette
Appetite and berry-bled
Thick as theft
Godspeed your merry-go-round go.

If men were meant to walk on ice,
If all the sane sea were it would that were itself and ours again as always.




Ninth Element; Life binge part 1 Act 1 Verse 2:

The dancing underclothed, and piped
Salted butter and comb-boxed bine.
The dabble dream with sand and shore,
Scold those lavender farms.
Safe as soul, iron-reed,
Stripped stolen, with fast forward VHS eyes
Of sin of the sin's sink
And Belfast brine.

Ah, steal away their suns
With hot and heavy come
By spool and seal
The halls of milk
Insert your pewter
Jade bats and caught blood bleeding.

Ah, Byron on the bay theology
And march your Caesars
In the polyglot pine
With feast of friends and wanton war
The bomb-teared turn of time.


Unresumed the Ninth Element, return to return form.



And burst your fruits the pelican bask the shells in your throats
The swapped peppered sang the day away
With savage swim! savage and starving, burst forth from nature's breast kindly;
Double-down locked in his feeling chains.

Faire hill and shawl of sheet,
Princess Victorian homes sunny swam in my dream dozing.

Aye, hap-hap and lazy, tribe of tallows we clink our glasses looking smug,
Windows 98 in the hours of our breezes.

Upon the barre of harbor, how the fishermen flung their catch
And wheels fish fast dancing babies in the stalled steam.