i have a break at 12 o'clock
will you please come over
you don’t have to knock
i’ll leave the door open
it will be unlocked
a bouquet of flowers
i’ll have in stock
a vase and a candle
a knife and a blade
a face and a cigarette
its all about the way we explain
i mean rationalize away
do time-lines justify our decline into tyranny
send me back again to sublime infancy
retrofit the celibate instigator
lemniscate the elephant’s fingerprints
impress me with wit and charm
storm troopers unarmed
star-gazers, shadow-haters, sand-blasters, ice-skaters,
morning's lovers, fathers, daughters, shoulders and elbows
rub brows and crease foreheads
wrinkles in your timelines
define lines as destiny unwinds
reminds me of blinding light
the heights of old empires
sire warriors, stories as tall as soldiers
for real, heal the split between mind and body
kindly, lovingly, bump up against me
and kiss me again
i am music fused together with eternity
space and dust and rusted armpits
a hundred diamonds, drops of sweat
skin like leather, weatherproof, foolproof too
determine to use it all
for you are the muse of all
do as you need to
fuse it together lest it come apart again
return to heaven and mend the tear
split the hair or the atom
magic is a language
tragic is the cancerous neglect of syntax
emptiness is manic
gargantuan attacks of presence
defenseless, we are taught worthless ****
neglect it, but remember important words
stories, looms of drawings
forming in my mind’s eye
i cannot be bought or controlled by pirates
the best moments are private
you are not invited
so go home and create your own zone of entertainment
its necessary
your gentle fingers
blessing my soul
courage to roll with life’s blows
no need for stoics
or poets who deny reality’s arguments
slippery slopes
walking tight ropes
can you cope with all this mistletoe
restring your bow
dance in the snow as if everyone knows
you are crazy in love with the whole
motionless vision swift as an arrow
roofless rooms
prom queens flip you off and turn you on
sons and daughters, lions of the prairie
a child portable and small
respects the walls that you’ve made
they are not your cage but your shelter
self culture is affluent and not arrogant
sand mandalas tall as waterfalls
golden rainbows pour from the faucet in the sky
like mighty images
wisdom bridges the gaps in our imagination
i can’t wait to get this on the page
written in stone, reflecting thrones
made from the bones of pharaohs
consciousness narrows as you approach
are you a cockroach, coach or a student
strokes of wonder for different folks
cold call your own homes
do you prioritize lightning over thunder
words over rubber
sandwiches to clutter
are you interested in diamonds or other
precious gemstones
that flutter like butterflies when i utter
emeralds like butter
do you waste time arranging your clutter
stuttering utter nonsense
frequencies wasted, gentleness chased away
fantasies radioactive
magic lacks targets
darkens our fathers
keep chasing actions
satisfaction is attractive
your eyes are like fragments of rubies in the fire
i see beauty in desire, features in the sky
i look skyward and see higher
minds are wired to remain stagnant
stranded in a lack of entertainment
change this and make your own amazement
wonder over thunder, lick me down under
gone asunder like the burning acropolis
topple this bottomlessness
can't stop this, its impossible
i wonder do you make blunders
in underground mountains
we shout words like fountains shoot water
curtains topple over
and form a blanket over our consciousness
after our performances
swarms of crazy people leave the theater
shattered and too stunned to speak
to ****** to leak they keep walking down south
toward Plymouth Rock,
Mammoth Mountian or Rehoboth Beach
take stock of the situation and just move
first one out is rewarded
sordid and sorted like straw from the hay stacks
caskets of black iron casings
tastings of wine whose shelf-life is expired
past due cheese overripe and stinky
like mustard dusted with lightning
striking on time is all that we have
thinking that was a close call
we fall down and get up, remove the uppercuts
and lowercases from our mouths
doubt is a ***** word heard too often,
coughing from a coffin she offers me her hand
cold as ice cream, these nouns are deafening
love is lazy like a muffin
and hot like a dumpling
but a liaison with time cannot be rushed
i have lived long enough to learn this
a privilege to give birth to this moment
again and again vintage feathers
send me your sweaters
detest impostors who give robotic answers
i am in wonder at all this grammar
that i was unaware of
ignorant as mustard
and smooth like custard
in this blustery weather
i am glad i wore a sweater
and have an umbrella
to keep me dry and safe
i am in love walking toward the gate
and boarding that plane
i am your heart served on a plate
with a side of coleslaw, soul food for dinner
you are a winner and i am your hunger
a porcelain gravestone
a copper bathtub with claws
stored in your basement
storerooms cold as a skating rink
please don't think, unless its about me
let sentences drift away
while we chase arguments from yesterday's
armistice

as we
loom
our hands

tethered
like a
cat's
cradle to
the sky,

a slight shift
of foot and
the landscape
scatters
drunk
as the blue
seas of the
cloud,

the tide
strides to
the open shore,
wind in her
arms,
salt on her
breath,

every step
decadent and
rebellious,

every sip of the
wind an icy
storm,

and the sky
hangs like
a pendulum
in an old
grandfather
clock,

calling out
crazy minutes,
breathful
seconds,

i stand next to you,
knock on the door
of the airy sea
stare out,

curve like
an echo in a
cave,

a handwritten
poem, carved
out of air

while you,
boy of dream,
kiss me like
a wild sea,
restring the
broken violin
of my heart.

Looking across the crashing Sound
Spirit broken by the waves
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

Only able to muster a frown
As I considered my awaiting grave
Looking across the crashing Sound

Captivated by each wave's pound
Their song made me a slave
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

T’would be but an instant for me to drown
No coast guard to perform a daring save
Looking across the crashing Sound

I took a deep breath and a long look around
Tried making my way to the damp sea cave
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

I tried in vain to get my mind unwound
No longer desiring to rant and rave
Looking across the crashing Sound
I sat upon the cold, wet ground

ANSWERLESS RIDDLES are mating with my squirmish thoughts
they swirl and ferment inside my skull; pulsating neurons in my head
I feel it before I hear it, as the laughter bubbles up from within me
but there is nothing to find amusing, and my hope lay dying, now dead ~ ~ ~
the last of the cords holding together my sanity are frayed and slipping quickly
I am helpless to restring them alone, so far beyond my arm's reach
I can sense this rushing of maniacal laughter building up within me again
and then my fear seems to dissapate as my mind travels to lands with too strange a concept to teach ~ ~ ~
in years gone by, perhaps I have known traumatizing troubles too intimately
maybe I have allowed myself to, continuously, keep detouring from a wholeness I possessed once before
this sound escaping my strained lips right here and now is speaking of a new, different story
oh thief!! sanity has become a stolen piece, and not again shall it ever reside in me, no, nevermore ~ ~ ~
I am, and yet, I see nothing, save for some undescribable, disturbing chaotical nonsense before me
failure... I cannot create any sense or light to manuever these biting, foreign seams
I cannot help but to question whether any true relevance will ever actually be found here
this laughter just, unfaulteringly, sings itself to and from anywhere - even in my resting dreams ~ ~ ~
this sudden, burning desire fills me, and I think I'll cut myself loose, allow myself to go now
I'll float on down this hideously contorting river of giggling screams that I've dreaded to face
yet all such fears have begun to fade as my undeniably worthless grasp is slowly released
destined in time for me to reside, here is a numbing, emotionless, vile and heartless place ~ ~ ~
I cannot hault this shrieking laughter that bursts forth, exploding from my lungs
yet, I feel blank, so somehow this, and all else too! - has found its path to indifference here
my few, meager joys may have run away, escaping along with my misery and sorrows then
I have grown numb, become spiritually void, thus, I feel none of this, and I've no worries, despite my sanity's departure (forever disappeared...) ~ ~ ~
Death's threatening gaze carries no weight in an existance which lies always so lifeless as this
already, I've relinquished myself to surviving as no more than a zombie, a vacant shell, chained and bound in a permanent, deep and impenetrable trance
I once clutched an empty chalice to fill the hole from whence my inner peace had, long before, fled
abandoned then, abandoned again, my only company fated to be the humorless laughter that comes flooding from my open mouth and leaves me a twitching death-maiden, bound to a passionless, eternal dance ~ ~ ~
but none of it matters, oh, not in the least, minute way, oh no no, not anymore
I haven't even the faintest hint, nor trace of awareness remaning for me to care
here, there isn't a god, there is not a satan or devil - no heaven, nor hell, nothing to inspire your soul
AND IT IS HERE, to this place, we shall all eventually belong, and together spend eternity, with naught but expressionless stares... ~~~

Your heart it is broken, so broken in two
The hurt that you feel is immense
But guarding your heart by withholding your love
Just does not make any sense

Your heart like an instrument needs to be tuned
And its strings they need replaced
Polished and cleaned and buffed to a shine
A heart broken can have a new face

Don't stop playing your music you just hit a wrong note
Tune, restring, polish and clean
Take up your heart and try once again
And soon you will see what I mean

Write - untamed !    in fearless insecurity
unconstrained by censure
silence or petty malcontents

seeking not   gratuitous affections
embattled by honesty
against oppression    voice dissent

form - finds her beauty in a winding oaken staircase
poetry - toils within each acorn
crafting her spiraled ascent

seek thy inmost pen     twitching  'neath bound skin
in living script    DNA writes
so mysteriously eloquent

restring mind's bow    thoughts reified as arrows
in ardent release    unwavering    let fly !
Artistry - true to thy own hearts intent

~~~~

A fallen acorn cannot imagine its life
formed into a winding  oaken staircase.
As the oak tree cannot love the artisan carpenter;
a fallen world cannot conceive of what artistry
God's Carpenter desires to craft within  us.

geo.v  4/2015


A reading by: Horace (translated by Francis)

"The wood-born race of men when Orpheus tam’d,
From acorns, and from mutual blood reclaim’d.
The Priest divine was fabled to assuage
The tiger’s fierceness, and the lion’s rage."

Please restring your useless piece of junk,
those types of friends are banned in this area.
Haha,
I see, you want to tune mine now?
Maybe you should have done it when you had the chance.
This young man will never look you in the eye again.
That's gotta hurt!

I stare at the closet doors.
Ugly brown bifold  doors that slide open.
They are in the house we moved into
1800 miles away from home.
That east coast house holds memories, tears,
     pain and tragedy.
A new start, a new home, a new place.
Behind the closet doors are his guitars.
Those strings played countless chords;
Chords that eased his soul and occupied his mind.
Notes rang out. If you listened, you could hear his story.
I miss his music. I miss his beautiful eyes...
I miss my child.
The doors are open and I take out the acoustic guitar.
Strum to check out the tuning, hoping to play,
But the strings are old and out of tune.
They are worn like my soul.
Tears fall as a place the guitar back.
The last thing he did before he died was play one last song.
He tucked his pick neatly in the strings,
Then he was gone.
I close those ugly brown doors knowing that soon I will try again.
Maybe one day I will restring that guitar,
But for now, I will just remember.

The music always reminds me of her skin
so soft,
so gently tender
she invites me in to feel the notes,she plays
upon her heart strings and she lays herself to strum some more,then in these lonely moors of melody
I sing to keep her company and to be at one with her,we share the staves and octaves,enslaved to what becomes desire and the music that she plays defies the laws of gravity where we both float in that ecstasy that only lovers know.

There is little time to feel the rhythm,hear the rhyme but I will stay,I want to watch the play of fingers over frets and let's do it once again.

I watch as the evening of the last day rolls on in and pin my ears back to listen and try to understand,
where did the music begin and did I know how fast or slow to make those moves?

I want to go back to the start and restring the lonely heart or play symphonies across her keys
and if only this could be,
that I could find the music man in me.

In the middle of the desperation sea
miles from land
you torture me
with sadness rising up in tides that carry me across the scales,
and as my confessions ,declarations sail into port fortissimo
I want you to know
that now I know and can we play the music one more time
before I go.

The sun beats down
the waves make a laughing sound
my buddy sits, picking at a backlash
its a dollar a fish, and I'm taking his cash

As I catch bass on every other cast
he sighs loudly, still on his ***
I tell him to cut it and just restring
he says but I just put line on this **** thing

The wind cools the dripping sweat
while he is sitting there, I say hand me the net
as I boat another big fish
he looks for a Genie to make his wish

I look at his knees, they are glowing beet red
I am glad I put sunscreen on my face and head
he goes to stand, finally retied
he moans loudly, his knees are fried

Too late now, to apply lotion
tomorrow in jeans, he wont enjoy any motion
as the denim, rubs the blisters more raw
and I give him the total, from the fish that I caught

See I caught bass, the number  twenty three
while he was backlashed or stuck in a tree
He finally did manage to catch some
but too little to late the damage was done

He hands me a twenty
I go to slap a knee
his fist comes up and waves at me
then his ******* is finally set free

I say when are we fishing again
tomorrow evening he says with a grin
See no matter how good, or bad the bite is
its always better than work, taking care of the biz

vision persists in memory of the eye
where moving image still seems full and bright
though many hopes have faded into night
and all is strange now under a new sky
and other stars still hearts demand to fly
into the realms of true and honest light
where none will question when we reach the height
nor will each word be stifled by the lie
we ask the dragon for one drop of blood
to change the order of things now well known
into fresh truths and we restring the lyre
to have our songs resound above the mud
into that air where one bird soars alone
reaching towards the source of light and fire

They knew, you know,
It was all revolving, evolving
A new beginning from an end
That rejected me in its
Writhing rebirth
They had only to wave me in
I would have bent my purpose to them
And folded into their darkness
But I will not restring this bow
I am broken
I will go
I will sing soft words of sorrow
To the hard frost of the morning
It will be the same old song
If you know the words
Face down the wind and I
Might hear you sing along.

Restring the crossbow, wax to smooth the rail.  Sight in the little dot....ready for a shot.  Been quit a while since I've made a ****....tough to take a chance with houses on the hill.  

Maybe today my little fury friends....I won't make you suffer .....neck shot, broken, fall...the end.  Hang ya on a tree, strip off all the skin, bleed ya from the neck, gut ya now I'll cut you limb from limb.

Pack the meat in ice.....go home to make some dinner... venison enticed.  How should I prepare you ..grilled or slowly stewed. Perhaps I'll make a birria...Bubba...I leave it up to you!

swirl it around in your mouth
but don't ever doubt it
for its all around you
your daughters determine
the meaning of mountains
stand upon the fountain
and surround me in your garden
i am smart and lovable
you are untouchable
remorse is a waste of time
your sweat and drainage
create stains in our village
can we make meaning together
if i am made of leather
you are like a feather
you fall to the ground
in a ripe symphony of sound
loud and clear i hear your breath
stake your claim in my namesake
this cake is compliant
with your taste buds
so strut out in public
wearing nothing but a sweater
start to stutter and feel ashamed
these **** nation states
with restaurants and gaming parlors
are basically empty canvases
painted upon by smelly relatives
our ports are biased
and these fires are selfish
her paintings are violet
and feel like velvet to your touch
you melted in my mouth
before i was redirected
you licked your fingers
immediately after they lingered
in your underwear
oh baby these eloquent consequences
are the sweetest elements
denser than your eye-shadow
hope you are ready for the end of the road
for if they form a straight line
will it be mine or another's
open hands and dynamite
reaching through your windows
in a couple of more minutes
we may be able to hear the children
who stand in vulnerable positions
deepening their ideas
for once they are able to speak clearly
weeds are picked from fragile gardens
as standard houses were built in the fifties
and then remodeled again and again
can we create a new vision
for what is abiding is no longer present
the essence is in rhythmic communication
choose intelligence over banquet halls
no more auditoriums please
where grumpy elders
turn feelings into feathers and leaky faucets
they repeat their fading retrospectives
in empty galleries
we all like labeling anomalies
so restring the lyre
for once i hear you
speak of love’s defacement
you untie the laces from your shoes
as sweet scents of unrest
fill this body to the limit
our claims to righteousness
are constantly being contested
by our shadows

early december in my mind’s eye
i am reading cohen again
i shave my head - i wear Your clothes
i sleep in the garage
there are no windows

the roof leaks quick trails of water
even when i hear no rain
i go barefoot most days
there is no one left to impress with courtesy

i won’t make Your bed
i left Your trash on the floor
and the pills in Your dresser
i don’t want to see how it looks
when You don’t live here

i eat once a day
if the mood hits me right
and if it gets quiet
i restring Your guitar

i went to see You last week
i had nothing to say
because You are not this headstone
what do i say to a rock
You still make me feel stupid

it never gets this cold in june
i fall asleep in the snow