Would you banish me if I confessed
a secret thrill the instant
shrill sirens intrude,
rudely breaking in
to shove aside my trailed-off whispers
with a wail from which no earwax,
no matter how doughy thick,
could keep a modern Ulysses safe.

Maybe it’s this time
they’ll stop for me.

Maybe it’s this time
and there won’t come a knock.

Maybe it’s this time
the stale crust of hardening past
explodes to scorch a put-upon earth
or crack her open so we can,
you and I, slip through,
up among the slewfoot roamers.
Their heavy heads are down,
always down, down,
pointed down and they’re unaware
there are germs here.
There are puffs of dainty fluff floating
close above them here and hoping
to ride our slipstream,
to skip over those dreams
too drained of ambition for ever
to germinate.

Ignore, am I
the kind to ignore? I am
ignoring them right now,
and the dimpled facts
they’d dare be
if beggary wasn’t better served
than derring-do. Don’t
tell me you don’t see them too.

I’ve witnessed the self-interest
and I’m still abiding, dude,
but when, dear God, when
will enlightenment finally arrive?

it's naked how in June
(hot uncluttered flesh)
by lips and parting

                                    do caress

with careful splitting
and agile mess
unsaintly contents

                       ,             wriggling
  ,       spilled adolescent
bodies filled
              in eager sating
                            days were killed
                  and the arcuate pleasure of
           thighs and *******
       tongues between
     cotton dress
    spiced and
   folding
  ******* fret
  at mangled balling
  upon lewd dashboard kept

I've seen criminal things
in far out places,
glided through
clouds of nicotine,
rubbed shoulders
with the dregs
& probably sinned.

I've been the superhero,
& played the unsaintly god
on the pages,
in the books,
maybe in some poems,
written by others.

And in retrospect,
I wouldn't have it
any other way,
watching my
days play out.

It was something I said, or thought I meant
to say, before I die, finally…

Life as imagined, as a magi
in a jug, a mind entrapped in a parable
sorted into a class
ifity activated by the name

Magician, practi-tioneer of
magnificent knowing

{8:27 prenoon, a single vape cycle}
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

-- mind and me, we rode in like the man on the horse

looking legendary as any cowboy can,
monstorous as an army of Mongols
from Indian retold tales,
emanating interesting times as curses
on the hidden things…

slay the singers, exile the poets, everytime
we build a wall,
henceforth, we reprove
the reason there is something that hates them,
history records many failed walls.
Fallen walls rebuilt on oaths of allegiance,
together, we
can… restore God's lost kingdom.
Who dies first after the old king,
his prophet, yes, but who
fit the prophet to the role?

first we slay the teacher,
then we burn the books, then we teach golden rules.
As everybody knows,
now,

it was not always so, oh think it not so,

let us pursue the delight of half known
verisimilitudes,

- begin here two lines up new me be

--- is it truth truth is one, and all
past that is guessing? One, once, I amity,
ever?
This has been declared in so many words
all intended to tie hearts and minds to reasons
emanating
from some secret source,
vowing
to hold holy secret
sacred meaning, too holy for the unsaintly horde,
to know,
of, ok, but never know, but by the vow,
take the cross, keep calm and
carry on.

When none may disagree,
none may signify truth with agreement,
-- not in truth as a whole, when told

for all intents, all reaches and stretches
of our, we now, see
not me, but words teleotic
you read and let the letters say
sounds that sound as bits of words,
I know you know what I mean, no trick intended,
each comma jot holds one breath,
taken, used and returned for refilling,
twisted threads of first good thoughts inform
no net spread
to snare your immortal soul,
kept in patience, by those who know
with science used,
power filled polisybilic cadence calls,

line up face front stand at attention
kneel and kiss the ring
around the symbol of power to live
in the dead center of ever, when ever begins.

(thy will being done, whither will ye have it?
Nay, not there,
there the will of Jah, yes, exactly…
you know… a
and if prayer were effectual, if, only
if, prayers prayed by persons of the common sort,
converted via word ******, sharpened sticks}

words effect minding rules with freedom, think
any what, in any ifery,
piece the pieces with matching faces in
perfectly fitted joins,
carpenter skill, with wood and will to shape
some worth filled
phor… a jug of wrapped mud, sound around
to hold the thought of god,

in a word.-------------------

elohim, el, oh, heem, the gang of gone goods,
imparting all that made them
imaginable,
coalescing into line upon line
precept upon precept
here a bit
there a bit
line upon line
precept upon precept
here a bit
there a bit

god forbid we forgive mary of magdala.
god forbid we forgive.
the collection of stones thrown that hang around her neck,
(she smiles tightly and promises it’s adornment.)
in this case, the crowd was free of sin, you see. how could such a crowd achieve the whoredom mary did?

heavy is the neck that bears the shame. one that turned for mouths, that gasped under nooses and hands and her own words.

god forbid we forgive the girl from magdala.
the body, and no more. the vessel.
her name with malice in the clergies, a sensationalism that must’ve made peter himself smirk.

here lies the magdalene, here lies the hole.
here lies the whole of her sins, every implication in her smile and laugh.

and so, the women jeered too. the women jeered too.

blessed she must be, to have been forgiven, and to love and to carry such loyalty.
truly blessed, truly wretched — a name that tainted deserves no sliver towards divinity.

sin is a woman, sin came from woman.
the fruit that has scorned man from her creation.

a piece of rib that one could do without.
a ***** they should have ****** on sight.

they’ll go for the knees before they go for the face. they stay and wait for the scream,
how her face will curl, unsaintly and impure.
(peter’s having a field day, but he won’t let you know.)

hallelujah, says the first blow.

written twelve years ago
when yours truly about two score
and twelve years old,
and fishy financial fiasco
about twenty six weeks
before being scalloped
courtesy villainous fraudster
otherwise known as scam artists,
blithely, glibly, and pliantly
fleeced with shear trickery
my coveted nest egg.

TO: TWO PRECIOUS HARRIS LASSES
WHO LIVE ON GREENTREE LANE
THIS FAST APPROACHING CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY
AS WILL READILY BECAME PLAIN
RECEIVED A SPARTAN GOVERNMENT LARGESSE
WHICH AFFORDS PRESENT
ONLY ONE BOX OF COAL APIECE
DISAPPOINTMENT THIS PA
HUMBUG ** HUM FELLOW
WILL TRY TO EXPLAIN.

OUTRAGEOUS COSTS
TO CLOTHE ELVES
WHAT WITH DESIGNER CLOTHES
AND THE LATEST TECHNOLOGICAL GIZMO
NEARLY BROKE THE PIGGY BANK
IN ADDITION TO FEED THE REINDEER
COMPOSED OF BUCKS AND DOES
THIS I TELL YOU
TO BE EARNEST AND FRANK
WHICH GRUELING BUSINESS
NEARLY FOUND LITTLE ***(ETS) FROZE
THIS GOVERNMENT ACTION
NO HALLOWEEN PRANK
NEARLY FOUND ME BEHIND BARS
ADDING TO UNFORTUNATE WOES.

SMALL TOKENS ACQUIRED
BY THE ABILITY TO SCRIMP AND SAVE
A PITTANCE COMPARED
TO LAST YULETIDE
YET NO INTENT TO BE MEAN SPIRITED
NOR RANT OR RAVE
FOR BOUNDLESS LOVE SPILLS FORTH
FROM SENSITIVE PRIDE
NO MATTER SOME
PERCEIVE ME UNSAINTLY
PURSE NICKETY KNAVE
RANK AS A WORSE CREATION
THAN FRANKENSTEIN’S BRIDE.

TRY TO REMEMBER
TIS THE THOUGHT
FROM WITHIN TO GIVE EACH
AND EXTEND THE SPIRIT
OF GOOD CHEER
THAT COUNTS MORE
THAN SPEND LAVISHLY
AND TO REALLY TEACH
SO CHERISH EACH
AND EVERY MOMENT
WITH PASSION TO SPARE.

NOW ONWARD AND UPWARD **
WITH THE SOUND OF SLEIGH BELLS
BACK TO THE NORTH POLE
THIS POOPED OUT HERD WILL GO
AND THE EXPECTED GIFT
FROM THE MISSUS A LUMP OF COAL
PLUS A LAUNDRY LIST
OF DUTIES PERFORMED
WHILE ENDURING TEMPERATURES
(INCLUDING WIND CHILL FACTOR)
THAT FEEL LIKE…
WELL BELOW ONE HUNDRED BELOW.