At the feet of the sublime
Sculpture of this Galaxy
I am in awe of how quickly
The billions of years went by

A dream of the key of water
We walked upon a floor of
Crystal, in many forms
And our souls traveled to peaks

Virtual landscapes and subliminal
Recognition that we had seen
All that we visited there, experience
Was itself an invocation of

The highest order, capable of
Giving us emotions of the divinity
Of things, the lips of the sun ablaze
As a forgotten god laughing

Barefoot we made it through
Evolution like a story of all those
Sleeping lands, we created in them
With the will of our intelligence

It is not possible here to reproduce
All the characteristics of the original
Edition of the human journey
Progress is a succession of signs

The courses we adopted were somehow
Emphasized by instinct, like
The yearning to speak or the hope
That if we write about our consciousness

Something of our independent uniqueness
Might separate into others, like how
A poem influences other writers.

Ebola has my name on it, the Doctor
Who came back with Ebola
In New York, yes you heard me right
His name is Mr. Spencer, I’m a

Spencer, he rode the subway in the dark
And he went bowling a week after
He came back, and he only went
To the hospital very sick

This is dementia of the public system
And the main stream media
Is being blacked out by the Czar
Appointed by Obama, he’s a lawyer by trade

Are you surprised that Ebola
Can hitch a ride with a Doctor without borders?
There are no borders for a pandemic
It increases exponentially

And peaks sometime in 2017
I’m sorry to be the first to break
The News, but Ebola is running wild
Somewhere in New York, somewhere near you

There could be a city that has it already
And do you think the media would let you know?

I can lecture on the darkness
I’ve tasted shadows like burnt milk
I can lecture on the shadow

I’ve tasted her tongue-dried appetite
The way she cowers in fear
For what is new, in confronting change
I am older now, more fragile
Being had, enjoying how love decays

I’ve grown simpler in these hours
Dying, a bit each day
Though I admire great things that

Can somehow outlive their maker
Even if they have a false shine
As most human things do
And have a tinge of exaggerated
Self-importance, their relatively silly grandeur

I can lecture on the cruelty of men
And the sadism of women
Who care more for clan and religion

Than any real human goodness
We live in ignorant times
And the world is growing more illiterate
Each year, but that is not my affair
The disgrace of catalyst has yet to unfold
And how I shun the self-righteousness
Of the young, what they don’t know yet….

Help, Lord; for the godly has ceased in me;
For the faithful frail part of me has died
And this world’s corruption eats at my Will
My Will to Love, my tongue that’s silent
Our lips are our own: but where is my Divinity?
It does not reach for the stars
But is hidden in the shadow of my errors
I am oppressed by myself, my bad habits
And while I sigh for the needy, I am powerless
To help, to redeem this fate
The Words of the Lord of Love are pure
But purified now I am not, I am lost
Help, Lord; for the humble and the meek
Need a new kind of energy, strength, hope
When the vilest men are exalted, the most compassionate
Suffer the unbearable isolation of poverty
How long wilt thou forget me, Lord of Love?
How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
I have been looking for you everywhere
In everyone, but only see glimmers now
Having sorrow in my heart daily
Consider and hear me, O Lord my cherished God.

And the alphabet is longing
Language the key to the sky’s desire
A grace of words, to move the spirit
That moves by Him and lends
Mercy to power, gratitude to intelligence
And that law is a music, a Kingdom
Of poetry, those incantations
Where the vowels spread like mantras
And the songs reveal Her face
The mystery of our evolution
In mere syllables, moments of expression
And the letter is longing
And the sky-people write hieroglyphics
Not unlike mandarin, with concepts like Sanskrit
And our Law is their Law
We communicate in mathematics
And the translation of vibration
We attain diplomacy via Quantum physics
And the alphabets merge, like rivers
Into a sea of our unity, mystery blood of sentience.

During our love, houses were completed
spiritual homes where you
rebuilt my foundations

idealistic comforts that
somehow I had forgotten
among the gardens, listing
the essential spiritual pleasure
that had no country to root for

but accepted all beings
During our love, we felt
a peace where we were completed

finally, irrevocably, whole
as if lost forever previously
our touch was that mutual
sensation of shared mysticism
the chime of fortitude

and unity so foreign to our
previous human experience
you and I were still like

strange visions to behold
universal love, at just
the right temperature.

i have a rendezvous with rhyme
with only the lyrics of this orchestra
my cadence is only for rhythm
free-verse in its purest ingenuity

I ache for quarterly submissions
of my essential need to write
the autopilot poetica of my

last kaleidoscopic vision strange
a musical hopscotch of surrender
a mystical milking it of thirst

muse & fate here relaxes
for a final teasing and tasting
of the plump record of odes
and the promise of exhaustive cadence

that reaches humming pentameter
stares organic pink into utopia
requesting documentation from the stars

in how to be a poet, as legends burn
martyrs in their alien worlds
a last dynasty of awkward prayer-rituals.