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.

if we must die,
let it be known that
you're only as great as yesterday lets you.
that the leader of men carries the hope of all men.
that the world is never the final destination of life.
that man is only a photograph of heaven.

if we must die.
let it be known that eternity lives in every face.
that the mind is all but a femur of the unspoken soul.
that you are only a footstep ---
and every footstep must wash so to leave room for other footsteps.

since we must all die,
let it be known that you once stood--

let that be known.

Poison spoon fed the nodding King and ended ancestors.

Holy cows bought government *****
and ate suicides grown by ***** Kubla Khan gospels.

Shantih, Leviticus, and other proper thoughts
kissed arms of air and made islands from memories of breakfast.

Eternity perished in the illusion of swallowed tongues
in the belly of an infant—
and yesterday,

Only one bullet of hallelujah stood swimming.

My words flow
like rivers and streams of life
for my soul  that is feeding
my every desire to reveal
stories of old chronicles
of loves and dreams
and tales of being alone
and being together with someone
as the wheels keep turning.

Sometimes I am grateful
for what I am and what I have
because it has not really
been that bad and no run
on my bank can drain it
because my wealth
is not possession but love
and a grateful heart
that is grateful of the people
who have made
me happy.

Sometimes we have to
stumble often to reach the truth
as the wheels go round and round
and like the tides our moods will rise
and our moods will fall
and we must realize
that all of our problems and heartaches
are in truth opportunities in disguise
as the wheels keep turning.

Confidence takes away fear
so we can become
the master of ourselves and laugh
at our mistakes and our burdens
will lighten and we can  not
waste another moment mourning
yesterday's misfortunes
and as the wheel turns
our failures teach us.

What sometimes breaks us
makes us stronger and in the end
our strength is unbreakable
because when we discover that strength
we begin to believe in ourselves
and others begin to believe in us too
as the wheels keep turning.

As I turn from the past
and return to the present
I look into the eyes of love again
knowing that she will be the last
because her eyes focus on the present
and she helps me to let go
of those things that were
very bad in the past
and were not meant
to last.

As nothing grows into something
hope is found and love becomes a condition
in which the happiness of another person
is essential to our own
so all we can do is dare to dream
and believe that our star will guide us
as to which way to go
as the wheels turn ever so slow.                      Jon  York                2012

Life takes many
strange turns and sometimes
we just never seem to learn
as we keep making
the same mistakes
over and over again
seemingly enjoying
the burn.

So much pain
but sometimes the pain
feels so good
leaving us to wonder
"how could that pain
be turned into gain?"

If it doesn't **** you
it makes you stronger
and allows you
to live a little bit longer
so just relax
and don't do anything
that might hurt you
until you have all
of the facts.

I choose to write poetry
to ease the pain
and to block those memories
of having played along
with those stupid
little games from all
of those no names
that I am trying to forget
and replace with
thoughts of a  new love
and new memories
that we will create
in the future.

I am still alive
despite every ones
******* jive and stupid lies
and realize that if
they didn't **** me that
they only made me stronger
and as a result
I am going to be around
for awhile longer.                          Jon   York          2013

I am a traveler
of both time and space
and a descendent
of the gentle race of poets,
writers and artists
whose job it is to take others
on a journey through
time and space with the powers
of imagination and expression
using a tender pleasing
quality.

With my words and paintings
I can be painfully sharp
to the emotions and senses
or deeply moving and stinging
pointed and piercing to the point
as I take you deep into the depths
of your own personal Hell
or into your own personal Heaven
with the stroke of a pen
or the stroke of a brush
on a canvas.

It is a powerful gift
few possess but also
an endless torment
because so many words
screaming in our head
just wanting to be read
and sometimes the noise
in our heads is so loud
but we are proud
to have this ability
to take others on a trip
through time and space
and helping others to
stay in the race.

As artists we sometimes
may grow weary
of so much travel
of time and space
but this is our place
and what we do best
so we just write and paint
letting our creations rest
for others to see while
hoping to be set free.                  Jon  York            2013

It only takes one person
to change your life
. . . . . . .you.

Do what makes you happy
even if others
think it might be ******
so be with those who
make you smile
and  for you
will go that extra
mile.

Laugh as much
as you breathe while
loving as much  
as you live and
always have some
love to give.

Never lose heart
and never give up hope
while never losing faith
as you never give up
on things that
you need to do
for you and
the love you will recieve
will change your
life and there will be
much less strife.                       Jon York       2013

I remember. . . .
When I first heard your voice
and I knew at that very instant
I had no choice but
to make you mine
in time.

I remember. . .
That you saw my pain
and my sorrow and you made
me look forward to
another tomorrow
and you made me laugh
and feel alive again.

I remember. . .
The first time we touched
and it seemed so right
that I never wanted to let go
and when you told me
that you loved me
and it set me free because
I not only believed it,
I felt it too.

I remember. . .
When I felt your smile
as we kissed and
as we lay in bed together  
nothing else mattered.

I remember. . .
when you called me
just to hear my voice
and thinking to myself
where would I be if you
hadn't come along
and set me free.

I remember. . .
the feeling of your body
so soft and warm as you
slowly rode me
through the night
and oh my what
a beautiful sight.

I remember. . .
telling you that I once
knew a place cold and frightening
and bitterly blue
and if you should find
yourself there too
I'd hold your hand
and walk with you.
                                           Jon York                2013

oli  alolalia, alloilaalia llia
my voice complies to echo
distant emblems of a theory of all fate,
destined  with a syntax  of a mainly nonsense  pedantry
..paling.. beside a string of random words--
whether nature's bare effect,
or some intentional array--
ailololalieae, aellolalia la aolilolalia, allollia allali lllla, alloalia alllaia, allolalia*
--bearing ologies of whim and isms without ambit,
a farce within a sham in a sham in a sham
waiting there atop an abstract, ancient hill
gloriously stale, and always having been to be
what only poor Laplace could see.
the comely resignation siren sings,
her hair of timely strands agleam
and waving as she wails before a wall of necessary moans
aelloliaolia llali, alilaolaloiaa. Lllaa oali, aallolalia, lli ll ol, llolalia lllalia, aallaoloaloia
in dagger tongues of old and new, even divination ends--
anti-grammar soothsaid by the stars,
pointless thanks for all respite
and fortunes womb to womb
in tones of equal portions,
loving and malicious lies
invested blindly in a causalistic chain
compelling freely all to learn
another hyle verse refraining on,
"sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea."
allolalia.        
allolalia of the soul, for certain.
of what is romanticized as soul. the Incy would know,                         
chosen in fantastic leaps a chorus strips
to vocal altivolant cries
rebounding buttress heights
with savored dionysian sin
the gods descended to revise--
listen, in abandon, an amatorculist's ictus speaks:
allolalia a allaia. Alloolalia allolalia alaloolaleioa
resounding deep beneath the waters, ecstatic envelope of tides
in which the stars reflect the spiral of my inner gaze
chiaster noemes tipping pleasure over domes,
verdant crotches rooted by ephemera of lights
and hazes floated over eyelash swoons
from piercings into satisfaction's desert end,
where sternums drip with scoured lusts
and wide-eyed recollections of the moment's selfhood sight
betray the freedom in the heart, and sacral pride.
***** imagined ease of future tropes
conjoined with inner plights to balance
what the furrowed brow concerns,
and widened visions offer further depths
to penetrate the interweavement of all times--
alone i'm here again, recognizant of wills
familiar as the flaming star i contour shadows from
to reminisce on mentor's sayings,
"exact description of inner and outer reality"
Alelaoolaliai alololialiia, aallolaleia
experiment of worlds, archer of the proper noun
allolalia... beloved allolalia...















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