Placid, unsettled night - you shimmer under the surface
With potential resurrection for the day fallen short.
I am not the one aquainted, I am child heir apparent
Screaming at the stars as though I could make them my own.
The hollow marauders keep warm by their fire.
The sultan miscreants lay down to try death.
The unfathomable beast wanders the desert alone
With lust heavy eyes and passion's long breath.
It is too late, the time is nigh,
We're all done come sunrise.
The clock has rung twelve times;
The chariot turns pumpkin as the apocalypse flies by -
On Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen.
The Beast is upon us, we do not run.
Fly by you fat red apocalypse,
Bring the pedants presents and give the iconoclasts coal.
At least we heathens will be kept warm by our punishment
While the righteous will be cold, and then dust like us all.
Stick by your leisure, children!Don't go to the desert.
The beast will stare back and never let you go.
Death Valley will be yours if you wait long enough.
I am California, Knighted, combined with the stupor
Of all the drag balls given each night.
The rambling hobos and whores will wonder though,
Whether they'll be picked up too in the rapture tonight
Or if a cop will pick them up
And they'll miss the second coming.
I'll be listening to my ipod in the car so I don't care.
The Gasoline frenzy hits the fan like shit,
As the water pressure goes down while the floods go up.
California burns and the Terminator sits
Awaiting his throne by the beach in heaven,
Where coconuts will guide him on every front.
"It will never come," preach the cats in the alley,
Though it must be acknowledged
They got that message from the fish at the market
Who came from the deep sea, delivering news
From where the Titan's lay dormant,
But whispering secrets -
The main secret being that black holes are all.
But wait! Look!
Unexplained, equivocal signs in the sky
Mean its coming, the apocalypse, its coming. Oh no!
The signs in the sky are reflected in signs read on the streets
Who beg for Jesus and/or money with hype implored.
But lets face it now, once and for all -
Messiah's are unreliable and given to extremes.
There's no forgiveness but our own,
No salvation except for what we can save.
Come down, down, down London Bridges and World Trade Centers,
Come down, down, down Saddam and Osama,
Come down, down, down Blagojevitch and Putin
Come down, down, down Obama and Bush
And Kennedies and Nixons and Hitlers and Stalin.
Come down all ye tragedies and comedies,
These are all nothings that make our clocks tick.
And so deep in time, rearranged into motives
They become the sad mantles of blood shed for naught.
We shall go further until our thoughts become the stars.
09/09
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Anti-Christ II
You beast of democracy,
Destroyer of Virgins,
Canonizing triviality in the name of fair love!
I abhor your indifference,
Your rough riding spirit.
Go away from my window,
Leave my accounts alone.
You can steal my identity
But never my heart.
It extends beyond what you can document and control.
I sing for the power democratic from the self-knowledge view,
That loves generously and rightly
All the wind through the grass,
And every hole in the trees;
The power who feels sunlight on the iris,
To be intrinsic in reedeming the mind.
Lavish halls of lavish dancing
In the Garden of thought
Weave through a cornucopia of breeding
In the loquatious night of self-serving intellectualism.
I love it all - every shallow, hollow word
Feigning to be deeper than the Mariana Trench
And more profound than the moon.
I love them because they are trying to be something,
Because they are from voices of people I love -
Creatures of flesh who think as they live
When approached by and witness to things
Not understood that yet glow.
But the dark abyss of information
With its unruly angler fish bioluminesent hunt
Angles us in to disconnected devouring.
Are we yet dead? No, just in the stomach of the fish,
Flirting with its acid and mingling with wires.
We are thoroughly modern Jonah,
But no God will save us -
We wait for Pinnochio in the dark,
Disconnected, alone, hoping we'll be made real too.
09/09
Destroyer of Virgins,
Canonizing triviality in the name of fair love!
I abhor your indifference,
Your rough riding spirit.
Go away from my window,
Leave my accounts alone.
You can steal my identity
But never my heart.
It extends beyond what you can document and control.
I sing for the power democratic from the self-knowledge view,
That loves generously and rightly
All the wind through the grass,
And every hole in the trees;
The power who feels sunlight on the iris,
To be intrinsic in reedeming the mind.
Lavish halls of lavish dancing
In the Garden of thought
Weave through a cornucopia of breeding
In the loquatious night of self-serving intellectualism.
I love it all - every shallow, hollow word
Feigning to be deeper than the Mariana Trench
And more profound than the moon.
I love them because they are trying to be something,
Because they are from voices of people I love -
Creatures of flesh who think as they live
When approached by and witness to things
Not understood that yet glow.
But the dark abyss of information
With its unruly angler fish bioluminesent hunt
Angles us in to disconnected devouring.
Are we yet dead? No, just in the stomach of the fish,
Flirting with its acid and mingling with wires.
We are thoroughly modern Jonah,
But no God will save us -
We wait for Pinnochio in the dark,
Disconnected, alone, hoping we'll be made real too.
09/09
The Anti-Christ III
The thing I worry about most
Is the night when I will lay down in bed
And realize just how meaningless
It all really was.
09/09
Is the night when I will lay down in bed
And realize just how meaningless
It all really was.
09/09
The Anti-Christ IV
You Beatnick Scallywags! I'll deny the whole lot of you.
This opprobium will not be forgotten.
You rigidly moralize your fears into laws
Calling upon Jesus and righteous indignation
To collaborate with malleable minds in stupid plots
To destroy the poor and demolish the beatitudes.
Jesus would have none of you, I say, and its been said before!
He was no capatalist or communist, he was a free agent,
Beyond the opulent customs of a generation thats always a decade behind.
Where are the archaic angels who steer the walking castles,
Or the Cloud Kings that knighted Einstein with a broom?
Can the whole world be broken enough to be fixed right now?
The dinosaur democracy ate all the livid protestors
Who would sit out in rain with drenched cardboard signs
All night, relighting candles by the White House in hope
That a president would look out and see the light and know peace.
But nothing ever comes except rain and other unchanging things.
The soldiers of futility have fallen into the dust.
They've made homes among the coffins with windows,
They have children who pick at their scabs for fun.
Widows weep diamonds on the Equinox in alligator black, leather.
They scream at the hiccups from the world's hottest core.
I laugh at the thrones that are empty or burning
And yet the sight makes me sadder than crying could say.
I'll leave this old town, with its unpaved roads and dead horses.
The saloon looked like a cathedral when I first got here.
Now I see the Saloon is the Cathedral and the Cathedral is a facade,
With emptiness, no rapture, just emptiness,
Because the rapture has long been gone.
You've lynched me, mad mob and I'll never forgive you.
You can tar and feather my body but never my mind.
You can castrate my life but never my love.
If you crucify me, I will only come back stronger.
There's no way to beat change, it comes all the same.
Have at your hymnals and read your cheap Bibles,
Pray for the stasis that so many of us fear,
But I will have none, though looks can be decieving.
I am no Anti-Christ, I am Christ and you are Blind.
Come weary children to the hope everlasting
To the bottom's up gully of humility's sleep.
Friend not the friends who say they're your friends,
Give in to the homeless who beg for your help.
Go chant in the steeples, pray in the Alleys
Worship yourself so long as you're sincere.
Hold up your babies and let down your old,
Ascend or descend into night's quiet keep.
The quiescent bat gargoyles scream in their worship
On lonely beaches where the water needs the moon to survive.
The forests grow thinner and further from heaven,
They lack the hiding powers that once made them live.
The monsters are revealed now, naked and bare,
They sit in the monoliths of the modern age fair
Across from the valley, far from the ocean
Where the demons parade a light known to few
That captures the essence of God in a crystal,
It looks like a dollar but is red, ruby red.
And the night, once aquainted, holds fast the constitution
That preaches the freedoms of the America I love.
Where freedom to freedom is freedom indeed
With guns fully loaded and votes fully flung,
And pockets fully filled and prescriptions written out.
But then comes the freedom that Jack talked about,
And its beaten into nothing and told that its wrong.
The flags are lowered and white flags go up.
The Cannabis Society believes it will win someday,
But everyone else knows prejudice is too deeply rooted
In animals of higher reasoning who think that they're more.
Hahahaha. Freedom! What a thought!
So sweet in ideals, so hard in practice.
I once thought I knew freedom,
But it was just apple pie.
Freedom - what it is is too easily scary
What it isn't isn't disturbing enough.
There's no way around it,
You have to look:
Freedom is the smoke coming off of a car accident,
Its the blink at the center of every orgasm.
Nothing can control it or move much beyond it,
Everyone is subject to its ruling denial.
So have at me world, you angry, lofty mob!
Give me your electric chair and injection,
Every car bombastic day.
I'll still take you and hold you,
You are mine and I am yours.
By the crow that flies,
I love you and will keep you,
Pray for you and hate you,
Know you and kiss you,
You are mine, you are mine
I am yours, I am yours,
Shantih, shantih, shantih.
09/09
This opprobium will not be forgotten.
You rigidly moralize your fears into laws
Calling upon Jesus and righteous indignation
To collaborate with malleable minds in stupid plots
To destroy the poor and demolish the beatitudes.
Jesus would have none of you, I say, and its been said before!
He was no capatalist or communist, he was a free agent,
Beyond the opulent customs of a generation thats always a decade behind.
Where are the archaic angels who steer the walking castles,
Or the Cloud Kings that knighted Einstein with a broom?
Can the whole world be broken enough to be fixed right now?
The dinosaur democracy ate all the livid protestors
Who would sit out in rain with drenched cardboard signs
All night, relighting candles by the White House in hope
That a president would look out and see the light and know peace.
But nothing ever comes except rain and other unchanging things.
The soldiers of futility have fallen into the dust.
They've made homes among the coffins with windows,
They have children who pick at their scabs for fun.
Widows weep diamonds on the Equinox in alligator black, leather.
They scream at the hiccups from the world's hottest core.
I laugh at the thrones that are empty or burning
And yet the sight makes me sadder than crying could say.
I'll leave this old town, with its unpaved roads and dead horses.
The saloon looked like a cathedral when I first got here.
Now I see the Saloon is the Cathedral and the Cathedral is a facade,
With emptiness, no rapture, just emptiness,
Because the rapture has long been gone.
You've lynched me, mad mob and I'll never forgive you.
You can tar and feather my body but never my mind.
You can castrate my life but never my love.
If you crucify me, I will only come back stronger.
There's no way to beat change, it comes all the same.
Have at your hymnals and read your cheap Bibles,
Pray for the stasis that so many of us fear,
But I will have none, though looks can be decieving.
I am no Anti-Christ, I am Christ and you are Blind.
Come weary children to the hope everlasting
To the bottom's up gully of humility's sleep.
Friend not the friends who say they're your friends,
Give in to the homeless who beg for your help.
Go chant in the steeples, pray in the Alleys
Worship yourself so long as you're sincere.
Hold up your babies and let down your old,
Ascend or descend into night's quiet keep.
The quiescent bat gargoyles scream in their worship
On lonely beaches where the water needs the moon to survive.
The forests grow thinner and further from heaven,
They lack the hiding powers that once made them live.
The monsters are revealed now, naked and bare,
They sit in the monoliths of the modern age fair
Across from the valley, far from the ocean
Where the demons parade a light known to few
That captures the essence of God in a crystal,
It looks like a dollar but is red, ruby red.
And the night, once aquainted, holds fast the constitution
That preaches the freedoms of the America I love.
Where freedom to freedom is freedom indeed
With guns fully loaded and votes fully flung,
And pockets fully filled and prescriptions written out.
But then comes the freedom that Jack talked about,
And its beaten into nothing and told that its wrong.
The flags are lowered and white flags go up.
The Cannabis Society believes it will win someday,
But everyone else knows prejudice is too deeply rooted
In animals of higher reasoning who think that they're more.
Hahahaha. Freedom! What a thought!
So sweet in ideals, so hard in practice.
I once thought I knew freedom,
But it was just apple pie.
Freedom - what it is is too easily scary
What it isn't isn't disturbing enough.
There's no way around it,
You have to look:
Freedom is the smoke coming off of a car accident,
Its the blink at the center of every orgasm.
Nothing can control it or move much beyond it,
Everyone is subject to its ruling denial.
So have at me world, you angry, lofty mob!
Give me your electric chair and injection,
Every car bombastic day.
I'll still take you and hold you,
You are mine and I am yours.
By the crow that flies,
I love you and will keep you,
Pray for you and hate you,
Know you and kiss you,
You are mine, you are mine
I am yours, I am yours,
Shantih, shantih, shantih.
09/09
When The Gun Is Pointed (A Psalm)
I am waiting for the gun to be turned at me
So I can say "Yes,
Take me to that dream, that motorcycle dream,
Where danger is the road and the road is always free."
My Saints are all Saints because of how free the road.
And how inaccessible they feel to me now -
Kerouac, Gingsberg, Vonnegut, Dylan, Thompson -
Come release me when the gun is to my head,
Help me say "Yes" to the motorcycle dream,
Exploding all things quiet while slaying the dragon
Then building it all again to tear it down once more.
Let there be no brilliance in it,
No prophet-seeing knight.
Brilliance is unseen; resilience is known and matters.
All it takes is to be in no way dead,
To shake the sun for its worth and pick up the change,
Find the center where gravity will hold you up
And never lose sight of your feet in their shoes
On the wet rocks you traverse while time tries distractions.
I remember all the things I've seen
And the one time I came closest to Sainthood
Elevates me still today -
The biggest waves I ever saw
Smashed into the cliffside boulders
Outside of Cascais, Portugal.
I climbed down a perilous, stone way
Onto the boulders where the violent ocean abused the land.
The rocks trembled at each wave's impact
And I felt erosion in action, the decay of titans
The weathering of earth
All underneath my feet.
I could have died that day with one misstep,
Fallen to a scraggly doom
In the crevasse between two boulders
With the ocean pounding my carcass,
Ripping it apart so to never be found.
But fate had other plans,
And I did not perish.
I had approached the living power that resides
In the gut of the ocean;
Tasting that force I never will forget.
I lived on and climbed out from the cliffs
But the taste of danger that flirts with doom
In the powderroom of freedom
Was forever emblazened on the lips of my soul.
I cannot forget it.
It haunts me to this day.
Looking over the edge into chaos' animosity
And coming back alive is enough to inspire a lifetime of being lost.
I'm trying to be found and becoming tame, I think, instead.
Saints, I implore you, let me know freedom again -
That vast freedom that lurks so close to death and the territories.
Come into me, fresh as a salmon, electric as light.
Get me down on my knees in front of thrashing nature
To see the abominations we protest but can become.
Stop ye Global Warming woes, arrest the glaciers still,
When the gun is pointed (and you know what that means)
Let me say "Yes,"
Let you say "Yes,"
Amen, amen, amen.
09/09
So I can say "Yes,
Take me to that dream, that motorcycle dream,
Where danger is the road and the road is always free."
My Saints are all Saints because of how free the road.
And how inaccessible they feel to me now -
Kerouac, Gingsberg, Vonnegut, Dylan, Thompson -
Come release me when the gun is to my head,
Help me say "Yes" to the motorcycle dream,
Exploding all things quiet while slaying the dragon
Then building it all again to tear it down once more.
Let there be no brilliance in it,
No prophet-seeing knight.
Brilliance is unseen; resilience is known and matters.
All it takes is to be in no way dead,
To shake the sun for its worth and pick up the change,
Find the center where gravity will hold you up
And never lose sight of your feet in their shoes
On the wet rocks you traverse while time tries distractions.
I remember all the things I've seen
And the one time I came closest to Sainthood
Elevates me still today -
The biggest waves I ever saw
Smashed into the cliffside boulders
Outside of Cascais, Portugal.
I climbed down a perilous, stone way
Onto the boulders where the violent ocean abused the land.
The rocks trembled at each wave's impact
And I felt erosion in action, the decay of titans
The weathering of earth
All underneath my feet.
I could have died that day with one misstep,
Fallen to a scraggly doom
In the crevasse between two boulders
With the ocean pounding my carcass,
Ripping it apart so to never be found.
But fate had other plans,
And I did not perish.
I had approached the living power that resides
In the gut of the ocean;
Tasting that force I never will forget.
I lived on and climbed out from the cliffs
But the taste of danger that flirts with doom
In the powderroom of freedom
Was forever emblazened on the lips of my soul.
I cannot forget it.
It haunts me to this day.
Looking over the edge into chaos' animosity
And coming back alive is enough to inspire a lifetime of being lost.
I'm trying to be found and becoming tame, I think, instead.
Saints, I implore you, let me know freedom again -
That vast freedom that lurks so close to death and the territories.
Come into me, fresh as a salmon, electric as light.
Get me down on my knees in front of thrashing nature
To see the abominations we protest but can become.
Stop ye Global Warming woes, arrest the glaciers still,
When the gun is pointed (and you know what that means)
Let me say "Yes,"
Let you say "Yes,"
Amen, amen, amen.
09/09
Grumpy Poem
I feel grumpy today.
Don't come near me,
I may turn bear on your ass
And rip you to shreds.
My eyes feel heavy,
Not even the blue sky fair weather
Averts my mood to safer grounds.
I am salty, too salty
And my mind feels bad.
I can't even muster pretension
To make this poem sing.
No, I'm just a grump
Forced to do things I don't want to do
(which is the source of all grumps
You know that its true)
I want to complain and holler
Then cry in secret pantries,
Think about Sylvia Plath,
Then cry some more.
The world is imposing itself
Too much on me today.
I wish I were an island,
Far, far, far away.
8/09
Don't come near me,
I may turn bear on your ass
And rip you to shreds.
My eyes feel heavy,
Not even the blue sky fair weather
Averts my mood to safer grounds.
I am salty, too salty
And my mind feels bad.
I can't even muster pretension
To make this poem sing.
No, I'm just a grump
Forced to do things I don't want to do
(which is the source of all grumps
You know that its true)
I want to complain and holler
Then cry in secret pantries,
Think about Sylvia Plath,
Then cry some more.
The world is imposing itself
Too much on me today.
I wish I were an island,
Far, far, far away.
8/09
Everyone Knows the Disconnect
I.
Everyone knows the disconnect
Between the rugged day hours of mingling with dust
And the simple night hours of peace in silence.
The two are so disjointed there's comfort in them;
They remind us of ourselves and the faces we keep,
How we're never one creature but a myriad of hosts,
Denying some always while wearing a few.
We are disconnected from ourselves as night is from day,
Cut in half and divided again with every definition.
II.
We are monsters with many heads and many arms.
We sit at tea parties making our halos
With glue and good deeds and smiles and hygene
And some halos work - as the Saints will attest -
But most are just trash that we try and wear above our heads.
III.
I want to strike down my sham halo and what it represents!
I don't want to be the good person people think I am,
Because I'm not that person, its just the glare from my halo.
I've read the tag and it was built in China, not heaven.
I am trapped in expectations under the title,
"Good Son,""Good boyfriend," "Good guy," "Good lover," "Good pawn,"
But I'm bigger and better than those labels, deep into imperfection
And rising above all my faults to try and form a sincere being
Worth knowing, worth having around, worth studying.
But I get yelled at when I'm honest
And shy away from what I fear.
No one gives me the benefit of the doubt or leeway or time to think for myself.
I'd rather be honest with myself than have money in the bank
But honesty is cheap and you're forced to make a living.
IV.
And so we roam on into time,
Calling day and night a unit of twenty four hours
When they are sides of the Universe at opposite ends.
And we find ourselves fragmented, somewhere in between,
Knowing wholeness makes no sense,
It is unobtainable at every angle.
We are always Richard the Second standing in front of a broken mirror,
Privately humbled to know we do not know ourselves.
08/09
Everyone knows the disconnect
Between the rugged day hours of mingling with dust
And the simple night hours of peace in silence.
The two are so disjointed there's comfort in them;
They remind us of ourselves and the faces we keep,
How we're never one creature but a myriad of hosts,
Denying some always while wearing a few.
We are disconnected from ourselves as night is from day,
Cut in half and divided again with every definition.
II.
We are monsters with many heads and many arms.
We sit at tea parties making our halos
With glue and good deeds and smiles and hygene
And some halos work - as the Saints will attest -
But most are just trash that we try and wear above our heads.
III.
I want to strike down my sham halo and what it represents!
I don't want to be the good person people think I am,
Because I'm not that person, its just the glare from my halo.
I've read the tag and it was built in China, not heaven.
I am trapped in expectations under the title,
"Good Son,""Good boyfriend," "Good guy," "Good lover," "Good pawn,"
But I'm bigger and better than those labels, deep into imperfection
And rising above all my faults to try and form a sincere being
Worth knowing, worth having around, worth studying.
But I get yelled at when I'm honest
And shy away from what I fear.
No one gives me the benefit of the doubt or leeway or time to think for myself.
I'd rather be honest with myself than have money in the bank
But honesty is cheap and you're forced to make a living.
IV.
And so we roam on into time,
Calling day and night a unit of twenty four hours
When they are sides of the Universe at opposite ends.
And we find ourselves fragmented, somewhere in between,
Knowing wholeness makes no sense,
It is unobtainable at every angle.
We are always Richard the Second standing in front of a broken mirror,
Privately humbled to know we do not know ourselves.
08/09
Just the Trivial Details
I have found the charade
In the backwater house
Where I feebly write beatitudes, feet in the tub,
Consumed by fake love in systems of night,
Wrapped in a fire I don't care to touch:
The lost shall stay lost! Don't deny it isn't so.
There's no help coming.
We're on the roof all our lives.
I can see the sunset but do nothing to stop it.
The Green Earth dies a little in my eyes.
I don't know what I'm good at
Or so the choir sings
And I don't know what I'm good for
Or so the choir knows
And it fast changes to thinking I'm good for nothing
Or so the choir shows.
I might have tried jumping from the Universe
But I heard there's no gravity in space to get out.
And therefore my house is filled with junk,
Copious refuse from hell.
No one will let me find them.
I'm covered in bees.
My storm doors don't hold,
My oven doesn't work,
I have chlamydia and my birds ran away.
I'm stuck in a Nicholas Cage,
Looking for the Renaissance renaissance
But I have found no clues for where to dig.
There's nothing to hold back,
Now the veil has fallen
And the miserable bride's become artifact.
I hate Noah's arc for where it left me.
My wooden cabin home holds skis and mounted fish;
There are empty bird houses, old board games,
And three Bibles that have been opened too much.
The rain falls when the sun shines.
It makes no sense.
There's nothing to do.
Twiddle your thumbs.
We're all deterministic nightmares headed for shore.
So globalize my ass, all the insincere fucks!
The day is an anchor that sponges up hope.
I'll do away with it all someday
When my pot runs out of knowing
And my dog finally turns on me.
That will be the end because I'll be so frustrated.
After I'm gone, keep playing 'Halo'
And making dips with a base of mayonaise.
If Jesus comes back tell him I waited
But left five minutes before he came.
These are my beatitudes - simple and few,
The lonely thoughts of a once desperate man
Who peaked into the abyss and didn't like what he saw -
Mostly it was nothing, but thats scariest of all.
Satan was there too, I'll admit,
And must I tell you he was sitting in a chair,
Smoking a pipe and reading a book.
I think it was something by Cormac McCarthy,
He didn't laugh. You knew he was thinking.
Regardless, its nice to know Satan is an intellectual.
Ah, but these are just the trivial details...
Reform healthcare or Goddamn you all.
08/09
In the backwater house
Where I feebly write beatitudes, feet in the tub,
Consumed by fake love in systems of night,
Wrapped in a fire I don't care to touch:
The lost shall stay lost! Don't deny it isn't so.
There's no help coming.
We're on the roof all our lives.
I can see the sunset but do nothing to stop it.
The Green Earth dies a little in my eyes.
I don't know what I'm good at
Or so the choir sings
And I don't know what I'm good for
Or so the choir knows
And it fast changes to thinking I'm good for nothing
Or so the choir shows.
I might have tried jumping from the Universe
But I heard there's no gravity in space to get out.
And therefore my house is filled with junk,
Copious refuse from hell.
No one will let me find them.
I'm covered in bees.
My storm doors don't hold,
My oven doesn't work,
I have chlamydia and my birds ran away.
I'm stuck in a Nicholas Cage,
Looking for the Renaissance renaissance
But I have found no clues for where to dig.
There's nothing to hold back,
Now the veil has fallen
And the miserable bride's become artifact.
I hate Noah's arc for where it left me.
My wooden cabin home holds skis and mounted fish;
There are empty bird houses, old board games,
And three Bibles that have been opened too much.
The rain falls when the sun shines.
It makes no sense.
There's nothing to do.
Twiddle your thumbs.
We're all deterministic nightmares headed for shore.
So globalize my ass, all the insincere fucks!
The day is an anchor that sponges up hope.
I'll do away with it all someday
When my pot runs out of knowing
And my dog finally turns on me.
That will be the end because I'll be so frustrated.
After I'm gone, keep playing 'Halo'
And making dips with a base of mayonaise.
If Jesus comes back tell him I waited
But left five minutes before he came.
These are my beatitudes - simple and few,
The lonely thoughts of a once desperate man
Who peaked into the abyss and didn't like what he saw -
Mostly it was nothing, but thats scariest of all.
Satan was there too, I'll admit,
And must I tell you he was sitting in a chair,
Smoking a pipe and reading a book.
I think it was something by Cormac McCarthy,
He didn't laugh. You knew he was thinking.
Regardless, its nice to know Satan is an intellectual.
Ah, but these are just the trivial details...
Reform healthcare or Goddamn you all.
08/09
The Madness of Joy (My Sweet Georgian Bay)
To feel the madness of joy
Torn away from the body
Maddens me more, but its void of the joy.
I've left my Bay,
My sweet Georgian Bay -
The land of dead mountains
Raised from water as the island
Stone faces of nature, desperate, beautiful;
Now she will sing the sad tunes of winter's keep,
Hailing the ice to come and cover her changes
As her spirits rise up to order new summer songs,
To allow welcome for the travelling few
And make peace for the joy she revoked.
I wait in vain for next summer to arrive
When I can be taken back to the madness of joy
And feel the warm knowledge of purpose divine
In the crass wilderness of God's deliverance.
But for now I am sundered; Torn from my Bay.
When I finally wept I held my fists to the sky
To threaten the dim stars of my light polluted home.
I spent thirteen hours birthing back to the life
I hope and pray is not the reality of my dear time -
Where cage after cage holds joy at bay
And freedom is a flag that says "Label me Nothing."
Georgian Bay, I look for you every day,
I smell you in phantoms off the banks of the Charles.
You beckon me always to find the still waters
In a soul that knows nothing but waves,
And I never can have peace without you.
This time with you, this summer's span,
You showed me your secret and I wept for it aloud.
While boating to the Western Islands
Our caravan of motors stopped in open waters
To jump into your cold, blue embrace.
You took me into your virginal depths,
The darkest parts where no man can live.
I looked into your beauty abyss of water and saw the blue nothing
Staring back at me.
Then I looked up and saw blue sky's expanse,
Reaching over and under
Staring back at me.
And the horizon of water and sky blended into infinite blue nothing
Staring back at me.
And I heard your secret whispered:
I float alone in eternity
But my purpose is exact -
to keep floating on until I am horizon too.
Back in the boats we continued to the Westerns,
The wind from our speed raced to dry my hair,
The sun bleached me blonde,
The islands came closer
And the madness of joy came and drowned all my fears.
That same night the Perseid Meteor Shower
Rained on into blue morning like diamonds fleeing caves.
All was quiet then, or maybe it was alive with the voices
Of drunk teenagers drunk on the rampant stars.
There was no wind to deafen the visions of escape
And my heart felt stretched over a thousand nights
Convalescing more pain than I'd like to admit.
And I know
f ever there is a time
When I think I cannot have greater love
I am defeated and it ends there.
I've left my Bay, my sweet Georgian Bay,
The madness of joy is gone all at once,
But I will try, I swear, to cling to the joy
And forgo the madness I've been stuck with before.
My sweet Georgian Bay, I've left you for now,
For now I have left you, I've left you for now.
08/09
Torn away from the body
Maddens me more, but its void of the joy.
I've left my Bay,
My sweet Georgian Bay -
The land of dead mountains
Raised from water as the island
Stone faces of nature, desperate, beautiful;
Now she will sing the sad tunes of winter's keep,
Hailing the ice to come and cover her changes
As her spirits rise up to order new summer songs,
To allow welcome for the travelling few
And make peace for the joy she revoked.
I wait in vain for next summer to arrive
When I can be taken back to the madness of joy
And feel the warm knowledge of purpose divine
In the crass wilderness of God's deliverance.
But for now I am sundered; Torn from my Bay.
When I finally wept I held my fists to the sky
To threaten the dim stars of my light polluted home.
I spent thirteen hours birthing back to the life
I hope and pray is not the reality of my dear time -
Where cage after cage holds joy at bay
And freedom is a flag that says "Label me Nothing."
Georgian Bay, I look for you every day,
I smell you in phantoms off the banks of the Charles.
You beckon me always to find the still waters
In a soul that knows nothing but waves,
And I never can have peace without you.
This time with you, this summer's span,
You showed me your secret and I wept for it aloud.
While boating to the Western Islands
Our caravan of motors stopped in open waters
To jump into your cold, blue embrace.
You took me into your virginal depths,
The darkest parts where no man can live.
I looked into your beauty abyss of water and saw the blue nothing
Staring back at me.
Then I looked up and saw blue sky's expanse,
Reaching over and under
Staring back at me.
And the horizon of water and sky blended into infinite blue nothing
Staring back at me.
And I heard your secret whispered:
I float alone in eternity
But my purpose is exact -
to keep floating on until I am horizon too.
Back in the boats we continued to the Westerns,
The wind from our speed raced to dry my hair,
The sun bleached me blonde,
The islands came closer
And the madness of joy came and drowned all my fears.
That same night the Perseid Meteor Shower
Rained on into blue morning like diamonds fleeing caves.
All was quiet then, or maybe it was alive with the voices
Of drunk teenagers drunk on the rampant stars.
There was no wind to deafen the visions of escape
And my heart felt stretched over a thousand nights
Convalescing more pain than I'd like to admit.
And I know
f ever there is a time
When I think I cannot have greater love
I am defeated and it ends there.
I've left my Bay, my sweet Georgian Bay,
The madness of joy is gone all at once,
But I will try, I swear, to cling to the joy
And forgo the madness I've been stuck with before.
My sweet Georgian Bay, I've left you for now,
For now I have left you, I've left you for now.
08/09
Her Accessible Heart
She was not so angelic, but that smile could always take me down.
When she was drunk it would sneak out
Though it pretended to still be hiding.
Sometimes her smile would go away,
Then the nod of a head or a well timed word
Would cut me so deep I could feel embarassed like I'd never return.
We did not see eye to eye and we never talked about it.
There was no fake lightness in her being;
Her image of Ohio was a tornado wrecked town.
Her confidence was like a dying tree
When the bark is brittle
But the inside is soft from water.
I only saw the inside once or twice
But from then on I knew it was there
And I treasured those faults of confidence
Like they were admissions of trust,
And perhaps they were.
I remember when that Summer came at our end,
And we were going our seperate ways,
A tear or two rolled down her cheek.
This surprised me, I was taken aback,
She wasn't one to cry or give hints that she could.
I became strong and held her like the night holds the moon
But when she left minutes later I broke down in sobs.
We both knew our time was up,
Anything after would be faked.
We saw each other a few more times
But I would never see another flash
Of her accessible heart.
I think of her now, on this raining day,
Not because I love her still but because I never told her I loved her,
And I'm not sure I did love her,
But that I don't know makes her seem more perplexing.
She lodged herself in corners of my life and now she's gone.
She took off forever when she left that Summer's day
When nothing needed be said and that was enough.
07/09
When she was drunk it would sneak out
Though it pretended to still be hiding.
Sometimes her smile would go away,
Then the nod of a head or a well timed word
Would cut me so deep I could feel embarassed like I'd never return.
We did not see eye to eye and we never talked about it.
There was no fake lightness in her being;
Her image of Ohio was a tornado wrecked town.
Her confidence was like a dying tree
When the bark is brittle
But the inside is soft from water.
I only saw the inside once or twice
But from then on I knew it was there
And I treasured those faults of confidence
Like they were admissions of trust,
And perhaps they were.
I remember when that Summer came at our end,
And we were going our seperate ways,
A tear or two rolled down her cheek.
This surprised me, I was taken aback,
She wasn't one to cry or give hints that she could.
I became strong and held her like the night holds the moon
But when she left minutes later I broke down in sobs.
We both knew our time was up,
Anything after would be faked.
We saw each other a few more times
But I would never see another flash
Of her accessible heart.
I think of her now, on this raining day,
Not because I love her still but because I never told her I loved her,
And I'm not sure I did love her,
But that I don't know makes her seem more perplexing.
She lodged herself in corners of my life and now she's gone.
She took off forever when she left that Summer's day
When nothing needed be said and that was enough.
07/09
To Night,
To Freshest Night,
Forthcoming I know,
I wait for you, tender lover,
To be wrapped in ghostly smoke
When the fringe taste of liquor
Can be sensed in the still air
And the trees weep moisture
So every breath feels clean.
I will kiss you then
With each footstep released
Like an echo crystal,
The sound of the stars.
The moon will be so close
Like in 1969
When man walked, as I walk
In synch with the Virgin Spring,
The frail line between experience
And the myth of tomorrow's words.
I will hold you there,
Where breasts are ever fading
And love must be made quick
Or the moment will be lost
Forever in regret.
I will take you night,
Whatever you bring.
07/09
Forthcoming I know,
I wait for you, tender lover,
To be wrapped in ghostly smoke
When the fringe taste of liquor
Can be sensed in the still air
And the trees weep moisture
So every breath feels clean.
I will kiss you then
With each footstep released
Like an echo crystal,
The sound of the stars.
The moon will be so close
Like in 1969
When man walked, as I walk
In synch with the Virgin Spring,
The frail line between experience
And the myth of tomorrow's words.
I will hold you there,
Where breasts are ever fading
And love must be made quick
Or the moment will be lost
Forever in regret.
I will take you night,
Whatever you bring.
07/09
West Would Be My Direction
If I were to be fired right now
I'd hit the open road,
Go as far as $1,000 would take me.
I'd buy a tent and some cans,
A map and some gas,
And plan nothing other than places
I've wanted to see,
Know I must see
Or have seen but want to see again.
West would be my direction,
Putting manifest destiny into action
Like I've never done before
Essential stops would be the high planes,
And the Grand Canyon's vast low,
Yosemite and Yellow Stone Parks,
San Francisco, San Diego, Tijuana,
And to touch the Herclaen Pacific
And taste its salty brine.
I'd collect dust of America
Underneath my worn-out sneakers,
Fraternize with pill-popping truckers
In the midnight McDonalds haze.
The open road would be my God -
My moving bedside, masterful in expanse.
Identity and truth would fade into nothing.
When places move so fast into distance
You need know nothing but know you live
And the air, be it frozen in freedom
Or car-drenched in pollution,
Will tell you every day you live,
Because living is change with the hope to adapt.
07/09
I'd hit the open road,
Go as far as $1,000 would take me.
I'd buy a tent and some cans,
A map and some gas,
And plan nothing other than places
I've wanted to see,
Know I must see
Or have seen but want to see again.
West would be my direction,
Putting manifest destiny into action
Like I've never done before
Essential stops would be the high planes,
And the Grand Canyon's vast low,
Yosemite and Yellow Stone Parks,
San Francisco, San Diego, Tijuana,
And to touch the Herclaen Pacific
And taste its salty brine.
I'd collect dust of America
Underneath my worn-out sneakers,
Fraternize with pill-popping truckers
In the midnight McDonalds haze.
The open road would be my God -
My moving bedside, masterful in expanse.
Identity and truth would fade into nothing.
When places move so fast into distance
You need know nothing but know you live
And the air, be it frozen in freedom
Or car-drenched in pollution,
Will tell you every day you live,
Because living is change with the hope to adapt.
07/09
A Blind Catamite's Dream
A blind catamite's dream evades fear:
Going home in June, killing love,
Making new order proud,
Questioning reason's sour taste
Under vicarious wind's xenophilic
Yearning Zeal.
07/09
Going home in June, killing love,
Making new order proud,
Questioning reason's sour taste
Under vicarious wind's xenophilic
Yearning Zeal.
07/09
Street Light Amazing
World Destroyers,
Infinity Armageddons,
The fire curtain sheets the walls from downtown.
The loose track takers,
The wall face embracers,
Shoot the tracks
Of the Nintendo railroads.
The backbreakers,
The Zebra racers,
Fire storm tornado shooters,
Milk the cow
In Machine Gun Night,
Rip cemetary gates open,
Hide the children,
Seek the strong.
Korea is done,
Shake the wife from your boots.
All ships away,
Point the torpedos,
Send them off with a 44 cent stamp.
Fear your gun #1,
Outsource resource
Inside the van,
Kick the junky,
Who's the good looking bum?
Are stars fading?
No, just clouds.
Street light amazing,
Grace in sight:
Midnight licking
Electric cock ring,
Sound the alarm,
The hell town is back.
Come to basements,
Ever cleansing.
Clean words
Tatooed on back,
Short faces
Lineup for photos on the bus.
Screen saver,
Cross crucifier,
Not abundant
Mineral cache,
So we are desert.
The sand is hot
On sidewalks the same
As before.
07/09
Infinity Armageddons,
The fire curtain sheets the walls from downtown.
The loose track takers,
The wall face embracers,
Shoot the tracks
Of the Nintendo railroads.
The backbreakers,
The Zebra racers,
Fire storm tornado shooters,
Milk the cow
In Machine Gun Night,
Rip cemetary gates open,
Hide the children,
Seek the strong.
Korea is done,
Shake the wife from your boots.
All ships away,
Point the torpedos,
Send them off with a 44 cent stamp.
Fear your gun #1,
Outsource resource
Inside the van,
Kick the junky,
Who's the good looking bum?
Are stars fading?
No, just clouds.
Street light amazing,
Grace in sight:
Midnight licking
Electric cock ring,
Sound the alarm,
The hell town is back.
Come to basements,
Ever cleansing.
Clean words
Tatooed on back,
Short faces
Lineup for photos on the bus.
Screen saver,
Cross crucifier,
Not abundant
Mineral cache,
So we are desert.
The sand is hot
On sidewalks the same
As before.
07/09
Failing Newspapers in the Sky
Failing newspapers in the sky
Drifting through the dead wood of God's forests,
Calculating the distance and time to Mars,
Try to keep alive by dreaming.
If dreaming could...
If dreaming could...
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve.
The circle comes back and we are so lost,
Caught in the cycle of what to believe
The writer mundane has taken his leave,
To weather the fight of this deadly frost.
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve.
The nightly edition's gone to relieve
The coffee ghosts from the next life cross'd
Caught in the cycle of what to believe.
Editors! Move fast! Forget where to grieve!
Look past the graveyard of newspapers toss'd.
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve.
We've hit the end at a new New Year's Eve.
We'll jump ship for it, whatever the cost,
Caught in the cycle of what to believe.
The News tells us for what we must bereave,
But ages too fast and then becomes lost.
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve
Caught in the cycle of what to believe.
Accountability is nothing now,
Nor is putting order to God's mess -
Thats janitorial work in spades;
We've no time for it and no need.
We'll take our prophet Palin and start paving over roads
That George Washington laid out for the soldiers.
No more common ground
If dreaming could...
No more common ground
Between people of the nation.
We are not islands but we live on them alone,
And we burn our bridges faster than we know -
Ask a newspaperman sometime.
Fact check the checkers board when you think you're playing chess.
No one else will do it for you, certainly not today.
The printing press has corroded and rotted
Into fibreglass tubing underground
Where the sewers connect with the serpent's layer,
A dragon of ancient renoun.
George Washington once slayed it - this American Dragon,
Though history calls it the British -
I assure you though, none but a dragon could
Tax without representation
Or cause men to waste their tea.
Washington, he cut off its head
And it retreated to its cave.
From its blood sprung the American dream.
Then washington built those roads to democracy
And never gave the dragon a second thought.
But the dragon lived and grew back its head,
He petitioned with the heavenly monsters
And earned back his license
To wreck the dream we've dreamed, the dream of his blood.
He stirs in his sleep,
f dreaming could...
07/09
Drifting through the dead wood of God's forests,
Calculating the distance and time to Mars,
Try to keep alive by dreaming.
If dreaming could...
If dreaming could...
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve.
The circle comes back and we are so lost,
Caught in the cycle of what to believe
The writer mundane has taken his leave,
To weather the fight of this deadly frost.
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve.
The nightly edition's gone to relieve
The coffee ghosts from the next life cross'd
Caught in the cycle of what to believe.
Editors! Move fast! Forget where to grieve!
Look past the graveyard of newspapers toss'd.
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve.
We've hit the end at a new New Year's Eve.
We'll jump ship for it, whatever the cost,
Caught in the cycle of what to believe.
The News tells us for what we must bereave,
But ages too fast and then becomes lost.
Newspapers are dead beyond our retrieve
Caught in the cycle of what to believe.
Accountability is nothing now,
Nor is putting order to God's mess -
Thats janitorial work in spades;
We've no time for it and no need.
We'll take our prophet Palin and start paving over roads
That George Washington laid out for the soldiers.
No more common ground
If dreaming could...
No more common ground
Between people of the nation.
We are not islands but we live on them alone,
And we burn our bridges faster than we know -
Ask a newspaperman sometime.
Fact check the checkers board when you think you're playing chess.
No one else will do it for you, certainly not today.
The printing press has corroded and rotted
Into fibreglass tubing underground
Where the sewers connect with the serpent's layer,
A dragon of ancient renoun.
George Washington once slayed it - this American Dragon,
Though history calls it the British -
I assure you though, none but a dragon could
Tax without representation
Or cause men to waste their tea.
Washington, he cut off its head
And it retreated to its cave.
From its blood sprung the American dream.
Then washington built those roads to democracy
And never gave the dragon a second thought.
But the dragon lived and grew back its head,
He petitioned with the heavenly monsters
And earned back his license
To wreck the dream we've dreamed, the dream of his blood.
He stirs in his sleep,
f dreaming could...
07/09
Saint Theresa Cycle
You are Saint Theresa,
Quiet heaven-nomad.
You bore and delight me
In the Spanish red sun.
Your pale, white skin emits
The light of a glory
That I don't want to touch
And yet need all the same.
You are the confusion
At the core of desire,
The one meddling note on
A piano fine tuned.
Your vast faults amaze me,
They make you more perfect.
I cannot deny you
So my love will remain.
Hold fast your ecstasy
When the Angel's touch comes,
Save hope for my dread nights
And the light in the day.
You've been born in my thoughts,
A cherry tree untouched,
White as a phantom free
From time's steadfast dust.
In my orchard of doom
I watch you from Eden,
How your beauty tries fade
Then returns twice as strong.
I will love you always
In the distance I keep,
Your shadow, my idol
Before God and His trust.
(But when the Angel came she saved nothing for me)
My own Saint Theresa,
Who first knew Angel's touch,
You were better before
When you roamed my dreams' halls.
You erased all heaven
From my heart with a word.
All good things were made black
When you were not alone.
How I hated you then,
With no means to forgive,
But that hate became seed
To a love deeper known.
In the labyrinth of need
I see her as holy.
Could I be ecstasy
Where Angel light has shone?
07/09
Quiet heaven-nomad.
You bore and delight me
In the Spanish red sun.
Your pale, white skin emits
The light of a glory
That I don't want to touch
And yet need all the same.
You are the confusion
At the core of desire,
The one meddling note on
A piano fine tuned.
Your vast faults amaze me,
They make you more perfect.
I cannot deny you
So my love will remain.
Hold fast your ecstasy
When the Angel's touch comes,
Save hope for my dread nights
And the light in the day.
You've been born in my thoughts,
A cherry tree untouched,
White as a phantom free
From time's steadfast dust.
In my orchard of doom
I watch you from Eden,
How your beauty tries fade
Then returns twice as strong.
I will love you always
In the distance I keep,
Your shadow, my idol
Before God and His trust.
(But when the Angel came she saved nothing for me)
My own Saint Theresa,
Who first knew Angel's touch,
You were better before
When you roamed my dreams' halls.
You erased all heaven
From my heart with a word.
All good things were made black
When you were not alone.
How I hated you then,
With no means to forgive,
But that hate became seed
To a love deeper known.
In the labyrinth of need
I see her as holy.
Could I be ecstasy
Where Angel light has shone?
07/09
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