How can we claim to be "Free" men or women, when we are still slaves to a system that conditions and keeps us and our minds from questioning those masters, kings, and gods - that have such power because of the many who are afraid and ignorant of "knowing"... The old world needs us as much as we need the old world to die off, because there is no freedom if we are made to become less than what men or women are born to be. Free thinking explorers in search of the Truth, whether divine or absolute, we are the eyes of the universe to be made witness... We are creation now creators, inventively we engineer and architect, of all the beauty that our experience can aspire to ascend, we are the children of Light of Men. In this moment of Life and Earth, let us not offend, let us know peace and Love's worth, until our welcome to Eternal Birth...

I

Behind his eyes of Laser Blue
I have a history as brief as titsi-flies

Behind a furrow or a dormant smile's bloom
I am indentured
by his manipulations,
                                lessened by his education
and I am supposedly the one he loves...?

So, there in the bear-hug of his lies
I am mute in delirium
copulation cranked to carnival speeds

Because he has power in the unspoken
as vaporous as white smoke
incantations & sorcery
                          fish hooks my love into my doom

I understand that gaze
I commit to its kaleidoscope
variegated faces
for every season and holiday
each hour etched is an emotion
pretend and pretense

Splayed

Muscle, toned,
limbs limned in liquids
arms of a giant squid
the transparent center:
a cluster of homosexuals suckling...

He is Captain Nemo, submariner
mad haired scientist,
testing each concoctions' mixed diversions
and perversions / replete to repeat
                               how we all un-burden ourselves
to him, patience
is an old man with an oil burner...

I am transfixed
a lobotomy experiment of chopsticks
and peppermint schnapps

who's time has misplaced it's tick.


II

I am aerodynamic...

Because the laws of attractions
commonalities not flesh on flesh
or polysyllabic meals of kisses
none are removed from him

He weaves his wizard's wand
fantasia music to magic  ***
to a whistle's whim,
while I chimp out puzzles complex
just to gain praise and admiration.

(As he vanishes to rendez vous
another grinder, another victim,
another name game)

For behind his hood
and hat of tormenting's tricks
I have glimpsed his true nature

like Midus whose touch once harsh straw,
rumpled in his still-skins
complete with fanatical flaws
I witness an aging ram
horned, silver haired satyr...

I am a deer in headlights
every time I am shocked by my own
naievette
like sheep to a herder
steering a flock,
a troop, a school, a ******

unguided paths that shape themselves
by the traffic of every foot.

I have grown blank
no mirth or self-contrition
this rat retreats into moist dark spaces
to converse with paranoid shadows...

Behind his eyes
even when he mistakes his conjuring
excuses tangled among false & fallacies
but stupidity is
the only spell he never casts
upon my helicopter spinning mind


III

He has transformed me not to a toad
with a swollen desire
to croak / a burp

but turned me
into a boomerang...

Flung high with speed
inaccurately to flee blind
uncertain as wind-shears in Chicago
but still returns to suffer

A beaten Benji,
and still an Ole' Yeller defender of truth
I remain

knicked, knocked, chipped
licked - not yet
but seemingly to his soul's spotlight
dead.

Thrown out
to welcoming skies so blue

still there's an anger behind his eyes
I understand / it will be the end of me

I am unable to discern
our story - where dying heroes lay
when they realize
tragedies end unluckily...

But a boomerang
knows not reasoning to leave
and be victim
to its own nature's treason,
it does not question why
nor weep helplessly

yet it also does not sing
celebrating when in its master's hand
yet comes home
unhappily half alive
I suffer like the boomerang
still my own company
without
compass or wayward destination
give in to it's predestined
abilities
in high flight always returning,

whistles to the joy of living

you see, a yo-yo can not fly

I have become acquainted with heaven's sky
kingdom of light
familiar to it's shine
delight in my unforeseen
demise

(my magic kiss kiss
imagination bang bang!)*

I am a divine toy of life,

be it

a boomerang.

Within this jungle, which is ours
I ride the back of Thunder-cloud, my friend

Around and through the thickets
thick banyan trees & palm fruit fallen leaves

Down muddy earthen paths
until everything is green and shadows

until inside its heart, the rain forest
trees of this jungle are city buildings - tall

and choir of fauna high and low
do not fear to sing beneath our cathedral's shade

In this kingdom of flora and ruby rich dirt
belongs to thunder-cloud and dirt-poor me

A Mowgli on his elephant,
hollars ahead to any that hear "We are free!"

Here, far from the whips' lashing, guns,
away from the loud business of murderous money

They who say that I am nothing
in their eyes who abacus my worth with looks

with upraising lust of wolves
but I a free man, a simpleton for beloved (Earth)

I am dark skinned
Krishna on my steed of thunder-clouds

A native son of brown & green wilderness
caterwauling to the beyonds unknown

Within our jungle, brother thunder,
my elephant of deep clouds gray

we are Mammoth and as wild as wide
as open as free... with every step forward

on this living journey
we will take

a peaceful kind of smile
will only be what is written
                                                       upon each lovely lovely face




*(Within our jungles...we live simply
without the Man's hate
not today will I hunger, nor will I thirst
fed on real wonder, drank clouds of Himalayan rain
without a rupee to my name... on the back of thunder
my gentle Ganesh - I have no one to blame.)

Tour
De force
of nature
Lady songstress
How all her babies go "Gaga" for more!

------------------------------

Tour / De Force / of nature / Lady songstress / How all her babies go "Gaga" for more!

Midterm
Winter
Ample
Sweaters
                 Through our midterms, we now have winter
                 Globe's ample warming--must haves: sweaters.

Aida* on stage,
brown queen's divine voice must climb,
for love redefines.

Permanent ink stains
the skin hidden in your sleeves:
"One Eight Hundred - Guilt."

So
lonely even in celebrations craze
single and longing for just another taste
popular but carries sorrow in tow
a forced feeble smile he attempts to show
handsome yet always feels ugly below
he is a quandry unto himself, he is low
So
how to relieve this disbelieving stink
how to find that self adoration again
will anyone notice how deep he drinks
so full of feeling, so quick to self-blame
even tired of wishes which never came
a child so wild, so slow to tame
So
now in days of yearning to touch
learning to love, he craves it much
for a truth that is matched and with his own
no one else to please, no place else to roam
in loving, laden arms to call his home
even if and when / wishes never come
So...

A golden pinwheel;
Tall and proud, the face of day,
burns bright Love's bounty.

How like a feather
in dancing fields, royal hues
perfume the twilight.

The river of Time

Rages rapid or sluggishly slow;

Undulates each birth's decay - the ebbs & floes,

Awhile fathers of men ride your very tides

Upon their aged faces longingly, mortality cannot hide...


(Time.)

Concrete sidewalks

Tagged and littered with human stains

Walking through landmines

My nervous legs are close to dashing

The lane where its gutters meet the streets...

Beyond black curtain
veils an evil hungry mouth,
like an eye bleeding.

Deep ocean star ship
Enterprise to stay alive,
go gently soaring.

Her soft petals fall,
easy as wild poetry:
muse for medicine.

I want you to understand my name,
the robes of rude electric activities
were once made to fit my
curves and canvasses
when i use to paint them
perspiration / desperate / commotions
all mixed in a soup
of sensuous satiation...

I once had hands so clever
with ingenuity and imagination,
i held nothing, really
but the naked mute
holding nothing
just palms lined with psalms'
life lines and predictions
many unable to read
or feel akin...
predictable and gullible
are we not made
to change?

In the lion's pit Daniel learned
swift and well
the name of the game is
Live to Tell,
we create our own designs
and belief
and even our own hell...

I want you to know my name
when I name one angel : "wisdom"
and one skeleton : "shame"

know me well
forget yours just the same,
once i was the victim
soon now the Lion's Mane...

One angel :  "wisdom"
One Skeleton :  *"shame"

Orange breasted plume
of Robin bird trills in swirls,
seasoning His nest.

Sacrilicious science :
dissecting frogs
legs deep fried
(tastes like chicken)
when we try to fly
by the "secret"

wishing and insultations up
denying the absolutes
our eyes to see

the selfish flesh is heavy
karma like bone
and worship now a gathering moan
chaotic hush

and a bruha broom can
only give dust
its flight
the mind in fear
wears death and night

darkling battlefields
have already won
our ignorance its tasty pawn
indifference the after-dung

Sacrilicious science of sleep walking
purgatory fog / thick & dense
(are you?)

they prey our souls to keep
so be mindful of what you believe
or ***** to read

nutritional value : 0% sense
electrolytes of air
and no good deed goes...
like coyotes and roadrunners

VEEP! VEEP!

vicious cycles
acme roadkill Texas heat
hope that God still loves his sheep

when stupid nukes us mushroom / meals

sacriliciously spun
fatalistic
devils' heels...

(Yehaw Yahoo spurs and guns!)

Guffaw !
Sarchasm.

I can hear the heat in the vegas traffic / I can smell the pool water /
sitting here on the lumps of my mattress / I even can taste the lively
daylight, a confection of life's commotions, sweet gobbstoppers, and sour gummies /
I can feel the tug of the outside / sirens beckoning from earth and sky / inside
I can hear the trees pantomiming existence : the scent of church : gardenias : what sights
waking wide --eyes that love to awe in worship / Life /

and I am sitting Indian style, in my bedroom / coffin  /
peering through a digital window, at the world I want to feel /  
Natgeo in high def...

I am the blue pill consuming a matrix steak of ignorance called bliss /
and the emotion that is strongest, is a bad word known as /
Need... /

please free the caged bird /
see what new songs / what more can be heard / ... / please?!
Pretty Please?

/

Coocoo bird at noon o'clock
knows why it sings
after every tock and hour knocking
so why not
pretty please ?  / feel free
to notice

if briefly --    how we breathe...
even captive, the caged lung sings
I want such wings
that the air in my breast
is song of nightingales!

be the art form heaven
graciously experiments...

Freedom !  cry the river Nile
Freedom without denial
Freedom!
*(screamed the coffin's dead, ghost the lifeless poet's
restlessness)

Today I am reminded
To appreciate her
Remember
To celebrate her
Like we do
The gifts
Each Decemeber.

Today we all are
Similar
Having her as dearest
And most familiar
Today belonging
As we all are belonging
To our loving
Mother(s)

Today I am reminded
Of who I am
Because of her
And no other
I know love
And learned to be a man

Today it's her we thank
It's Mother's Day
Blessed be creation's dance

And I am reminded
How once she held
My tiny little hands...


*(I am no one with you, nanay.
   I'm forever grateful.)

I can't believe how much I love him

   don't stop these spells of static stirrings
   won't wash it away, like sleep
   in my succint showers
(rightly, comely in my hand)

And still I absorb
the absolute-arrangements of him,
the bear-bulk hulk of him

still I swoon,
   aroused with naive-named niceties
   ceremonial dreams of touchable torches...
And I am overcome,
by flagrant fuels, aflow
ever the more juvenile
   for who am I / to have
   the grand spectacles of him...?

I can't imagine why I love him so
   can't begin to convince or list it
   don't keep this leaping lush of laden love
   ungoverned / inside...
I won't ignore it
I can not hide
I want to tell him
   like laughter spreads its joy
   he's a riddle to be reveled in,
Want to know the questions
his face the answer I want to see...

It is he that silences
the noise of me,

it is he that revises
the mistakes of me,

it is he that spends
the worth of me,

it is he that lifts up
the truth of me

I can't believe
I can't begin

how much I am
                            in love with
him...

1.
One /second/to none
says come, feel the brilliant night's
loud silence for morn.

2.
Bereft of so much,
perfectly imperfect soul,
you're/quite somethin'/ else.

... he points his toes
like a swan stretching its neck :
smooth calves in fish-nets
to slip into stiletto heels,
        performance art of a deceptive nymph

... grace on fine-point tips : his gift - in stiletto heels,
impersonation or personification of feminine beauty
leporine lithely limned
delicate dancer
       it is almost as if floating across water
       he mimicked once more before
some inner mother's nature took over
façade of savoir face - voila! a star in it's place ...

... It is her face when the night creates a cape
borne with Van Gogh plumes sufficed with self
she paints upon his face : starry nights
sun-flowers, irises covering the welts...
comparably museum worthy, imitation flames
yet like any other canvas
          beneathe it could lie disappointment and mistake
          drafts of inspiration, cover-ups of cynicism
          another creature - some creation unlike him
what was before / the curtain / is unseen, but what if ...

... the truth and process to what presently one sees
or believe
could be / only an amateur attempt:
moments unfelt under layers & layers
of trial and errors / contempt?
      would you wipe away Mona Lisa's
      smile and devilish wicked secret ?
just to uncover blemished a masterpiece:
an ugly Danish duckling underneath

to prove that swan-lake
a gent

... to evolve from broken eggshells
become a song timely hummed & remembered well
priceless history murals' on passing face
all spoken thoughts performing down the lace
      define yourself, how the flight of life from embers
      happiness pursuant to tender
Fully free with grace,
it is the power of creativity / the spirit's ability
to overcome adversity
the art of divinity - that is
what he is practicing  
                                 This trumpeter
                                 swan in stiletto heels...

As children we seem to skim across surfaces
Of our days’ tranquil lakes

Like the basilisk running on hind legs
Out-pacing our (lesser than Jesus) predators

Impossibly drowning them in the wake
Of that chase, as we are learning to shield ourselves

By striking first, so as not to feel
that blow of life’s cruel anger and exhaust...

We know how to wade the weeping
Wreckages of our mistakes & missed opportunities;

Mistook with misunderstanding’s book:
"An Idiot’s Guide to the Malady of Mishaps / Moroseness."

As adults we grow the necessary gills
To breathe our own tears' folkloric oceans seeming

Vast as Mithra’s museums of mummified cries,
Drowned moments we silenced inner deep blues' / sky.

We are Merfolk,
Watching here our ebbing tides

How once we had legs like ballerinas, swift & light
Like our worries to aging blight

Stymied timely introduction to Triton nights….
Deftly anticipating the arrival of hindsight’s

Deepest fight to catch the rye and nimble child
Above us now, while we watch them -- Kites

Of memories as in our far away / freedoms
On the surface of our wars' tear filled lakes

Losing our inner / liquid flight…
From youthful wings to fins, and wordless sting

Learning to sink, swim, and breathe
Again-- Life :
                       our unheard Ariel under the sea…

We are Merfolk of dreams oceanic kisses
Voiceless we will lack magic to raise our wishes

We learn to sing in seaweed with
Music of happenstance and waves of need

We are similar to those lost depths
Inequalities and struggles all abyssal deep.

So together as Merfolk must quiet that  loud sea
Loss & histories of mountains / memory

Nautiluses drowning in love’s diminishing poetry,
We are merfolk, submariners toward mystery...

When we say or use the word
"perfect"
(like placing a cherry on top)
nothing more can be added
and so it must done.
Why strive so heavily to be "perfect"
the end of being one
narrative
recipe  
picture perfect views
a day or night captured
Kodak moment
flight

"perfect"
monuments of yore
award winning shot
catastrophe and history
the good and bad
had and have not's
great wonders of the world
Instagrams of pearls

In the eyes beholden much
beauty is the art
and the heart is what is touched
ever gracefully
so it goes
the very Life that flows...

She wants a perfect nose
a face to match Shakespeare's prose
I don't
want to want at all
nor do I want "perfect"
I want tomorrow and ever more
the mystery with you
finding that love is more than
footprints on the shore
I want more than what looks
"perfect"
With you love is
more

than...

absolute.

This is Eighteen the size of thirteen,
with the ego of twenty something stupid
"we are young heartache..."
to heart ache we stand - love and life
and the streets
we breathe and eat
everything seems like "a battle field"
still I look for myself
asking who dat? --inside
the mirror and the heart
who am I ?
Love is rain, life's battlefield
my thirst
droplets on the window pane
thunder outside
rolls hollow from inside mine...

On the other side of my bedroom door
opposite George Michael's poster
faithfully ****
a married couple argue
about money, about fidelity, about anything
that leaves the blame
on the one who feels more empty
but somehow
momma's too smart of a mouth
wakes the Kraken
and a drunken man is not a man
when he loses sight
as his manly fists lands an eye
a cheek, a lower lip

This is eighteen the size of thirteen
defense against a wall of baller height of 6'6''
I crash against wood and tile
in a haze of screams and electric sting of pain
the smell of beer
and falling purple rain
from the iron blow of fathers
drowning his demons
inflicting pain
rather than feeling himself
his jealousy has morphed into a vicious wolf,
blind with red hate...

From the floor I grip her hand
our eyes speak with one another
as we wept and I vowed this - the last
time he hurt my mother
or any other...

Prince on the FM, a deeper rain
with a perfect anthem
for those darker days

When our tears were so deep
they stung
our hearts in its flood
purple rain and blood

this was Eighteen
the size of two hearts growing up
Gettin'
strong...

"The beautiful ones, the beautiful ones, will hurt you every time" --Prince.


Prayers and Foreplay
Like melodic potions wafting kiss
strums your Louisana Minne.
fingers
tickles keys black and white
electric soulful
Halleluiahs
Ooh baby
Princely Baby Genius
multi-instrumentalist
Funky new and founded purpose
purple rhythms jazzy blues

Your songs are you
and always yours
victor of lawyers inc. corporate war

Your music sweats
condensation on cherries' skins
psychedelic magic wings
juicy dancing sonic romance
sugar wizard
of sweetest Thangs
twang the guitar and sang
The songs like answered prayers
for foreplay
and getting down
and *****
Sensual the ditty
clouds with purple tears
dreams made wet
ecstasy caress our ears...

We grew up to the soundtrack
of Kings & Prince
And we woke up inside
hearing him all out
wide within our being
history is lace and Rock N Roll
Moonwalk & Funk & Dance
there is no Hip Hop
or techno trance
without Rhythm & Blues
no Rock with no Roll

There is no foreplay without Lil' Big ****
or Cadillac riding low,
There is no purple without his highness
the royalty of deeper souls...

Aalyiah and Thriller King
and Elvis and all the Cherubs sing
welcome a prince
up there where the sun is always rising
where no doves cry
but robe the One
enlightening,
the music of rainbow and colors
we feel and make
not in death but heaven's love
he'll wake...
Naked genius his music plays
radio flyin'
Purple rain...
Like prayers and fond memories
Immortal prince is
the music is

never dying.

(Even now that he did for you,
all fans like doves are crying)

Who were you
when all their affections' malingering
mirrored only actor's guild
guide of the sly guise
while you were as open as the skies
which you scry for them
in joyous paints of hopeful hues
intermingling laughter
assumed them to be true...

Who were you?
when their packs of wolves
with sheepish fondnesses
belied fangs of cold intentions
while you were as open as the skies
out numbered and made pre-occupied
a carcass kept unmentioned
a stolen name
a life without action...

Who were you
then
is who i was now...
the patina on a crown
still as true as the gold beneath
a stronger heart
from the break now beats

But will no one come walk with me?
(none who lie and steal your name)

better yet to learn from grace
kept true
and kept face with my faith
brutal and honest
inner war with hate

but how slowly on my heart
this impasse attends
how like a fish that craves to breathe again
of such cold seas
to not depend...


who were they to play pretend?
and this is where my concern
now ends...
question unanswered and
vacant.


--------------

Oh how slowly on my heart
this impasse attends
How like Atlantis lost in the deep
crave to breathe again
of such cold seas to not depend
Oh heart of my soul ascend!
In love we live again!


*(Reclaim all of our heavens hence
patience of my goddess' kiss
reminds all time forever since arrives
All is One is Light
mother / father of the infinite
let me be your sacrifice)
Goddess how I love thee

...1

Oh Middle Kingdom! Forbidden kingdom! Middle Earth!
The In-between


and Afterward, Within and Outside
this world's physical berths

Spirit realm and beyond the Further

Oh Heavenly and Cosmic

Mother/Father,

Imperial ruler of All creation

All us living,

Oh where are you?!

Ohm

Middle Kingdom, Forbidden Kingdom,

Goddess Love / God my King?

I am your word your fire your son

Awaiting for kingdom come

Our Universe of infinite Light

and Peace

not yet begun,

Oh kingdom! All that is One!

Life is yours and all below the stars

belongs to none and only you and yours!

Oh middle kingdom, oh middle earth!

Reclaim what was, is and further more

all of time, all of Truth

upon this shore and beneath this sky

we belong within your Light!

Oh Kingdom! Oh Heaven!

OHM Shambala Oh!

Ohm Valhalla Oh!

Ohm Forever Oh!


___________

...2

Ohm Shambala!
in shambles
Shangri La contained
conquered by fists
ample weight
of walls of stones
another wonder
on hill of bone
Tourists and their Sherpas
'Tch 'Tch lost histories
when once
cloud city and magic
was laughter on the chicory
and wind

Oh peaceful wisdoms
my middle kingdom hence
rescinds to lifeless
beige and damning Greys
it appears it feels
like Hell ever since

The halls are unremembered ways
empty of God's good love
or wonder light of Day...

Oh Middle Kingdom!
Ohm Shambala!
Xin Nian Quai Le!


(You're a beautiful day!)

David-sculpture  Eros' wings
Lovelorn youth in search of Spring
his only hope in traveling
a peace from broken promising
poetry's earth-shattering sage
magic an optimistic stage

Loveless : puppet to self-worth,
Lovelorn still has yet to learn.

Love defends as guilt will fight
lessons of fires and appetite
Loveless is insatiable to hide
new ecstasy festooned with pride

Loveless will wail and cry
Lovelorn wakes free to fly

learning that love is self sacrifice
yin and yang so prophesied:
gifts to waking minds sublime
all seeds are sown in fields of time...

As Loveless screams his agonies
wide eyes drool over magazines
Lovelorn runs piningly
for more to always feel at rest,
for something golden as the sun

Loveless could care less,
empty having none
defeated before having won?

Love defends as guilt will fight
Both will weep when they see the light...

Tears from Less will burn regret
'Lorn lets flow to Openness
peace of mind knows happiness

both alone yet never so
and when two meet
as One will teach :
burying all the misery,

both similar with their sorrows
all must wake up now--tomorrow.

Alone or less, love will be
found in fields of dreams that sing
*David-sculpture / Eros' wings.

She was as bright as her virtue
as honest as any new borne / reborn...

She suffers her husband's hand
when it use to lift
her to the heights of moon dance and Valentines,
young love masquerades
since now she clutches beads
rosary pearls and holds distance
as a barricade
the space of air for breathing
the length of hand to mouth
bereavement

She suffers acquiescence / quick-step /
tango / running man
by his command - Miller - Bud
Colt45 on hand
she is maid a waitress cook on call
an olive skinned blow up doll
it must have been love
she suffers the fall...

She lies every way every day
at every party guest & passersby,
a mental check list to memorize
sculpts her husband in marble
a pillar to look up to
while she fears to be left
alone / behind
when it is closing time...

She suffers desperado Jane
at the end of her rope
never had harmed a soul,
but hers in giving to such love
in this living
she suffers hell / enough...

Fall asleep angelically
a fistful of prescription tears and drink
oh to dream would be a kindness
a sliver of hope / she thinks
of no more bruises or dread
of dying / knife of kisses
or scythes of apologetic ***
nights of kneeling
to be barren and unworthy
to usher in new life

she suffers vex and hexes
in silent graces
as she exhales the last of her nights
memorial of starry eyes
in youth in love
in his hands
uplifting
now clear of tears / for fears /
with better sight
her heart on love needs correction
from her ghost of recollection
since past and now
have no reflection
on the grace that mothers Tao

She suffers epiphany
anew and laughing at the site
below
that double wide / coffin /
cacophony of supremist white...

When her inner heart flies right
She suffers no longer longing or apart
all our dreams and graceful light
carried within
an ark

She suffered not from drowning
but a prey
upon the heart
This ends
as she again will also
start ...

So divine such grace
Words not made to embody
Ballet when God speaks

1
Wake to grey morning,
April fooled us denying Spring,
thunderous storming.

Sleet and angry rain
skeins of winter falling ice
floods and flashy mud.

Down rolls the deluge
quenching Joshua trees instead
of man's thirsty head.




#2
*Above the desert skyline roils a maelstrom of foreboding clouds
every shade of sorrow, the color of every tear, vapid greys all gathered up as thunder claps and rolls as though nimbus giants were bowling. April foolishly battling within the fronts and blows / the westerly gusting breath of  brine and pine whistles fast and harshly on the song of my wind chimes. Here comes the deluge of obese drops and tiny dots of flavorless ice, sleet and rain storm to drown the light of day, April fools in showers drenched, like insects avoiding the water board kind of fate, running amok like gutter dirt and city mud. Flash flood warning: the thunder explodes from the distant hills, as the floe of rage and silt, stampedes in whirling river runs, avoid the tsunami sized kind of flood. The deathly hollow of an undertow, April showers serious moods, and fools are silent in this hush, she has duped us to have our trust... and like thunder rolls the drums of war, lovers and flora soaking seeds, wait for Spring in May will be: the blossoming of thirsty soil, but now from the vantage of this balcony, watch the maelstrom roil...

Revelry in all our days opulent
Awaken to the warmest of loves
Your moments, choices to confide,

Of worth in fulfillment's touch:
Filigree of heavens,

Longing for wisdom,
In us to find:
Glowing peace
Home in
T**ime.

Now that we are lungs of our own,
no longer governed by each other
or good-humored light,
angled to make us beautiful;
I leave, tightly grappled within,
as if still in genuflect
still spinning
inside our billowing confessions,
two bodies conquered by cool
curious, cunning damnation...

A friend,
in her venues of Valentines,
a countess of stones thrown
proffers me the hangman's colloquial
"You still feel him...?"
nodding, I recall
the contours & colors of love's collision
"You just keep feeling it,
however much you wish it stop.
Feel it--feel it all,
there's no prompt drug
to make it go away..."

She coddles my sloth of shoulders
with ginger wisdom of grandmothers.
Nodding, I give in
to the germinating futility...

I still remember him
blowing out the candles
at our small table
with our unfinished meal;
how we thatched anger-strangled hearts
with saffron sauces of exasperation...
each etching kiss
close to a divine cure,
each curve of our crude pose
close-captioned
for the appetite-impaired...

Each saline scurrying tear,
each lonely-wilderness of day,
I force a sort of Nut-*******'s strength
not to feel
that barrel-hollow loss
that gallery of Use-To-Be's

and my friend,
in her Carmen wisdom,
is surgeon savant
stitches me up,
I am less in swarms of his tangibility;
I breathe less of his fetch
flooding
I am slowly becoming
just a single prefix,

my own word and crutch
no matter how often I recall
the music of his touch
or all the colors  

we felt so much...

You are
worshipped
like a regal gilded thing,
charismatic and proud
you are

A people pleaser
with a stern strength
like stone
a face
within a smile
which outshines and belies
the mysteries beneathe
kept well away
those closest
have the faintest of clues
the best of you
learned & removed
A people pleaser

And still
they run to you
in babbles
in gaggles
in herds
to catch you speak
songs of birds
nightingale
hyperkind words
that lift
hope and fallacies
your friends far from plenty
a people pleaser
And still

They covet the time
when you christen the dusk
full of stars and its dust
in their weeping eyes
shower you with adolation
gifts of virgins
virtues
or savage relations
They covet the time.

You are
their lord of lush
their harbinger of pleasures'
promise
a great septre
to baptise them
of sin
release
You are

A man
in a crowd,
pulled in all directions
loud in your reflections
fair to those you meet
shelter them
those heavy
with concrete
streets
A man

And how a man becomes king
your passion and touch
which outshines and belies
lost lust
and a wuthering
heart
of lions
if only they knew
of what I know
of you
with me
we start anew
I am the evidence
another apostle
disassembled
apart I'd
die
unknown
how change is noticed
like a shadow
underfoot
or a deed behind a grin
a footnote
of your transformation
a light
within.
Eye am the evidence
How a man becomes
                                      King...



*(Love is the crown
and you are chosen...)

i made with you / gumby graphics

gifts of kiss

parameters of malleable minutia in misfit music

meanderings of our midnight sting

     our bodies in bonafide brevity, singing

seeking seiks' mischievous apathies

on the fringes

IMAX movie-like scenes without acting out / words

tongues

the levity or suspenseful sanctions / unhinged

     members and mouths mapping galactic absurdities

Mars and mercurial in star-crossed appetites

burning as suns should; meteorites / streaking sky;

in wonderful dining and gustful bites - eyes

    full of asteroid-desires coalescing

masculinity in every copious opus / in rites

of unforgiving depths / in blinding supernova nights,

forever ever / in a name of fantastics and amoebas

    these boys worshipping planets x, y, z / emotions coax & ***** elastic

strength of steeds, drinking the implacid body's

mead / wrestling without a fight's reprieve

fires, our mouths, / incite body-art / completely received

     intrigued with warm inner spaces

     paint brush of hours in museums of sweat / engraved,

encased / ******* sunburst theories on theories of tastes

and comets stroked / our body-art in hues

which love forever ever levitates . . . in spacial haste

      wormholes and Thanatos amused.

Beautiful Eros rain : Bodies paint.

(nebulae & you.)

Ashen flavored clouds
snow cones / sashimi pines
will melt from the mouth.

The garden gumbo;
wounded greens and vegetables,
soul less flotsam soup.

I hear your stress from down the hall
Not yet having let go
Of the static / hard day's work
Your voice sizzles
Like rain on sidewalks
I hear you
"Did you set the alarm
for the morning?!"

"Of course I will!"
Unfolding with purposeful hands
Your side of the California
King
Fluffing your pillows
Soft intentions trying to still you
From here

Tomorrow breaks with a panic
As dust on all the old clocks
Settles like snow
from the cold of such silence.

Forgot to set the alarm
And to wake with you
(In you)

That morning

When did I begin
To forget?

how to love the world
you left
behind
me...

Poor Mrs. Sincere Lee
Stares longingly at a frame
Gilded gold and empty
On her wall
Once a portrait of her younger face
If only her wane and fading
Mind beneath her thin crown
Of silver white
Could remember
Nimbly
If she could only
Brush stroke memory

Back to life
When thoughts have drowned
In misty loss
Her youth and summers
A distant shore
In a regretful ocean of
Salvatore Dali clocks
Her emotions turned against her
Enemies at the door

Draining the vivid Now
Most recollections are merely sewn
Waves of ups and downs
Cast away in an album of
Forlorn

She recalls her demure lil curtsy
She was loyal as a pet rock,
Still she stares at the blank canvas
Rather than the dawn on the dock
Frozen in the lack
Of having known nor found
Someone
More than this
Silent dame of down
With more to her than some
Husband's name
Mrs. Sincere Lee in her pink
Bath robe
Can only stare at the yellow frame

With a thinning crown
Of silver white
Of wish of need of crave
The days without an empty canvas
Or her sentence
of self blame
Time is leaving her
Frozen In such hollow
Shame.

Ennui.
The trenchant ocean
Burns with out a flame.

As hot as...
those eyes when he sees
almost predatory

always do they genuflect
upon their roughened knees  
a sordid kind of scene

obscene / unsanitary
craven cries to Loki
for pleasures
****** writhing /
feeding fists

sweat of the easy / a quickened fix
men with members stiff as petrified
sticks / jabbing in a hastened mix
teeming muscles / hungry hips

like electrified evenings of swollen eels
sustained by suckling Gamorra's ****
fiending always
for the slick and the harsh

crystalline mist / he is undoubtedly marked
by the unquenchable blue fire
of his lust / afflicted addictions,

never will he tire - incessantly
defined by ***'s maledictions

I grow hot like sunlight
bright - even in the darkest mires
he's an unmatched lover in satin flight,
a dragon / a well-endowed sire
formiddable in succulence / remiss of sight

i weep without regret when

once i followed him toward the night
forgot what i was and

accept what i am,
endure in all burning light
fueled by the sword of Pan

love keeps me warm
as he keeps me lit

i am reborn / magnificent
a forlorn phoenix
omniscient  
songs for his careful choir

i am one chosen - truth among liars,
i fly above / kite toward the sun

this is what I am / what i was
this is what i've become

then a willful puppet
without inhibiting wires

still my love will never tire
transformed by lost desires / hot as blue fire

this is who i've become

i am the light of the rising sun

The Lion of kingdom come...

Is it insomnia
when I don't care for sleep?

The sort of sleep that is belligerent
interruptions at each half past
in the middle of every hour,
intervals of interlopers
awoken by invisible passersby
floating enemies striking me
with the hatred of their kinesis
cerebral lightning at my heart
or attempts at my suffocation
as I wake to a coughing start,
intruders invading my dream mind
as well as its peace

anything that would hurt me
they revel in my breaking,
I can hear the clicking of laughter
of teeth...

Deserts and all our cities
should have crickets,
yet Vegas feels like its been dying
the quiet now replete
no chirp of the lucky bugs
nor busying of bees with their buzz
rather its the fizzle of neon panic
the beatitude of cheats
the machinations of gamblers' defeat

or sometimes mostly
this deep in the twilight
a swarm of Ninjas, Suzuki, Kawasaki roars
toward their kabuki foot rubs
a twenty gets you a dub
rub you long time
for an hour behind red doors

Try to spank myself to sleep
if not to exhaustion,
but I can still hear the distant piercing
screaming
of latter days & soilent green
the secret war as alien is to any sound
sleep.

They look like people
we look like meat,
the living dead
their sake's flesh
all torn away and beat
up like faithful lovers that creep
seduced by the sluice
of the street / symphonies,
of rocket ship Discovery

Can't turn the volume down
in the black of night
when my mind's eye
is behind a veil
in the dark of 2:22
(in recovery)
and still the aliens
wretchedly wail...

whilst i'm
slumming in attempts at slumbering,
the greys are watching
humans lumbering
               and *******
two twenty two
in the dim
twilight
morning...

ONE

     So first and foremost
     "nothing is impossible"
     since once and for all.



TWO

     Love cannot be spelled
     with an "I" nor  g.o.d.
     yet with two it's "gOOd"