The same images,
repeat themselves again in
a freeze frame of
history.
Colors fade
as I struggle to
remember the glitter of
innocent visions before
the eye had become crude and
unmoved by illuminating lights.
I see a child moved by
'red apple',
simple beauty stired the mind and
imagination,
before the eyes, ears, nose took
on too many senses and attached thoughts,
dulling joy with each encounter,
I search once again for my childhood senses for
the magic of 'red apple' and each thing in the moment as
simple beauty.
repeat themselves again in
a freeze frame of
history.
Colors fade
as I struggle to
remember the glitter of
innocent visions before
the eye had become crude and
unmoved by illuminating lights.
I see a child moved by
'red apple',
simple beauty stired the mind and
imagination,
before the eyes, ears, nose took
on too many senses and attached thoughts,
dulling joy with each encounter,
I search once again for my childhood senses for
the magic of 'red apple' and each thing in the moment as
simple beauty.
Wandering the city lost,
it could be this city or another,
searching
for meaning.
At night I can't sleep,
sleepwalking throughout the day.
Sometimes it is the the warmth from coffee,
heat from the cup is
the thing that makes me know I'm alive
like cut skin or a woman's softness rubbing on my skin,
sensations that say
I feel, I'm real
I must be here.
Yet where is here?
No wonder people smoke
to pass time
feel warmth
see it all go up in smoke
like our existence...
hazy.
This is what it seems like to go on & on
like Sinclair's Babbit,
mechanical clock or robot
working , working, working some brain-less job to pay the bills,
sleeping, fucking, drinking, eating, shiting, bleeding, loving, loosing,
and on and on it goes.
Should I expect more?
I wanted the sun,
the stars,
the universe.
All I have is the morning walk to the bus stop
a cup of coffee and
an occassional fuck or love affair,
and I can't keep this up to I'm 40 or 50 or 60,
it's like someone who stops using their body-- atraphy--
that is how my mind and heart feels.
I need intense real connections, deep conversations, helping others,love &
close stable interactions & passionate loving touch & energetic creative work, a purpose or
this dream will end
exactly as it is now...
dull as a old rusty unsharpened knife.
it could be this city or another,
searching
for meaning.
At night I can't sleep,
sleepwalking throughout the day.
Sometimes it is the the warmth from coffee,
heat from the cup is
the thing that makes me know I'm alive
like cut skin or a woman's softness rubbing on my skin,
sensations that say
I feel, I'm real
I must be here.
Yet where is here?
No wonder people smoke
to pass time
feel warmth
see it all go up in smoke
like our existence...
hazy.
This is what it seems like to go on & on
like Sinclair's Babbit,
mechanical clock or robot
working , working, working some brain-less job to pay the bills,
sleeping, fucking, drinking, eating, shiting, bleeding, loving, loosing,
and on and on it goes.
Should I expect more?
I wanted the sun,
the stars,
the universe.
All I have is the morning walk to the bus stop
a cup of coffee and
an occassional fuck or love affair,
and I can't keep this up to I'm 40 or 50 or 60,
it's like someone who stops using their body-- atraphy--
that is how my mind and heart feels.
I need intense real connections, deep conversations, helping others,love &
close stable interactions & passionate loving touch & energetic creative work, a purpose or
this dream will end
exactly as it is now...
dull as a old rusty unsharpened knife.
"Where are the ancient rivals to
be found?" (in your mind/heart),
a fire stirs there,
that won't stop,
uncontrolled,
like rage,
fire (desire) it's all the same,
try to escape from the
pain (is that what it means
to be insane?)
"So they tell me."
"who?"
The ghost walker in my visions,
as I sleep
they awaken...
"Is this so?"
No. (an illusion?)
perhaps. (Most likely a trap.)
like this life?
so it seems. (Yes.)
it was a dream (one
with screams.)
a vision?
"Yes, a vision." (existence itself.)
a mirror. (that is all),
the fall,
the call,
it's all the same
intrusion/delusion
what are these loud words I hear?
(a nightmare?)
a tear in the eye,
as I try to speak,
stifling
why? ('cause I'm shy),
quiet/silent,
why? (because I am to die.)
( creation is death & death creation),
there goes the gray fly,
by,
has this all been a lie?
"No"
"then what?"
just a vision (strange.)
I know,
that is how life goes....
slow?
fast like a star's final glow? (strange.)
be found?" (in your mind/heart),
a fire stirs there,
that won't stop,
uncontrolled,
like rage,
fire (desire) it's all the same,
try to escape from the
pain (is that what it means
to be insane?)
"So they tell me."
"who?"
The ghost walker in my visions,
as I sleep
they awaken...
"Is this so?"
No. (an illusion?)
perhaps. (Most likely a trap.)
like this life?
so it seems. (Yes.)
it was a dream (one
with screams.)
a vision?
"Yes, a vision." (existence itself.)
a mirror. (that is all),
the fall,
the call,
it's all the same
intrusion/delusion
what are these loud words I hear?
(a nightmare?)
a tear in the eye,
as I try to speak,
stifling
why? ('cause I'm shy),
quiet/silent,
why? (because I am to die.)
( creation is death & death creation),
there goes the gray fly,
by,
has this all been a lie?
"No"
"then what?"
just a vision (strange.)
I know,
that is how life goes....
slow?
fast like a star's final glow? (strange.)
Watching
"Wild At Heart" on video
wound up &
ready to be wild,
tired of Bowling Green Ohio's
Bowling allies,
pool halls &
coffee shops,
ready to become college drop out,
society drop out.
Escape from the dying falcons
farms
fantasies
into a city of gold & flames,
time to hop on the train &
enter a poet hipsters domain.
Enter
dangerous terrain
alleviate the pain of boredom
for a bigger ache
feel the quake of San Francisco,
ride on cigarette highs &
women's sexy thighs,
this is the night life
for the young & reclessly ripe,
EAT this
Chinatown
sweet & sour flesh,
visit Haight & Ashbury on a profound journey,
get high on the sidewalks &
camp out in the Castro,
What does today's fortune cookie read?
Another adventure under the Bay moon.
"Wild At Heart" on video
wound up &
ready to be wild,
tired of Bowling Green Ohio's
Bowling allies,
pool halls &
coffee shops,
ready to become college drop out,
society drop out.
Escape from the dying falcons
farms
fantasies
into a city of gold & flames,
time to hop on the train &
enter a poet hipsters domain.
Enter
dangerous terrain
alleviate the pain of boredom
for a bigger ache
feel the quake of San Francisco,
ride on cigarette highs &
women's sexy thighs,
this is the night life
for the young & reclessly ripe,
EAT this
Chinatown
sweet & sour flesh,
visit Haight & Ashbury on a profound journey,
get high on the sidewalks &
camp out in the Castro,
What does today's fortune cookie read?
Another adventure under the Bay moon.
She sucks
on that
cigarette,
like the Mother's tit
she never had,
guzzling that
beer
like an infant
starving and searching for
food,
love.
Crying for milk,
nourishment.
Now it is an addiction
for a slow death,
her replacement and form of comfort,
in a world without
a Mother or teacher.
on that
cigarette,
like the Mother's tit
she never had,
guzzling that
beer
like an infant
starving and searching for
food,
love.
Crying for milk,
nourishment.
Now it is an addiction
for a slow death,
her replacement and form of comfort,
in a world without
a Mother or teacher.
He was a sadistic Cowboy
garbed in black,
carrying his gun with pleasure,
as he took wrangler rope & belts,
tied me up tight,
I cried like a calf shivering
in fright
as I squirmed &
wiggled
crying& trying to escape the nose
around my frail neck
as my flesh burned,
died in the sensation of being branded.
Dad said
slaughtering was fun,
I shouldn't be so fragile.
He yelled,
"You must be strong,
Need no one!"
Words are needles
that bite through ears.
Brain &
heart tied up in knots,
silenced in shame & loeliness
childhood bondage
holds me motionless,
as I try to break free
of the entanglement of the past.
garbed in black,
carrying his gun with pleasure,
as he took wrangler rope & belts,
tied me up tight,
I cried like a calf shivering
in fright
as I squirmed &
wiggled
crying& trying to escape the nose
around my frail neck
as my flesh burned,
died in the sensation of being branded.
Dad said
slaughtering was fun,
I shouldn't be so fragile.
He yelled,
"You must be strong,
Need no one!"
Words are needles
that bite through ears.
Brain &
heart tied up in knots,
silenced in shame & loeliness
childhood bondage
holds me motionless,
as I try to break free
of the entanglement of the past.
Under the golden moon snake river
fists twist & turn & wolves
growl and the crow swoons--
stars weep & moan.
The ocean sighs
the tides come & go
screaming of drowned fish
fumigated by poison juice
dropped into Mother Earth's belly
disease doom in the
shadow of a soaring seagull's
gray wings stretching
like spoons sipping & sifting
through the smog-infested sky
clouds rumble in agony
as she is wet from the sorrow
death multiplies as a species
drops to dust each day
as humans accumalate
gold watches & autos
speeding by the meadow where
the gray rabbit nibbles her
last bite of moist green grass
another mall built there
another steel machine comes
into invention another steel heart.
fists twist & turn & wolves
growl and the crow swoons--
stars weep & moan.
The ocean sighs
the tides come & go
screaming of drowned fish
fumigated by poison juice
dropped into Mother Earth's belly
disease doom in the
shadow of a soaring seagull's
gray wings stretching
like spoons sipping & sifting
through the smog-infested sky
clouds rumble in agony
as she is wet from the sorrow
death multiplies as a species
drops to dust each day
as humans accumalate
gold watches & autos
speeding by the meadow where
the gray rabbit nibbles her
last bite of moist green grass
another mall built there
another steel machine comes
into invention another steel heart.
I dreamnt of grandfather again;
& in a field he was pulling back the green skin on corn,
I was eight walking carefully over the cracks in the dirt.
His boots were dirty & he spoke to me,
rough hands touching this plant & that, telling
about planting seeds.
He named the things of the Earth;
I was impressed but did not listen,
distracted by the cattails in the distance,
some blackbird with red-banded wings.
I was remembering the tickle of nostrils as
the neighbor's horses teased sugar cubes off my hands,
another trick he taught me.
I didn't remember the words for the trees around me,
I just left the landscape to daydream of some fantastic creation,
living inside my head on most days with only
glimpses of the way the green grass stalks blew in the wind.
& in a field he was pulling back the green skin on corn,
I was eight walking carefully over the cracks in the dirt.
His boots were dirty & he spoke to me,
rough hands touching this plant & that, telling
about planting seeds.
He named the things of the Earth;
I was impressed but did not listen,
distracted by the cattails in the distance,
some blackbird with red-banded wings.
I was remembering the tickle of nostrils as
the neighbor's horses teased sugar cubes off my hands,
another trick he taught me.
I didn't remember the words for the trees around me,
I just left the landscape to daydream of some fantastic creation,
living inside my head on most days with only
glimpses of the way the green grass stalks blew in the wind.
I disappoint all friends,
humans & trees & bumble bees.
I lose sight in my misery.
Contemplating death is not easy.
She intrigues me
with her illusioned lips, fulfilling dreams &
the promise of peace.
All I am is cold bones.
Yet she never convinces me.
Although I have been dead for at least 15 years,
she can not bury all of my bones.
These cracking bones,
are good for more than
storing & upholding flesh.
These aches prove I exist.
These snappings of my skeleton
clinking together are
promises that I am a daughter
to the planet,
that these bones &
this flesh are not empty &
meaningless.
A cracking bone
tells me I am human &
moving & walking towards the Earth.
Feeling my pain,
Feeling my worth as human,
as a part of the universe.
When my nerves sting,
I remember
to be human is
to be dreams & bones.
Without this skull & hands,
visions will die &
without imagination,
the flesh starves.
humans & trees & bumble bees.
I lose sight in my misery.
Contemplating death is not easy.
She intrigues me
with her illusioned lips, fulfilling dreams &
the promise of peace.
All I am is cold bones.
Yet she never convinces me.
Although I have been dead for at least 15 years,
she can not bury all of my bones.
These cracking bones,
are good for more than
storing & upholding flesh.
These aches prove I exist.
These snappings of my skeleton
clinking together are
promises that I am a daughter
to the planet,
that these bones &
this flesh are not empty &
meaningless.
A cracking bone
tells me I am human &
moving & walking towards the Earth.
Feeling my pain,
Feeling my worth as human,
as a part of the universe.
When my nerves sting,
I remember
to be human is
to be dreams & bones.
Without this skull & hands,
visions will die &
without imagination,
the flesh starves.
Smell of cigarettes, & whiskey wear themselves in the wind,
The lyrical melody of an ambulance plays in the night, on lonely streets.
He is heading to another bar at 1am. "Give me beer,
beer baby,blues, gotta dull the pain."
He takes his motorcycle to the next stop,
getting off in a smoky club.
He hasn't had his fill.
There is rain chiseling through his skin.
Rubbing his mustache he thinks it all looks better by moonlight &
Through the vision weaving in & out of strip clubs,
wasted , man, wasted, he
staggers to a cheap motel,
waking up to a strange pair of
tits,
grabbing on,
sucking to remind him
he is alive.
The lyrical melody of an ambulance plays in the night, on lonely streets.
He is heading to another bar at 1am. "Give me beer,
beer baby,blues, gotta dull the pain."
He takes his motorcycle to the next stop,
getting off in a smoky club.
He hasn't had his fill.
There is rain chiseling through his skin.
Rubbing his mustache he thinks it all looks better by moonlight &
Through the vision weaving in & out of strip clubs,
wasted , man, wasted, he
staggers to a cheap motel,
waking up to a strange pair of
tits,
grabbing on,
sucking to remind him
he is alive.
Let us bow our heads & contemplate
the superficiality of America,
land of neon signs & K marts & mini-malls & mega malls,
sounds of diesels driving on dark pavement,
moving through the buzzing of the grim night,
the contempoarary fool flirting on wooden bar stolls,
drunk on the wavering of artifical multi-colored lights &
the shallowness of conversations in restaurants &
the empty eyed man nodding, saying,
"he was so drunk that's why he survived," &
mad laughter filling the polluted air &
adults giggle &
talk joyfully of farts & burps.
our destination is "The Kingdom of bang & blab"
or perhaps its tweedle dee & tweedle dumb to be had,
but here we are, land where money buys freedom &
bullshit talking tricksters tapping down cracked sidewalks,
jibbering trivia & useless clucking of tongues,
this nonsensical rhetoric is our National Anthem sung,
let us forget our babbling & buying ,
let us dwindle our days away,
sway in the comfort of cash & silly stutterings,
let us forgive our ignorance,
we are as unenlightened as a cockroach.
Let us pray for more dharma lions & buddhas
to deconstruct the triteness of this Nation
the superficiality of America,
land of neon signs & K marts & mini-malls & mega malls,
sounds of diesels driving on dark pavement,
moving through the buzzing of the grim night,
the contempoarary fool flirting on wooden bar stolls,
drunk on the wavering of artifical multi-colored lights &
the shallowness of conversations in restaurants &
the empty eyed man nodding, saying,
"he was so drunk that's why he survived," &
mad laughter filling the polluted air &
adults giggle &
talk joyfully of farts & burps.
our destination is "The Kingdom of bang & blab"
or perhaps its tweedle dee & tweedle dumb to be had,
but here we are, land where money buys freedom &
bullshit talking tricksters tapping down cracked sidewalks,
jibbering trivia & useless clucking of tongues,
this nonsensical rhetoric is our National Anthem sung,
let us forget our babbling & buying ,
let us dwindle our days away,
sway in the comfort of cash & silly stutterings,
let us forgive our ignorance,
we are as unenlightened as a cockroach.
Let us pray for more dharma lions & buddhas
to deconstruct the triteness of this Nation
I wake, but I'm already dead.
I look to your lips for grace. A single kiss.
I slip out of my clothes & give myself to you,
and you turn off the lights & pull away. More darkness.
I feel like a skin on a potato peel being peeled off,
image of my body sliced off with each rejection.
I touch no one.
The room grows cold. Ice.
Blue fingers, blue sad heart aching for warmth, touch.
I do not know anothers gentle love.
This body feels like a banged up doll,
a sack to be tossed around without softness.
I know the agony of love unfillfilled,
It's been my life long torture.
Wasted fire inside my flesh,
a body not accustomed to pleasure.
Is my skin hard yet?
I am wailing, weeping to be set free,
pour kerosine on me quick. Is somebody in this sack of flesh?
Feed me gasoline if you must, but please don't let me rust over
tin man like, scarecrow like, stiched up monster of Frankenstein like,
I am dying from lack of brightness fed,
I am a corpse of fire, the living dead,
splotches of marks upon my skin silently ignored,
and I am waiting for the ice pick to melt away &
feel sunshine of soft hands dancing on my skin,
heating up my cells,
like a fire thrower shaving off this deep freeze,
so I can leave this coma, for life, in its golden form &
still I sit as plastic as a disregarded old barbie doll,
and again ask ,is my skin hard yet?
I look to your lips for grace. A single kiss.
I slip out of my clothes & give myself to you,
and you turn off the lights & pull away. More darkness.
I feel like a skin on a potato peel being peeled off,
image of my body sliced off with each rejection.
I touch no one.
The room grows cold. Ice.
Blue fingers, blue sad heart aching for warmth, touch.
I do not know anothers gentle love.
This body feels like a banged up doll,
a sack to be tossed around without softness.
I know the agony of love unfillfilled,
It's been my life long torture.
Wasted fire inside my flesh,
a body not accustomed to pleasure.
Is my skin hard yet?
I am wailing, weeping to be set free,
pour kerosine on me quick. Is somebody in this sack of flesh?
Feed me gasoline if you must, but please don't let me rust over
tin man like, scarecrow like, stiched up monster of Frankenstein like,
I am dying from lack of brightness fed,
I am a corpse of fire, the living dead,
splotches of marks upon my skin silently ignored,
and I am waiting for the ice pick to melt away &
feel sunshine of soft hands dancing on my skin,
heating up my cells,
like a fire thrower shaving off this deep freeze,
so I can leave this coma, for life, in its golden form &
still I sit as plastic as a disregarded old barbie doll,
and again ask ,is my skin hard yet?
The man on Hawthorne street
in dirty clothes, red back pack &
arms up like a prickly pear
staggers into oncoming traffic.
Cars & a bus nearly hit him.
He crosses the street as people stare & smirk.
I look into his eyes that are glazed over &
say "sit down. we're worried about you."
My friend calls for help on the pay phone that is far away,
The thirty year old man seems lost & sad.
I ask, "what's your name?"
but he doesn't remember.
Perhaps he feels as if his skin is sharp & cannot be touched.
We try to sooth him but he falls to the sidewalk &
I try to keep his head from cracking open,
hold his hand saying, "help is on the way."
A group of well dressed people walk by.
I ask them to call for help with their cell phone,
they pass by in disgust as
if to get involved they might feel
a prick of something.
The man stinks & is dirty,
I hold his hand as he closes his eyes &
relaxes some as if this is his first comfort.
Police arrive & smirk & tell me to leave,
as they can't stand to feel compassion for
something so ugly.
in dirty clothes, red back pack &
arms up like a prickly pear
staggers into oncoming traffic.
Cars & a bus nearly hit him.
He crosses the street as people stare & smirk.
I look into his eyes that are glazed over &
say "sit down. we're worried about you."
My friend calls for help on the pay phone that is far away,
The thirty year old man seems lost & sad.
I ask, "what's your name?"
but he doesn't remember.
Perhaps he feels as if his skin is sharp & cannot be touched.
We try to sooth him but he falls to the sidewalk &
I try to keep his head from cracking open,
hold his hand saying, "help is on the way."
A group of well dressed people walk by.
I ask them to call for help with their cell phone,
they pass by in disgust as
if to get involved they might feel
a prick of something.
The man stinks & is dirty,
I hold his hand as he closes his eyes &
relaxes some as if this is his first comfort.
Police arrive & smirk & tell me to leave,
as they can't stand to feel compassion for
something so ugly.
I do not know bliss,
the romance of passion that plays in films--
reels skip by me as I play at celibacy,
never knowing what true connection and passion is,
because the body never brings me anything but trouble,
women dominate me with fists or words &
men try to jab their penis in me as if I were plastic &
one night stands leave me raw &
I've had 'lovers' that refuse to touch.
Skin must be like sandpaper because the touching is never right,
I am aging & have not awakened sexually.
My hair is graying & I still blush red
at the sight of an attractive woman,
& wonder if I will become a wrinkled old woman who never knows
what it is like for the bosy and mind and heart to be fulfilled, or
if on my death bed I will think ecstasy and true connection an illusion.
the romance of passion that plays in films--
reels skip by me as I play at celibacy,
never knowing what true connection and passion is,
because the body never brings me anything but trouble,
women dominate me with fists or words &
men try to jab their penis in me as if I were plastic &
one night stands leave me raw &
I've had 'lovers' that refuse to touch.
Skin must be like sandpaper because the touching is never right,
I am aging & have not awakened sexually.
My hair is graying & I still blush red
at the sight of an attractive woman,
& wonder if I will become a wrinkled old woman who never knows
what it is like for the bosy and mind and heart to be fulfilled, or
if on my death bed I will think ecstasy and true connection an illusion.
What would you think Whitman this second?
What say you of your visions of America today?
There is fire blazing in the sky,
flames bursting from the Pentagon,
ashes of the New York World Trade Center,
people running through streets of the great city.
Blood, dead, rubble, tears, screams,
shock, fear, & more blazes.
What would you think Ginsberg?
wish your Mantras were with us now,
your beard & wisdom upon us with
your hands chiming Buddhist bells,
chimes to clamor for world peace.
Today on the news all we see is evil,
grief & President Bush promising more blood.
What do we see America?
Roethke, can we recover from this wound?
The innocent are dying all around us &
on TV some Arabs are smiling in celebration.
The death of the innocent is never something to celebrate,
there were people of color in the rubble, janitors, mothers, daughters.
Killing is never something to celebrate,
but Nations seem to retaliate daily and
grandmothers, children, babies die in this insanity.
Where will it get us?
There are rivers of blood forming.
I find myself crying throughout the day for the fallen Americans,
for the fallen of every Nation & for the falling of those to come.
I never felt it fully until today,
the brittleness of my bones.
Knowing this, how should we live life?
Splendid buildings & thousands die in seconds,
as if all of beauty can be destroyed in a flash quicker
than lightning.
It can all be over in a breath.
It can all be over in a breath.
What do we do with this wisdom?
Bomb another Nation so
their children can weep too?
What conditons have created this battleground Earth?
An eye for an eye and all will be blind.
Turn the cheek and love. peace. communication.
I hear the screams of sirens,
and smoke is in the sky today,
images of planes colliding into towers,
screams from living rooms as people watch the TV in horror,
we cannot feel the isolation anymore.
Those on ground Zero reporting of
the foul smell and taste of the stench of burning flesh.
The young wonder if there will be war,
and the word TERROISTS gets imprinted in brains &
a wave of fear is rumbling .
There are moments where things are never the same,
moments when everything collapses & must be rebuilt.
This is such a moment.
Frantic searches for loved ones,
unanswered questions,
No one is talking in America but of tragedy.
There is a mourning in Americs,
a sorrow too deep for words.
Tom Clancy saw it,
planes as bombs,
how all things can be weapons.
Blood banks fill,
American flags go up,
people are searching for something to do.
Prophecies are everywhere.
Is this fire in the sky that of Nostradamus of the New City?
All our worries seem so absurd today,
the girl we couldn't sleep with,
things we didn't get,
problems at work,
lack of friends,
financial concerns.
Does it really matter when there are sufferings so great we can
not speak of?
Does anything really matter but love?
Buildings & malls shut down--
Never seen anything like this before.
What would you say Ginsberg?
Security will tighten &
America will not be the same.
I live near an airport,
but today is the first time I heard no planes in the sky.
It's eerie how silence can be frightening.
High rises still blaze & blaze,
hundred feet piles of rubble,
rescue workers searching for alive & dead.
O Whitman, will we find what we are looking for under that rubble & dead bodies? Will we find peace somewhere in another's grave?
will we start to form new visions of America or what will
future poets write on America's tombstone?
What say you of your visions of America today?
There is fire blazing in the sky,
flames bursting from the Pentagon,
ashes of the New York World Trade Center,
people running through streets of the great city.
Blood, dead, rubble, tears, screams,
shock, fear, & more blazes.
What would you think Ginsberg?
wish your Mantras were with us now,
your beard & wisdom upon us with
your hands chiming Buddhist bells,
chimes to clamor for world peace.
Today on the news all we see is evil,
grief & President Bush promising more blood.
What do we see America?
Roethke, can we recover from this wound?
The innocent are dying all around us &
on TV some Arabs are smiling in celebration.
The death of the innocent is never something to celebrate,
there were people of color in the rubble, janitors, mothers, daughters.
Killing is never something to celebrate,
but Nations seem to retaliate daily and
grandmothers, children, babies die in this insanity.
Where will it get us?
There are rivers of blood forming.
I find myself crying throughout the day for the fallen Americans,
for the fallen of every Nation & for the falling of those to come.
I never felt it fully until today,
the brittleness of my bones.
Knowing this, how should we live life?
Splendid buildings & thousands die in seconds,
as if all of beauty can be destroyed in a flash quicker
than lightning.
It can all be over in a breath.
It can all be over in a breath.
What do we do with this wisdom?
Bomb another Nation so
their children can weep too?
What conditons have created this battleground Earth?
An eye for an eye and all will be blind.
Turn the cheek and love. peace. communication.
I hear the screams of sirens,
and smoke is in the sky today,
images of planes colliding into towers,
screams from living rooms as people watch the TV in horror,
we cannot feel the isolation anymore.
Those on ground Zero reporting of
the foul smell and taste of the stench of burning flesh.
The young wonder if there will be war,
and the word TERROISTS gets imprinted in brains &
a wave of fear is rumbling .
There are moments where things are never the same,
moments when everything collapses & must be rebuilt.
This is such a moment.
Frantic searches for loved ones,
unanswered questions,
No one is talking in America but of tragedy.
There is a mourning in Americs,
a sorrow too deep for words.
Tom Clancy saw it,
planes as bombs,
how all things can be weapons.
Blood banks fill,
American flags go up,
people are searching for something to do.
Prophecies are everywhere.
Is this fire in the sky that of Nostradamus of the New City?
All our worries seem so absurd today,
the girl we couldn't sleep with,
things we didn't get,
problems at work,
lack of friends,
financial concerns.
Does it really matter when there are sufferings so great we can
not speak of?
Does anything really matter but love?
Buildings & malls shut down--
Never seen anything like this before.
What would you say Ginsberg?
Security will tighten &
America will not be the same.
I live near an airport,
but today is the first time I heard no planes in the sky.
It's eerie how silence can be frightening.
High rises still blaze & blaze,
hundred feet piles of rubble,
rescue workers searching for alive & dead.
O Whitman, will we find what we are looking for under that rubble & dead bodies? Will we find peace somewhere in another's grave?
will we start to form new visions of America or what will
future poets write on America's tombstone?
O Whitman , the visions I see! Green seeds in soil,
decayed roses in the sun &
cocoons on trees, yellow butterflies.
Meditations in everything.
Souls, energy everywhere!
We live in moments you & I;
in a web of life we can leave ourselves behind.
How can I sing of the Earth & of love of life?
How can we sing unless we know death?
Know the moment of renal failure,
piss & bile spilling from hanging mouths &
bodies that dangle.
Our shaking pets die in our arms.
Across the land what do we see but life & death?
We live in weeping.
Who are we?
Be with me Whitman & Roethke,
guide me in this moment.
We are alive in our despair.
Oregon White Sturgeon burnt black by the sun
fish the size of a Siberean Husky
swim in a hatchery pond
with coins and cigarette butts.
A crewcut man casts stones
bragging about fish he has killed.
Two hawks circle the sky, sweeping downward
for a glimpse of prey,
families with cameras capture the image of a mountain.
They do not notice the birds.
At the Grand Canyon coke bottles clutter the rim and
pennies tumble over the edge thrown by tourists.
Children attempt to pet and feed a squirrel.
O Whitman, in Yellowstone are fools
who think they are in Disney World,
approaching buffalo with camera in hand.
On the road "Going To The Sun" the asses of two white rams
bounce away from vans and cars and campers,
and charcoal fumes fill the air from exhaust pipes.
Beaches of California display dead fish & oil,
& jellyfish graveyards liter the sand.
In cities pigeons fatten on crumbs,
& crows feed off the dead.
On shores seagulls gather junk,
& crab shells pile on the stony ground.
In Arizona desert scorpions sting & snakes shed skin,
& a black bear sneaks feasts from a garbage can.
Michigan's former town of Hogs Hollow has a slaughterhouse.
Stench of hogs in trucks across America &
cries in the killing &
pork chop barbeques corrupt the air.
O Whitman, where is your vision?
This is the meditation of America,
land of waste, dying, & decay before its time.
President Bush wants to dig up the last of the oil in
the National Parks & the Alaska wilderness.
So some say let's dig it all up
Let's sing songs of sorrow, songs of death.
Let's kill everything so we can all die young.
Are we all an apparition?
There must be love of all things to survive and thrive,
there must be an end still--an end--yet
there could be songs of joy for the next seven generations.
Where is the fresh water for the grabdchildren?
There will be wars for water & many dead.
A landscape full of bones.
I think of America as a place of destruction & lessons.
I do not see condors often anymore.
Can we sing of life from learning from the dead?
Can we sing of love giving birth
to love in the care of all things?
decayed roses in the sun &
cocoons on trees, yellow butterflies.
Meditations in everything.
Souls, energy everywhere!
We live in moments you & I;
in a web of life we can leave ourselves behind.
How can I sing of the Earth & of love of life?
How can we sing unless we know death?
Know the moment of renal failure,
piss & bile spilling from hanging mouths &
bodies that dangle.
Our shaking pets die in our arms.
Across the land what do we see but life & death?
We live in weeping.
Who are we?
Be with me Whitman & Roethke,
guide me in this moment.
We are alive in our despair.
Oregon White Sturgeon burnt black by the sun
fish the size of a Siberean Husky
swim in a hatchery pond
with coins and cigarette butts.
A crewcut man casts stones
bragging about fish he has killed.
Two hawks circle the sky, sweeping downward
for a glimpse of prey,
families with cameras capture the image of a mountain.
They do not notice the birds.
At the Grand Canyon coke bottles clutter the rim and
pennies tumble over the edge thrown by tourists.
Children attempt to pet and feed a squirrel.
O Whitman, in Yellowstone are fools
who think they are in Disney World,
approaching buffalo with camera in hand.
On the road "Going To The Sun" the asses of two white rams
bounce away from vans and cars and campers,
and charcoal fumes fill the air from exhaust pipes.
Beaches of California display dead fish & oil,
& jellyfish graveyards liter the sand.
In cities pigeons fatten on crumbs,
& crows feed off the dead.
On shores seagulls gather junk,
& crab shells pile on the stony ground.
In Arizona desert scorpions sting & snakes shed skin,
& a black bear sneaks feasts from a garbage can.
Michigan's former town of Hogs Hollow has a slaughterhouse.
Stench of hogs in trucks across America &
cries in the killing &
pork chop barbeques corrupt the air.
O Whitman, where is your vision?
This is the meditation of America,
land of waste, dying, & decay before its time.
President Bush wants to dig up the last of the oil in
the National Parks & the Alaska wilderness.
So some say let's dig it all up
Let's sing songs of sorrow, songs of death.
Let's kill everything so we can all die young.
Are we all an apparition?
There must be love of all things to survive and thrive,
there must be an end still--an end--yet
there could be songs of joy for the next seven generations.
Where is the fresh water for the grabdchildren?
There will be wars for water & many dead.
A landscape full of bones.
I think of America as a place of destruction & lessons.
I do not see condors often anymore.
Can we sing of life from learning from the dead?
Can we sing of love giving birth
to love in the care of all things?
When a woman sucks my nipple,
it rises,
erect &
ready to grow,
it penetrates outward,
as my body stretches like a cat,
in a yoga like trance,
as soft skin rubs my flesh,
& I feel the hot breath
of female lips intoxicating me,
in the rhythm of fire,
in the ancient dance of lust,
where orgasms build
out of control,
in a cave,
in a valley,
where a river flows,
wet & deep
the secrets
of two women
trembling,
embracing
the Goddess with
each fiery soft kiss.
This is the proper
worshipping technique,
for any religion,
kissing the feminine with
pleasure & passion.
pleasure & pass
it rises,
erect &
ready to grow,
it penetrates outward,
as my body stretches like a cat,
in a yoga like trance,
as soft skin rubs my flesh,
& I feel the hot breath
of female lips intoxicating me,
in the rhythm of fire,
in the ancient dance of lust,
where orgasms build
out of control,
in a cave,
in a valley,
where a river flows,
wet & deep
the secrets
of two women
trembling,
embracing
the Goddess with
each fiery soft kiss.
This is the proper
worshipping technique,
for any religion,
kissing the feminine with
pleasure & passion.
pleasure & pass
Your cock, the faucet, pumps up,
so I will know how turned on
this heat & silence make you.
We don't speak, only fuck like spiders,
mating & killing in the same hour.
This is how it is:
I've got the pussy to prove it.
Open your mouth,
I'll give you a taste of cunt
you'll never forget.
Like a Black Widow, I'll get my moment,
make your balls bleed good,
then throw your ass off the planet.
so I will know how turned on
this heat & silence make you.
We don't speak, only fuck like spiders,
mating & killing in the same hour.
This is how it is:
I've got the pussy to prove it.
Open your mouth,
I'll give you a taste of cunt
you'll never forget.
Like a Black Widow, I'll get my moment,
make your balls bleed good,
then throw your ass off the planet.
I made love last night
to my pillow.
Rubbing my genitals
releasing a waterfall onto my sheets.
I thought of
Sylvia Plath
on top of me,
showing me the tricks to the trade.
I imagined Poe & Gandhi
had been lovers.
How sexy it was to see pain in bed with love &
watching
the two fondle each other in awe.
In life I am a stone woman,
standing without an erection.
At night, anything is possible,
as I thrive in fantasies of being a hermaphrodite,
bringing pleasure to all.
to my pillow.
Rubbing my genitals
releasing a waterfall onto my sheets.
I thought of
Sylvia Plath
on top of me,
showing me the tricks to the trade.
I imagined Poe & Gandhi
had been lovers.
How sexy it was to see pain in bed with love &
watching
the two fondle each other in awe.
In life I am a stone woman,
standing without an erection.
At night, anything is possible,
as I thrive in fantasies of being a hermaphrodite,
bringing pleasure to all.
My cunt is deep wet, water flowing to your lips.
Can you rub me?
Touch my breasts with your tongue,
& take me down to screams
of joy once again?
Undress me,
caress me,
touch your fingers to my smooth face,
slide your tongue around my flesh.
Mesmerize me with kisses,
let me forgive you
with your hands melting on & into me,
breathing fire & love
slide across my spine
with smooth & gentle strokes &
take your mouth to my ear,
press your vulva to mine &
wrap around my shoulders,
clutching & stroking,
let's lick & feel untl
we're soaked in a creamy river.
Can you rub me?
Touch my breasts with your tongue,
& take me down to screams
of joy once again?
Undress me,
caress me,
touch your fingers to my smooth face,
slide your tongue around my flesh.
Mesmerize me with kisses,
let me forgive you
with your hands melting on & into me,
breathing fire & love
slide across my spine
with smooth & gentle strokes &
take your mouth to my ear,
press your vulva to mine &
wrap around my shoulders,
clutching & stroking,
let's lick & feel untl
we're soaked in a creamy river.
She fidgeted and coughed.
"Hmmm". Her glasses slid down
her nose and she smiled.
"Haven't you seen
a WASP with breasts
before?" she laughed.
The joker danced on the table
with three Pan antlers. Two on
his head & one erect.
The Twin Peaks midget
did a three step.
"This ain't Oz you know".
I nodded my head &
wished I didn't have to be
stuck in bed with the
Strawman itching my sides.
"Conformity sucks,", said the
Wizard.
"Ah--so it does," I agreed
as I wished for the good witch
to kiss me.
Dorothy wanted
Kansas & Mediocrity
All I want to do is go home.
"You know,
the place beyond the rainbow."
The midget hummed another tune.
"Hmmm". Her glasses slid down
her nose and she smiled.
"Haven't you seen
a WASP with breasts
before?" she laughed.
The joker danced on the table
with three Pan antlers. Two on
his head & one erect.
The Twin Peaks midget
did a three step.
"This ain't Oz you know".
I nodded my head &
wished I didn't have to be
stuck in bed with the
Strawman itching my sides.
"Conformity sucks,", said the
Wizard.
"Ah--so it does," I agreed
as I wished for the good witch
to kiss me.
Dorothy wanted
Kansas & Mediocrity
All I want to do is go home.
"You know,
the place beyond the rainbow."
The midget hummed another tune.
As a child I swung fiercely on my swing,
staring at the red fire in the sky, crying silently,
pumping my thin legs & arms trying to reach the golden sun,
hoping this would give me warmth,
in a world where children laughed in numbers,
and I was alone, seven and somber,
stuttering or slurring words when I attempted to speak of
my Father's bad breath biting into my face,
yelling "Shut up, be quiet" until
I sewed up my mouth in attempt to keep the peace.
I didn't tell of the ropes that held me tight,
or the crazy man that screamed,
or the Mother that left me at four,
apologizing in some coded tongue that I will never understand.
staring at the red fire in the sky, crying silently,
pumping my thin legs & arms trying to reach the golden sun,
hoping this would give me warmth,
in a world where children laughed in numbers,
and I was alone, seven and somber,
stuttering or slurring words when I attempted to speak of
my Father's bad breath biting into my face,
yelling "Shut up, be quiet" until
I sewed up my mouth in attempt to keep the peace.
I didn't tell of the ropes that held me tight,
or the crazy man that screamed,
or the Mother that left me at four,
apologizing in some coded tongue that I will never understand.
O pioneer poets, this is a ode to
your drunken Rimbaud ways,
the drum of fury & rage beats on,
O America, O requiem,
the dirge continues year after year.
O lovers yelling at each other into
endless hours of the American night,
Lonely even with a hitting,
a bruise lost in more mascara,
the dirge sways,
into the dance of death,
the American night,
the American freeways,
traveling in a fast car,
going nowhere,
the dry prairies fly by,
like a mirage
like existence itself,
fading.
We drink, we eat, we fuck,
here we go again on
a carnival journey,
step right on up boys & girls,
buy another ticket to
lost days of thrills,
another roll of the dice,
& here we arrive in another
cheap diner or motel,
over coffee or smoke,
we choke,
madness in the darkness,
darkness in the madness,
O lost wanderers
sway in the western winds,
moving route to route
on maps, money, madness,
moving to more requiems,
we sing songs in silence,
on steel streets &
crazy corridors of nowhere stores &
strange gas station salvations
we sail into the American
fright,
a nation of nameless
with graves of the unknown poets,
O pioneer poets, this is a ode to
your drunken Rimbaud ways,
the drum of fury & rage beats on.
your drunken Rimbaud ways,
the drum of fury & rage beats on,
O America, O requiem,
the dirge continues year after year.
O lovers yelling at each other into
endless hours of the American night,
Lonely even with a hitting,
a bruise lost in more mascara,
the dirge sways,
into the dance of death,
the American night,
the American freeways,
traveling in a fast car,
going nowhere,
the dry prairies fly by,
like a mirage
like existence itself,
fading.
We drink, we eat, we fuck,
here we go again on
a carnival journey,
step right on up boys & girls,
buy another ticket to
lost days of thrills,
another roll of the dice,
& here we arrive in another
cheap diner or motel,
over coffee or smoke,
we choke,
madness in the darkness,
darkness in the madness,
O lost wanderers
sway in the western winds,
moving route to route
on maps, money, madness,
moving to more requiems,
we sing songs in silence,
on steel streets &
crazy corridors of nowhere stores &
strange gas station salvations
we sail into the American
fright,
a nation of nameless
with graves of the unknown poets,
O pioneer poets, this is a ode to
your drunken Rimbaud ways,
the drum of fury & rage beats on.
The bodies of bears,bison,
red-tailed hawks circling,
the deep calm from streams,
ancient Sioux dancing,
the bald eagle's flight,
a frog on a lily pad,
the songs it can teach us
of a dragonfly & the lessons it can give,
silence & sounds in Appalachian hills,
Rocky mountains,
the power of snow-capped peaks,
Montana blue skies.
Can you also here the call of the woodpecker?
The cawing of a black crow & a Blue bird's song in the morning air?
The beauty of songs does not end with the starling.
Even rabbits & field mice & cubs have their melodies&
squirrel, coyote,salmon, porcupine,
mountain lion, horse, dog & turkey--
not only the animals,
but the mushrooms,plants,rocks,swamps & dirt,
the entire land mass & water mass is breathing &
Indians knew this & in the pine cone is a message.
Look closely, each leaf of grass
tells us something of ourselves & the universe &
even a grain of sand or the moon is a friend,
a teacher,
& blessed are all things Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Ether,
sweet soil, sacred ceremony of space & sky,
all to be given thanks, & medicine is in every atom &
in the Dandelion is an ancient tune.
In the Michigan snow & Oregon rain is
a rich joy deeper than the sea, deeper than the universe.
There is a ceremony in this butterfly,
this red fox, this creek, in a pine tree's roots,
there is a rhythm in this mud, in this stone pebble,
in granite, in a volcano,
in a bat's wings & in our eyes.
There is beauty breathing here & there & everywhere.
red-tailed hawks circling,
the deep calm from streams,
ancient Sioux dancing,
the bald eagle's flight,
a frog on a lily pad,
the songs it can teach us
of a dragonfly & the lessons it can give,
silence & sounds in Appalachian hills,
Rocky mountains,
the power of snow-capped peaks,
Montana blue skies.
Can you also here the call of the woodpecker?
The cawing of a black crow & a Blue bird's song in the morning air?
The beauty of songs does not end with the starling.
Even rabbits & field mice & cubs have their melodies&
squirrel, coyote,salmon, porcupine,
mountain lion, horse, dog & turkey--
not only the animals,
but the mushrooms,plants,rocks,swamps & dirt,
the entire land mass & water mass is breathing &
Indians knew this & in the pine cone is a message.
Look closely, each leaf of grass
tells us something of ourselves & the universe &
even a grain of sand or the moon is a friend,
a teacher,
& blessed are all things Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Ether,
sweet soil, sacred ceremony of space & sky,
all to be given thanks, & medicine is in every atom &
in the Dandelion is an ancient tune.
In the Michigan snow & Oregon rain is
a rich joy deeper than the sea, deeper than the universe.
There is a ceremony in this butterfly,
this red fox, this creek, in a pine tree's roots,
there is a rhythm in this mud, in this stone pebble,
in granite, in a volcano,
in a bat's wings & in our eyes.
There is beauty breathing here & there & everywhere.
Packing,packing
all my pain,
in my popping veins,
digging,digging,
deep black holes
pulling, pulling me in,
covering, covering
my skin & soul,
with sacks of dead blubber.
This is the breaking of the flesh,
the cracking of the bones,
battered,battered
burnt offerings
for this blade,
this cool metal rod,
called society,
is carving,carving
its initials into my skull,
sinking,sinking
down that dark corridor called my brain,
I store this tear, this fire,
this ache, this desire
for freedom screams,
& dream, dream
to unravel these seams,
to release these seams,
screaming,screaming
of everything unseen,
everything unseen,
all my senses are keen,
observing rules as unclean,
that's why I shake,
shaking loose this quake,
chanting, chanting,
we must awake,
must awake.
all my pain,
in my popping veins,
digging,digging,
deep black holes
pulling, pulling me in,
covering, covering
my skin & soul,
with sacks of dead blubber.
This is the breaking of the flesh,
the cracking of the bones,
battered,battered
burnt offerings
for this blade,
this cool metal rod,
called society,
is carving,carving
its initials into my skull,
sinking,sinking
down that dark corridor called my brain,
I store this tear, this fire,
this ache, this desire
for freedom screams,
& dream, dream
to unravel these seams,
to release these seams,
screaming,screaming
of everything unseen,
everything unseen,
all my senses are keen,
observing rules as unclean,
that's why I shake,
shaking loose this quake,
chanting, chanting,
we must awake,
must awake.
These words are sahumerio.
Ask the chanting shaman,
fire &smoke awakens & cures the sick.
There must be no apologies for words.
This fireball I command to
burn your eyes like the noon sun.
These flames are to destroy & rebuild,
Lightning bolts of gaya & Zen consciousness,
the volcano Goddess hurls this energy at you.
Do what you will, with your sunglasses,
but you can't make the sun go away,
his energy is yours.
Blow on the pipe &
watch the smoke in the wind;
this is the sahumerio of the poet.
Ask the chanting shaman,
fire &smoke awakens & cures the sick.
There must be no apologies for words.
This fireball I command to
burn your eyes like the noon sun.
These flames are to destroy & rebuild,
Lightning bolts of gaya & Zen consciousness,
the volcano Goddess hurls this energy at you.
Do what you will, with your sunglasses,
but you can't make the sun go away,
his energy is yours.
Blow on the pipe &
watch the smoke in the wind;
this is the sahumerio of the poet.
Welcome to my blog. My introduction is in the middle of a bunch of poems. Why? Because existence is really non-linear. In my blog you will find many of my writings. Everything from poems written many years ago by me to recent poems. I often will revise my work on the blog. Also, you are bound to find short stories, parts of novels in progress, short screenplays, short plays,lyrics, rantings, columns, essays, film reviews, etc. Keep in mind that in my poems and fiction; that the use of "I" does not mean that the piece is about me. Sometimes I observe others and write as if I were them. Though there are pieces of my direct experiences as well. Know that I write out of 'love'. Love of truth, love of words, love of expressing myself, and love of wanting the world to be a better place. Many of my early works are full of anger and this was in wanting to make the world change for the better when I observed a lack of justice or compassion. My writings are about bliss,chaos,cunt,cock, erotica, things that go bump in the night, the environment, injustice, death, life, and many other subjects. I have been published in some magazines. I have read at SF City Halls Poem Under the Dome, on KPFA Radio, and was a featured poet at The Three Dollar Bill Cafe. I am a filmmaker at Scary Cow Productions. Check out my fairly recent short film THIRST. It is a bisexual or lesbian vampire film. It is a feminist pacifist art film. It is a vampire film with a twist. Let's just say the women and the vampires win like in BOUND and the real monsters are the men in the film.
Ok Dear Readers please give me your feedback so I know what you like & don't like. I will actually end up gearing my blog towards your requests. More poetry? More fiction? Want film reviews? Tell me.
Ok Dear Readers please give me your feedback so I know what you like & don't like. I will actually end up gearing my blog towards your requests. More poetry? More fiction? Want film reviews? Tell me.
Grandma's spine bends inward
as she steps slowly through the door.
Her snowy hair glows in flourescent light,
as she moves through the narrow hall,
looking for a nod & "hello" from strange faces that
stare at slippers.
No one speaks.
Her wrinkled face searches for understanding as
she returns to her tiny apartment,
TV humming late into the night,
Remembering her farm house
& her husband who brought her flowers & poetry,
apparitions that entertain her mind at twilight
when she can't sleep.
His snoring is gone &
there is no one to bake apple pie for&
shadows dance on the white wall&
she remembers the generations whose diapers she changed,
when days were filled with the hum of a vacum cleaner &
rugged hands scrubbed dirt from dishes to sounds of children,
her man whistling outside as he worked the fields with tractor.
Now the refrigerator grumbles &
there is nothing to look forward to except CNN &
Sunday's outing at the grocery store&
Her aching skin does not want to shower or
move in this compound of elderly ghosts walking through halls,
& she plays a game with herself to keep the lonliness out.
She is talking to a four foot midget named "Otis"
who follows her around,
adding conversation to the breathing room.
as she steps slowly through the door.
Her snowy hair glows in flourescent light,
as she moves through the narrow hall,
looking for a nod & "hello" from strange faces that
stare at slippers.
No one speaks.
Her wrinkled face searches for understanding as
she returns to her tiny apartment,
TV humming late into the night,
Remembering her farm house
& her husband who brought her flowers & poetry,
apparitions that entertain her mind at twilight
when she can't sleep.
His snoring is gone &
there is no one to bake apple pie for&
shadows dance on the white wall&
she remembers the generations whose diapers she changed,
when days were filled with the hum of a vacum cleaner &
rugged hands scrubbed dirt from dishes to sounds of children,
her man whistling outside as he worked the fields with tractor.
Now the refrigerator grumbles &
there is nothing to look forward to except CNN &
Sunday's outing at the grocery store&
Her aching skin does not want to shower or
move in this compound of elderly ghosts walking through halls,
& she plays a game with herself to keep the lonliness out.
She is talking to a four foot midget named "Otis"
who follows her around,
adding conversation to the breathing room.
You might die today,
the possibilities are endless.
A car crashing,
bullets biting skin,
tornadoes crashing violent wind,
the odds are there in the roll of the dice,
& no desire for life can bring you back
from the dust cloud we will embrace.
We must live in these minutes,
the possibilities are endless,
a paint brush in hand,
eyes soaking up the art of sunrises,
pen in hand praying,
breathing conversation with friends.
Moving in the moment,
a perfected existence in each gathering of air.
The art in the step,
toes touching ground,
body following each gesture,
a thread connecting each limb in this
dance of body, song of the flesh,
stepping inside borrowed skin in a
beautiful dream for lovers of the geometry of the cell.
The joy of birth, the glorious slide show of life,
is here for the taking,
here for the man or woman willing to
see with the eyes of a newborn,
eyes finding the perfection of red apple,
perfection of the flawed shape of sagging skin,
tripping on the process of color gathering itself in
a multitude of unbelievable hues,
pulling the mind into the rhythm of atoms saluting
each other in this heaven & hell of illusion,
where even tragedy is honored on death beds as
we sing the song of our lives in our last testimony.
the possibilities are endless.
A car crashing,
bullets biting skin,
tornadoes crashing violent wind,
the odds are there in the roll of the dice,
& no desire for life can bring you back
from the dust cloud we will embrace.
We must live in these minutes,
the possibilities are endless,
a paint brush in hand,
eyes soaking up the art of sunrises,
pen in hand praying,
breathing conversation with friends.
Moving in the moment,
a perfected existence in each gathering of air.
The art in the step,
toes touching ground,
body following each gesture,
a thread connecting each limb in this
dance of body, song of the flesh,
stepping inside borrowed skin in a
beautiful dream for lovers of the geometry of the cell.
The joy of birth, the glorious slide show of life,
is here for the taking,
here for the man or woman willing to
see with the eyes of a newborn,
eyes finding the perfection of red apple,
perfection of the flawed shape of sagging skin,
tripping on the process of color gathering itself in
a multitude of unbelievable hues,
pulling the mind into the rhythm of atoms saluting
each other in this heaven & hell of illusion,
where even tragedy is honored on death beds as
we sing the song of our lives in our last testimony.
Rimbaud told the virgin boy about
holding your lovers cock--
and proclaiming Chirst a penis preacher
who sucked asses,
and Graves kissed the White Goddess
sucking pale nipples while
two birds plastered in a window pane
sat upon newly dead chicks and you
sliced your finger like an onion peel,
when at 4 you read D.H. Lawerence
shedding snake skin layers,
and proclaiming Lilith the Heiress,
the soothing sensuality stuck. Stein spoke:
invisible territories clash when
cloned cunts cut &
ample voices fall in canyon walls
echoing for eternity.
The bards & muses swell
like your burning clit,
the sensations are unbearable--
so you scream the songs
of the crude & truthful poet,
speaking of rough chaotic mountain edges &
wild civilities.
holding your lovers cock--
and proclaiming Chirst a penis preacher
who sucked asses,
and Graves kissed the White Goddess
sucking pale nipples while
two birds plastered in a window pane
sat upon newly dead chicks and you
sliced your finger like an onion peel,
when at 4 you read D.H. Lawerence
shedding snake skin layers,
and proclaiming Lilith the Heiress,
the soothing sensuality stuck. Stein spoke:
invisible territories clash when
cloned cunts cut &
ample voices fall in canyon walls
echoing for eternity.
The bards & muses swell
like your burning clit,
the sensations are unbearable--
so you scream the songs
of the crude & truthful poet,
speaking of rough chaotic mountain edges &
wild civilities.
Slinking into satin sheets,
spinning pupils like twirling feet.
Then from her nostrils flare golden butterflies,
like Icarus they move to the violet, burning sky
as a siren song moves from her mouth
and the goddess creeps into her heart.
On the Isle of Innisfree,
taking shape of the sea.
Rolling,pulling,
Climbing,rowing.
Lustrous fingernails scratching glass,
Dementia takes her amber ax,
casting shadows on the strawman mask,
spins and swirls a pungent dance.
Fluctuant silouhette in evening gown,
She a pale and succulent cloak of coals.
On the Isle of Innisfree,
taking shape of sea.
Rolling, pulling,
Climbing, rowing.
Grappling in the boggy air,
turning and tossing,
caressing silver moonlit hair
With marble eyes emblazoned,
and a morose stare,
with lacy, icy gauntlets touching skin.
spinning pupils like twirling feet.
Then from her nostrils flare golden butterflies,
like Icarus they move to the violet, burning sky
as a siren song moves from her mouth
and the goddess creeps into her heart.
On the Isle of Innisfree,
taking shape of the sea.
Rolling,pulling,
Climbing,rowing.
Lustrous fingernails scratching glass,
Dementia takes her amber ax,
casting shadows on the strawman mask,
spins and swirls a pungent dance.
Fluctuant silouhette in evening gown,
She a pale and succulent cloak of coals.
On the Isle of Innisfree,
taking shape of sea.
Rolling, pulling,
Climbing, rowing.
Grappling in the boggy air,
turning and tossing,
caressing silver moonlit hair
With marble eyes emblazoned,
and a morose stare,
with lacy, icy gauntlets touching skin.
The great god Pan is dead
fear by the metallic spoonful we're fed
machines grinding in the coming night to dread.
A bourgeoisie privileged season,
time of synthetic reason,
to love fully becomes condemned treason.
In the shadows there is plastic sound & fury,
catastrophic lunatics bred on worry,
this is nihilism & we must hurry.
Kafka said, "there is abundance of hope, but none for us".
Our credo is in selfish wealth & capitalistic trust,
the crippling of countless lives by greed & it all sums to dust.
Nietzsche speaks in the twilight, "the death of God",
and Western fools are bound to nod,
a utopia after all is not sheek & mod.
Universal peace is not found here,
all we got is the material, work, & fear,
turning life into a corpse of a career.
The sin is in the lack of love to be given,
from The Fall Of Man we are driven,
if we are drawn to selfishness we are not living.
Father Death feed on our brittle bones this twilight,
for we are wounded children & in foolery we delight,
running to our doom, moving into an everlasting night.
fear by the metallic spoonful we're fed
machines grinding in the coming night to dread.
A bourgeoisie privileged season,
time of synthetic reason,
to love fully becomes condemned treason.
In the shadows there is plastic sound & fury,
catastrophic lunatics bred on worry,
this is nihilism & we must hurry.
Kafka said, "there is abundance of hope, but none for us".
Our credo is in selfish wealth & capitalistic trust,
the crippling of countless lives by greed & it all sums to dust.
Nietzsche speaks in the twilight, "the death of God",
and Western fools are bound to nod,
a utopia after all is not sheek & mod.
Universal peace is not found here,
all we got is the material, work, & fear,
turning life into a corpse of a career.
The sin is in the lack of love to be given,
from The Fall Of Man we are driven,
if we are drawn to selfishness we are not living.
Father Death feed on our brittle bones this twilight,
for we are wounded children & in foolery we delight,
running to our doom, moving into an everlasting night.
I was a bone last Christmas,
& my relatives pounded me
like a broken drum.
Sometimes I have been the strings of a harp,
letting others pull me.
Every winter & spring
I change my shape.
On rainy days I become the barking of a dog.
This is the way of the shaman.
Speaking to rocks &
listening to trees.
The best conversations often are held
between bumble bees,
& the roaring seas.
Fire feeds me.
I am often wood,
set on fire,
burning with wisdom.
Talisen was my father.
The White Goddess is
my Mother.
The air tells me these secrets.
Listen, listen to Lilith
the snake pleas.
She knows the sounds of our mother.
She is beautiful.
This violet lilac
speaks, speaks,
light speaks,
nothing is silent,
listen,listen,
to the whispering wind,
listen,listen.
& my relatives pounded me
like a broken drum.
Sometimes I have been the strings of a harp,
letting others pull me.
Every winter & spring
I change my shape.
On rainy days I become the barking of a dog.
This is the way of the shaman.
Speaking to rocks &
listening to trees.
The best conversations often are held
between bumble bees,
& the roaring seas.
Fire feeds me.
I am often wood,
set on fire,
burning with wisdom.
Talisen was my father.
The White Goddess is
my Mother.
The air tells me these secrets.
Listen, listen to Lilith
the snake pleas.
She knows the sounds of our mother.
She is beautiful.
This violet lilac
speaks, speaks,
light speaks,
nothing is silent,
listen,listen,
to the whispering wind,
listen,listen.
America,
you should be ashamed of yourself.
Bruised bodies are all along this strech of Ellis street,
half-dead black men curled on wet cardboard boxes,
thin worn torn blankets over scared skin,
these men & women lay chilled in the San Francisco night,
Starving, broke, battered, poor, cold, ignored,
stench of piss soaking through dirty clothes &
smell of Indian food, crack, & marijuana,
numb eyed poverty born looking for a fix,
needing to end the tears, the pain,
coldness, hunger, silence,
the desperate are everywhere,
who pass through life like ghosts,
Staggering across the sidewalk begging for
change, bread, to be fed,
a way to end the dread,
lost & lonely wondering the streets,
Sometimes drunk, staggering, suffering at dawn,
broken hearted human scapegoats
vomitting on cement,
unknown crazy poets dying,
Orphans chattering in the darkness,
the madness,
A man shits himself because
America treats the homeless like useless animals.
This is a third world country on the corner of Ellis & Jones.
America commits geneocide hourly,
the black, the poor, the workers, the outcasts
are increasing,
America makes Hitler look like a good samaritan (remember the Indians),
America values property over people, war,
Remember the indians, the blacks, the facts,
third world factories,
human casualties, homeless, working commodities.
America,
is inhumane, corrupt, cold & uncaring-
Just look at the Ellis street & streets like this all across America..
it is the third world right outside someone's window.
Don't be fooled,
America contains a third world country, here,
and Ivory towers still exist and castles and suburbs,
hiding safe from the crimes commited,
here in the tenderloin are the wounded people
America dismisses.
America, you pay us too little of a wage or won't give us a job,
and too little a wage to live on equals lots of rage,
America,
you still have slaves,
America,
you need charges pressed against you,
your inhumane and should be ashamed.
America,
your commiting suicide,
America,
Go fuck yourself!
you should be ashamed of yourself.
Bruised bodies are all along this strech of Ellis street,
half-dead black men curled on wet cardboard boxes,
thin worn torn blankets over scared skin,
these men & women lay chilled in the San Francisco night,
Starving, broke, battered, poor, cold, ignored,
stench of piss soaking through dirty clothes &
smell of Indian food, crack, & marijuana,
numb eyed poverty born looking for a fix,
needing to end the tears, the pain,
coldness, hunger, silence,
the desperate are everywhere,
who pass through life like ghosts,
Staggering across the sidewalk begging for
change, bread, to be fed,
a way to end the dread,
lost & lonely wondering the streets,
Sometimes drunk, staggering, suffering at dawn,
broken hearted human scapegoats
vomitting on cement,
unknown crazy poets dying,
Orphans chattering in the darkness,
the madness,
A man shits himself because
America treats the homeless like useless animals.
This is a third world country on the corner of Ellis & Jones.
America commits geneocide hourly,
the black, the poor, the workers, the outcasts
are increasing,
America makes Hitler look like a good samaritan (remember the Indians),
America values property over people, war,
Remember the indians, the blacks, the facts,
third world factories,
human casualties, homeless, working commodities.
America,
is inhumane, corrupt, cold & uncaring-
Just look at the Ellis street & streets like this all across America..
it is the third world right outside someone's window.
Don't be fooled,
America contains a third world country, here,
and Ivory towers still exist and castles and suburbs,
hiding safe from the crimes commited,
here in the tenderloin are the wounded people
America dismisses.
America, you pay us too little of a wage or won't give us a job,
and too little a wage to live on equals lots of rage,
America,
you still have slaves,
America,
you need charges pressed against you,
your inhumane and should be ashamed.
America,
your commiting suicide,
America,
Go fuck yourself!
I take my ear off to you, tonight,
like a hat,
I tip it in honor of you.
This cut is for you and I,
poor, misunderstood Van Gogh.
I know your violet hues all too well.
The canvas is for kerosene.
I know listening is painful.
The moaning grows louder.
Who wants an old, aching ear anyway?
like a hat,
I tip it in honor of you.
This cut is for you and I,
poor, misunderstood Van Gogh.
I know your violet hues all too well.
The canvas is for kerosene.
I know listening is painful.
The moaning grows louder.
Who wants an old, aching ear anyway?
wild fire,
wild eyes,
flames of desire,
i walk on a tight rope wire...
sparks burn,
the heart churns...
i am lost in dreams of you;
powerful passion that is true!
i am the fool,
drowning in my own drool...
craving to touch your lips,
taking a warm sip...
touch me playfully with your finger tips,
pull me in with your thrusting hips...
kiss me,
drown me in loves fiery sea...
caressing,
undressing,
hands on thighs,
intense sighs,
wild fire,
wild eyes,
don't be shy...
slide your body by...
slide across my flesh,
don't let the fire rest...
take your tongue in my ear,
please don't fear...
take me in your arms tonight,
let our bodies bind tight...
wild fire,
wild eyes,
let us feel the flaming touching of intense delight!
wild eyes,
flames of desire,
i walk on a tight rope wire...
sparks burn,
the heart churns...
i am lost in dreams of you;
powerful passion that is true!
i am the fool,
drowning in my own drool...
craving to touch your lips,
taking a warm sip...
touch me playfully with your finger tips,
pull me in with your thrusting hips...
kiss me,
drown me in loves fiery sea...
caressing,
undressing,
hands on thighs,
intense sighs,
wild fire,
wild eyes,
don't be shy...
slide your body by...
slide across my flesh,
don't let the fire rest...
take your tongue in my ear,
please don't fear...
take me in your arms tonight,
let our bodies bind tight...
wild fire,
wild eyes,
let us feel the flaming touching of intense delight!
I seek the one to spend my life with,
and know that she likes to dive deep into the waters of
the mind, heart, and body.
I want to love you imperfectly,
for there is no other way to adore and
in our flaws we'll see celestial lessons.
I desire to
kiss your reflecting skin,
wrap around you in softness,
warmth, wetness, words,intense depth.
Our sweetness is like the scent of the sea,
refreshing, life giving,awakening the senses,
beautiful, real.
I want to roll into you,
submerged,
in the fullness of
an embrace that is
internal and external.
I know we are made of both perfume and dung,
strengths, sorrows--
we sing of this.
We will share in words and sermons,
in deeds, in building a solid house,
a stable foundation , a connection of hearts and minds wed together,
seperate, but one,
our naked souls and bodies strectching together in a sacred prayer.
and know that she likes to dive deep into the waters of
the mind, heart, and body.
I want to love you imperfectly,
for there is no other way to adore and
in our flaws we'll see celestial lessons.
I desire to
kiss your reflecting skin,
wrap around you in softness,
warmth, wetness, words,intense depth.
Our sweetness is like the scent of the sea,
refreshing, life giving,awakening the senses,
beautiful, real.
I want to roll into you,
submerged,
in the fullness of
an embrace that is
internal and external.
I know we are made of both perfume and dung,
strengths, sorrows--
we sing of this.
We will share in words and sermons,
in deeds, in building a solid house,
a stable foundation , a connection of hearts and minds wed together,
seperate, but one,
our naked souls and bodies strectching together in a sacred prayer.
What secrets do seagulls know,
that we've never dreamnt of?
Soaring wings strech over ocean,
Sailing with cries of satisfaction,
Freedom of moving moment to moment,
eating when fish give offerings,
sleeping, moving with the motion
of the waves,
little grey white birds thrive day by day.
that we've never dreamnt of?
Soaring wings strech over ocean,
Sailing with cries of satisfaction,
Freedom of moving moment to moment,
eating when fish give offerings,
sleeping, moving with the motion
of the waves,
little grey white birds thrive day by day.
I am the dust that blows in the direction of the four winds,
dancing in spirals like a butterfly rising from sleep.
I am the sun's rays that come & give you warmth.
For my bones are bound together by invisible threads
that vibrate in a chaotic flow seeming to give form.
I was there when the first man was born,
watching civilizations bloom & fall
with a blinking of my eye.
My eye is an eagle's,
observing everything as
I soar high above the Earth,
gliding into the shape of a mouse.
I am the hunter & the hunted merging.
I have felt the power of a mighty horse
rushing through my veins as
I swam into the Earth & rushed
through many lands on the current of great rivers.
In wild hills I have hunted wild boar,
dancing naked with skeletons with heads of bears,
drumming into the dawn.
I have seen that my arms are snakes
sliding towards the ground.
I have traveled through the deepest holes,
finding myself in caverns filled with a million bats that
sweep down onto my hair
as I stretch out to see wings unfold before me
as I fly into the night & watch the glitter of a thousand cities
speed by.
I am the lights of the city
beaming down onto the streets,
glowing for all to see my power.
Power. O power! O energy!
We are the same,
energy is what I travel on.
In body & mind fire carries me.
O fire, O flesh,
O bones, O Earth,
O dust we are wed,
in a dance of life.
I have felt the flesh & bones of men & women,
I dove into the heat of a giant fire,
& I declared I am the Alpha & Omega.
O brothers & sisters & animals & plants & minerals
We breathe & bleed together!
dancing in spirals like a butterfly rising from sleep.
I am the sun's rays that come & give you warmth.
For my bones are bound together by invisible threads
that vibrate in a chaotic flow seeming to give form.
I was there when the first man was born,
watching civilizations bloom & fall
with a blinking of my eye.
My eye is an eagle's,
observing everything as
I soar high above the Earth,
gliding into the shape of a mouse.
I am the hunter & the hunted merging.
I have felt the power of a mighty horse
rushing through my veins as
I swam into the Earth & rushed
through many lands on the current of great rivers.
In wild hills I have hunted wild boar,
dancing naked with skeletons with heads of bears,
drumming into the dawn.
I have seen that my arms are snakes
sliding towards the ground.
I have traveled through the deepest holes,
finding myself in caverns filled with a million bats that
sweep down onto my hair
as I stretch out to see wings unfold before me
as I fly into the night & watch the glitter of a thousand cities
speed by.
I am the lights of the city
beaming down onto the streets,
glowing for all to see my power.
Power. O power! O energy!
We are the same,
energy is what I travel on.
In body & mind fire carries me.
O fire, O flesh,
O bones, O Earth,
O dust we are wed,
in a dance of life.
I have felt the flesh & bones of men & women,
I dove into the heat of a giant fire,
& I declared I am the Alpha & Omega.
O brothers & sisters & animals & plants & minerals
We breathe & bleed together!
Fellow peeking through the hole,
raping and mounting--
banging on peephole cubbyhole--
Smell of cum
Semen of a soon-to-be groom--
on the female asses which sway
An ass pricked, the testicle
turned on, by what he calls a bitch
A man lying--and the
immoral crimes he commits with his head.
raping and mounting--
banging on peephole cubbyhole--
Smell of cum
Semen of a soon-to-be groom--
on the female asses which sway
An ass pricked, the testicle
turned on, by what he calls a bitch
A man lying--and the
immoral crimes he commits with his head.
"In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations"
This is the Earth, this great fire.
Nature has been mocked, a growing satire.
Spinning frantically, burning its last breath.
Mother Earth is intoxicated by her posioned tears.
The Goddess raped,
her blood seeps from the soil.
Forgotten is the lady moon,
lost is the connection,
the umbilical cord to the life force.
Even poets taunt her flesh
with mechanical verse,
carrying Christ's unbalanced curse.
Her mountains tremble,
her breast sag,
inflicted with a pusy tumor.
Our sister dies with this betrayal.
Women and trees are left as dead carcasses.
Man and metal stand on this tomb.
Inside burns the rage & pain,
ready to erupt with sprays of vomit.
Dead is man to the moaning Earth.
He never listens to the moon anymore.
The sacred woods of the fairies,
are nothing but someone's kitchen table.
Dances of praise are canceled,
almost extinct.
Cement streets & buildings
replace the last of shrines.
Shopping malls & fast food restaurants
consume humanity's time.
The cow is nothing anymore.
Millions of hamburgers
tossed into garbage cans
everyday.
Another human dies of starvation.
No one remembers where
the treasured tree, cow, & pig came from.
No one remembers to sing.
To sing praise to the moon, the water,
the stars,the air, the Earth,
the fire, the dust we belong to.
We abandon Goddess &
pretend to be of God & God.
We invent another souless machine
to help us rape, steal & murder.
No one remembers the secrets of the Goddess.
This is the time of the breaker & doom.
This is the Earth, this great fire.
Nature has been mocked, a growing satire.
Spinning frantically, burning its last breath.
Mother Earth is intoxicated by her posioned tears.
The Goddess raped,
her blood seeps from the soil.
Forgotten is the lady moon,
lost is the connection,
the umbilical cord to the life force.
Even poets taunt her flesh
with mechanical verse,
carrying Christ's unbalanced curse.
Her mountains tremble,
her breast sag,
inflicted with a pusy tumor.
Our sister dies with this betrayal.
Women and trees are left as dead carcasses.
Man and metal stand on this tomb.
Inside burns the rage & pain,
ready to erupt with sprays of vomit.
Dead is man to the moaning Earth.
He never listens to the moon anymore.
The sacred woods of the fairies,
are nothing but someone's kitchen table.
Dances of praise are canceled,
almost extinct.
Cement streets & buildings
replace the last of shrines.
Shopping malls & fast food restaurants
consume humanity's time.
The cow is nothing anymore.
Millions of hamburgers
tossed into garbage cans
everyday.
Another human dies of starvation.
No one remembers where
the treasured tree, cow, & pig came from.
No one remembers to sing.
To sing praise to the moon, the water,
the stars,the air, the Earth,
the fire, the dust we belong to.
We abandon Goddess &
pretend to be of God & God.
We invent another souless machine
to help us rape, steal & murder.
No one remembers the secrets of the Goddess.
This is the time of the breaker & doom.
Sticky sticky sticky sticky sticky entree
Sushi Avocado.
Sticky sticky sticky sticky sticky entree
Sushi Avocado.
Sushi Avocado fish is a cold gray stir.
A green on the sole this means suck suck sure.
When the acid bite is mean it is mellow,it
is a silver swordfish.
This is the cheese this is a cheese there are the breads
to the belly. These are the pets these say vets to leave
a crumb to Nancy.
Nancy is a shot of Nuclear waste.
A taste. A taste for the oceans rare fish
breeds. Breeds assemble, the load of fishes are in bubbles,
bubbles which sink and spray and mock being clean, mock
clean bust.
Stink gulps.
Stink gulps sink gulps lie a sticky habit, sea it sink
and a bubble link has fins. It shows a snail.
What is a snail. A snail is sea food.
Sticky sticky sticky sticky sticky entree.
Sushi Avocado.
Sticky sticky sticky sticky sticky entree
Sushi Avocado.
Sushi Avocado fish is a cold gray stir.
A green on the sole this means suck suck sure.
When the acid bite is mean it is mellow,it
is a silver swordfish.
This is the cheese this is a cheese there are the breads
to the belly. These are the pets these say vets to leave
a crumb to Nancy.
Nancy is a shot of Nuclear waste.
A taste. A taste for the oceans rare fish
breeds. Breeds assemble, the load of fishes are in bubbles,
bubbles which sink and spray and mock being clean, mock
clean bust.
Stink gulps.
Stink gulps sink gulps lie a sticky habit, sea it sink
and a bubble link has fins. It shows a snail.
What is a snail. A snail is sea food.
Sticky sticky sticky sticky sticky entree.
my mind shifts,
into balls of ETH...
my tart shakes/bakes,
into battered asses...
my glow sithers/slithers,
into a sharpened basket.
i am moist,
in a foul pasture of tits.
i am insane,
in a horny flight of bells.
i am ETH,
in a bombay dance...
moving,
grooving into the madness,
my task is my field.
tart of horny ears,
kept fucked beneath the rock...
my savior,
my ETH...
i am pisssed on by speckled hillbillies,
i am caressing the warm womb...
a poet of rations,
smothered in slimy veins...
a raging animal;
singing on a dildo,
a deformed witch turned sex Goddess...
pawing my jelly,
i swarm,
in my rhythm,
i slither & engage,
going....
NNNNN!
strapped in a head bondage,
society has yoked my glow...
i wager like a drunken mule,
falling into the desire.....
i am moist,
engaged in fiery wombs...
kept imprisoned,
my tart lies,
& i am fucked in a wall of flies....
the vitamins soak my tenderness,
& the drool pains devour my flesh,
& i am sewn into games of the insane...
left 4 the salmon 2 annoy,
my sexuality soaked in sin...NNN!
my sole de--capitated;
i have been stewed in a fish pot,
my tart left to smoke pot,
& my glow left 2 marvel...
i am primpy,
& i am ETH itself (it)...
hooked on has(The stash) ... i prance,
sucking in my horny stage of the insane,
i am:
ETH!
into balls of ETH...
my tart shakes/bakes,
into battered asses...
my glow sithers/slithers,
into a sharpened basket.
i am moist,
in a foul pasture of tits.
i am insane,
in a horny flight of bells.
i am ETH,
in a bombay dance...
moving,
grooving into the madness,
my task is my field.
tart of horny ears,
kept fucked beneath the rock...
my savior,
my ETH...
i am pisssed on by speckled hillbillies,
i am caressing the warm womb...
a poet of rations,
smothered in slimy veins...
a raging animal;
singing on a dildo,
a deformed witch turned sex Goddess...
pawing my jelly,
i swarm,
in my rhythm,
i slither & engage,
going....
NNNNN!
strapped in a head bondage,
society has yoked my glow...
i wager like a drunken mule,
falling into the desire.....
i am moist,
engaged in fiery wombs...
kept imprisoned,
my tart lies,
& i am fucked in a wall of flies....
the vitamins soak my tenderness,
& the drool pains devour my flesh,
& i am sewn into games of the insane...
left 4 the salmon 2 annoy,
my sexuality soaked in sin...NNN!
my sole de--capitated;
i have been stewed in a fish pot,
my tart left to smoke pot,
& my glow left 2 marvel...
i am primpy,
& i am ETH itself (it)...
hooked on has(The stash) ... i prance,
sucking in my horny stage of the insane,
i am:
ETH!
Her neck line stands in front of me like ice cream.
I want to lick there.
Her stomach an unknown flavor,
belly button peeks out,
as I wonder what it is like to taste her.
I wonder what her tongue could do
to my candy colored pink nipples,
if her tongue would explore me like
a hot fudge sundae--
licking & sipping & sucking.
I am dripping for a single touch,
burning in the sun left unrefreshed,
thinking that everything would
feel better if we were to melt together this afternoon.
I want to lick there.
Her stomach an unknown flavor,
belly button peeks out,
as I wonder what it is like to taste her.
I wonder what her tongue could do
to my candy colored pink nipples,
if her tongue would explore me like
a hot fudge sundae--
licking & sipping & sucking.
I am dripping for a single touch,
burning in the sun left unrefreshed,
thinking that everything would
feel better if we were to melt together this afternoon.
I've died more than nine times,
and a cat doesn't know the
meaning of
being reincarnated on a daily basis.
My body is a pin cushion,
full of needles, thorns.
each pin represents a hope destroyed and reborn
and I'm the sewing master,
give me a needle and thread,
and I'll redesign this dress of
flesh and heart by day and night.
the same pattern is dull, I think,
and the skin needs holes to
breathe deeper.
and a cat doesn't know the
meaning of
being reincarnated on a daily basis.
My body is a pin cushion,
full of needles, thorns.
each pin represents a hope destroyed and reborn
and I'm the sewing master,
give me a needle and thread,
and I'll redesign this dress of
flesh and heart by day and night.
the same pattern is dull, I think,
and the skin needs holes to
breathe deeper.
300 sharks slam onto a beach of
the Gulf of Mexico,
bleeding from their snouts, dead,
graveyard of carcasses, staring eyes.
A boy points,
his parents turn him away,
waves whisper "Los Muertos dias".
The day of the dead is increasing,changing, skeletons
litter the shore with a rotten stench,
a red pool soaks the sand.
the Gulf of Mexico,
bleeding from their snouts, dead,
graveyard of carcasses, staring eyes.
A boy points,
his parents turn him away,
waves whisper "Los Muertos dias".
The day of the dead is increasing,changing, skeletons
litter the shore with a rotten stench,
a red pool soaks the sand.
Cerebral cortex,
mind squeezer,
become a believer,
Jump on the tide,
of an electronic elephant ride,
Diver of fire,
What's your desire?
take a Razor Dazer &
shoot your cyborg phaser...
has it phased her?
Feel the flow
of a orgasmic electroid blow,
virtual sex,
virtual hex?
(mumble) jumble upbeat sketch.
Visit William & the hologram mess.
Is this Hyper-Weed Junk
or a hunk
of new age funk?
the journey begins (or ends)
chaos package for two,
who are you?
chew a little
tidbit of reality
generation xy babble,
bake in the sun of Sicily,
illusions
of the mind.
Brain imprints,
weaved Hell bent fine,
Swim the swamps of the
sewer,
drown in the government's manure,
side pack,
generation pack,
How about that?
Fly like a Raven in
the charcoal sky,
Smart drugs
fire eye high,
magenta waves swirl tie
Brain implants
psychedelic lies,
love & hate baked in a box,
in a Hip -Hop trance jam,
We know who we am?
Are we still the lamb,
sheep...meek?
Artificial life bombs
melting in our mouths,
Cyber punk clones molded
at the White House's home.
Do you remember George Orwell's
Big Brother's
throne?
Ride that pseudo machine that's
full of thorns,
power of
another tomorrow.
Read the sign. Caution. This is a danger.
Will we become strangers,
confined to hooked -up chambers?
mind squeezer,
become a believer,
Jump on the tide,
of an electronic elephant ride,
Diver of fire,
What's your desire?
take a Razor Dazer &
shoot your cyborg phaser...
has it phased her?
Feel the flow
of a orgasmic electroid blow,
virtual sex,
virtual hex?
(mumble) jumble upbeat sketch.
Visit William & the hologram mess.
Is this Hyper-Weed Junk
or a hunk
of new age funk?
the journey begins (or ends)
chaos package for two,
who are you?
chew a little
tidbit of reality
generation xy babble,
bake in the sun of Sicily,
illusions
of the mind.
Brain imprints,
weaved Hell bent fine,
Swim the swamps of the
sewer,
drown in the government's manure,
side pack,
generation pack,
How about that?
Fly like a Raven in
the charcoal sky,
Smart drugs
fire eye high,
magenta waves swirl tie
Brain implants
psychedelic lies,
love & hate baked in a box,
in a Hip -Hop trance jam,
We know who we am?
Are we still the lamb,
sheep...meek?
Artificial life bombs
melting in our mouths,
Cyber punk clones molded
at the White House's home.
Do you remember George Orwell's
Big Brother's
throne?
Ride that pseudo machine that's
full of thorns,
power of
another tomorrow.
Read the sign. Caution. This is a danger.
Will we become strangers,
confined to hooked -up chambers?
Surprise Natasha!
I hope you like your new blog.
I know I made a lot of assumptions on the design and even creating a blog for you in the first place, but after meeting you and hearing a little about what you were into, I felt I might be able to give you a boost and help you get started.
Known in today's world as "blogging" it's the latest and greatest thing for writers since the Gutenberg press; the ability to publish your own writing, have your own readership (subscribers), and write whatever you want to write - (I've made your blog 18+, so you can speak freely here!)
The new world for writing is known as The Blogosphere - blogospherenews.com. Most of the content is total shit, so basically people (subscribers and advertisers) are starving for new content which is fresh and updated almost daily.
- NOTE: Subscribers (people you want to read your blog) and Advertisers (people who will pay you to place their add on your blog --if your content is good enough to draw a lot of subscribers)
Generating a consistent level of quality writing and content in blogs is no small task. Those who are doing it successfully, are doing quite well - for now. There is a whole ranking and monitoring system for tracking the best blogs, often ranked by those who attract the most Subscribers. I've listed some links for you below.
- 100 Best Blogs (part 1) - technology.timesonline.co.uk
- ‘Best Blogs of 2008’- trendsupdates.com/topics/must-read/best-blogs-of-2008/
Additional Information
Anyway, you seem like a really nice person, and since I do this for a living, I wanted to create this for you to see what you might do with it. I know you'll use your power for good.
I hope you like the design and color scheme. It's always work in progress, so let me know if something doesn't act right, and I'll tweak the blog as you go along.
If you're ready to get started, let me know, and I'll give you a tour and suggest the first step.
Namaste
Max
