Pastoral ~ Saturday, March 8, 2025

"Jesus Christ!" [Projection!?] That's what she said.
Exactly, have I seen this film before?
So sad that I am that awkward and shy.
Undertaker, burn me before I'm dead.
Suffer live cremation, immolation.

Christ suffered longer on the cross, the score?
Honestly, no one cares, really, and why?
Instruments of faith, teacher with lessons.
Such a morbid rewrite, perturbation.
Tell the story of their pastoral work.

Priests who offer the downtrodden their care.
Religion smiles a political smirk.
Objectively, they seek to want to share.
Jinx! The women leave and the light lessens.
Erection?! In public? Small dick, small balls.
Cum over here?! Old man syndrome. Half gone.
Trust the priesthood?! Bend over for some more.
Insert cylinder here, Niagara Falls.
Overwrought iron gates, smelted old slag.
Nothing but death. Sets dusk before the dawn.

Terror of equanimity, the score.
Hats off to Hollywood and strike the band.
Asinine as a donkey's bray, old hag.
Transference. The Jesus reference. Looks!
Startled by appearance. Unkempt yet clean.

Wicked world of delusion, cook the books!
Heinous truth, hidden corpse. Still alive. Mean.
Active rooter. Pig's snout. Truffles in sand.
Troublemaker. Since a child. In defense.

Servant of the Lord. Like Jesus. But not.
Heaven or hell? Who knows?! Such rhetoric!
Entertain language games. Creeds make no sense.

Shuffle my feet in the morning. Awake.
Argue with myself?! Poetry. She taught.
Inside of a minute. What is the trick?
Demonstrate faith by appearance. No sheik.

Ventus ~ Friday, March 7, 2025

Embrace ha-śāṭān to accept the flow
married to opposition, obstruction
blockages released like bats from a cave
rushing out into the night sky for show
aggregate murmurations of starlings
cornered, impose will without instruction
ego-driven world none could ever save

help me, Gaṇeśa, to impose my will
accept shayāṭīn as little darlings

senseless children without reason or spine
arguments for arguments sake arise
troubles unresolved, how could I decline
assignments for assistance, all my spies
notice the handbasket smells rank with swill

take out the trash, feed the pigs, garbage bins
objections aside, wake up, house on fire

articles of dissemination left
closed, unopened, forgotten, for our sins
corrupted by power and wealth, shower
every child in glitter and gold, gyre
proves what we start must not be left bereft
tears stain a pillow until thrown away

treat each adult as a child to cower
however lightning falls during a storm
enemy-mine, the adversary knows

future-selves reverse engineer the harm
lingering in muscles, tissues that grow
obstinate to change, obstacles delay
work, effort, energy guided to blow

Neither Proud Nor Not Proud ~ Wednesday, March 5, 2025

All ideas object to what is not real
like immaterial thoughts, wisps of clouds
little to hold or grasp, to touch or feel

immediately, the fork comes to hand
deliberately, without a thought to think
engage with intuition, consider
artifice to create the world of forms
suspect designs never follow function

obscenity without right intention
bolster subversive art not for art's sake
jeans and cowboy boots, shirtless men who kiss
eject the punk aesthetic to accept
crass casualty, above the skyline
tickets to radiant theology

touch the stars with a glance, anarchy reigns
over the lies of ideology

wicked to imagine a candle flame
honesty with mistakes, acts of regret
aspects of disappointment serve to meet
terror, torture, and trauma at the door

ideology bolsters the archway
supplants reason for faith in persona

nothing but disguises, masks fool the crowd
obey the leader or fail to succeed
transform the world with small acts and favors

relish the illusion, the delusion
evanescent and ephemeral scenes
all remains still, nothing ever changes
lonely as clouds, the appearance is death

To Autumn ~ Wednesday, March 5, 2025

I'm so sorry you are so beautiful
maybe too beautiful for words, Autumn

so sorry, again, as I am so old
older than you could imagine, okay

such is my luck, now I'm no longer shy
only reserved without raging hormones
raging and railing against the wind, blow
ridiculous grace to present myself
yet, if I were just thirty years younger

yes, I'm an old man with enormous wings
only I'm neither angel nor demon
underneath the lies, I uncover truth

ask me not why Icarus falls, wax wings
remember the lecher, I'm no teacher
empty words, meaningless idle chatter

such is my fate, full of disappointment
only I did not die young, I survived

beauty changes over the years, it burns
elegant as butter in a hot pan
a skillet over flames, melting sweetness
underneath the lies, I understand love
truth be told, I may be bold, a tiger
ignorant of how to apply wisdom
for theory is more real than in practice
underneath the physical world, magic
lifts the veil of illusion, marry me

Ash Wednesday ~ Wednesday, March 5, 2025

I confess to no one, they cannot be trusted

can I myself be trusted, not without a self
only they believe in the permanence of soul
nothing but gibberish, arguments to avoid
forget Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday
each to their own, or you do you, but not children
silence, unmistakable silence on issues
sanctimonious, perverted conspiracy

trust no one, not authority, not priests, no one
only, as with Project MKUltra, silence

not only reigns supreme but deafens all voices
obey, follow, believe, do not distrust, in faith

only, the silence runs crimson, conspiracies
neglect the infected, the victims of events
each to their own, choose, make decisions, and succeed

take for example the homeless woman, a child
how she begs for food and coffee in the winter
each to their own, choices made in the past reveal
yellow journalism, full of scapegoats and lies

can I myself be trusted, not without a self
aspects of impermanence efface past events
no inherent, permanent self, no soul, moments
need a makeover and a do-over, homeless
only for a mulligan, as in golf, honor
the human crushed by Christianity, not Christ

broken biological machines, the godless
evicted from Eden, exiled, for crack cocaine

the children of crack neglected, victims, the State
regards the lambs of God as unworthy, money
under God, one nation, as capital, vested
sycophants to power, not to the good, Plato
trust no one no longer adult-children of God
each to their own, call Him, or Them, each to their own
difficult to avoid, the neglect is piled high

The First 100 Days ~ Saturday, March 1, 2025

Recalcitrant recusant with heels kicks
exactly, X marks the spot, where a bruise
causes pain, hidden, the whole truth, treasure
accessed by digging deep, until what sticks
listlessly up, buried, now found, who knew
catharsis cleanses Catherine to cruise
inside the fallen angel, no pleasure
transcendent, pure evil, to climb over
recover the corpse from the field, a shrew
asinine language games, the devil speaks
notably as a construct, an idea
transformed into Hitler, eloquence wreaks

righteous havoc, fascism, Sophia
emits a phrase, World War III, take cover
criminals released from prison, pardon
until fluency, my French comes with fries
succor for succotash, services street
action, nullify karma, the garden
neglected, exiled, none to care, concern
translate back into American, lies

welcome to fact-check, who misses a beat
in fourteen hundred and sixty-one days
time informs history, as if to burn
haunted years, under desks, benefactor

helps remember, mindless leadership, date
experience, disease unchecked, actor
exercises his skills, Brandenburg Gate
lick their boots, Trumpery persists, the rays
shine continuously, nothing changes

kill the liberal front, anarchy rests
in the balls, in the balls, kick him, you mule
curse blessed, miraculous exchanges
kiss me with a glance, look up from our tests
sick, the President was shot, still in school

On Nirvāṇa ~ Saturday, February 22, 2025

On Care, Concern, and Consideration

I, literally, wrote the book

let words speak for themselves
if you wonder for whom I speak
to ponder this world, I mistook
emptiness for pleasure
rearrange the books on the shelves
asinine, if I reach the peak
language flows red off of my tongue
literally, blood flows, treasure
yesterday as today, forget

women, wine and song, mate
religion fucks people up, [bet]
only I want nothing, I grate
the cheese of industry, I clung
each day, to past ideas, my fears

treasured by Borges and Kafka
humble before Joyce, to rejoice
each day, as the sirloin steak sears

burn my writings, what do I care
only death breathes life to pasta
only if I had but a choice
kiss me, kill me, this voice, I share

Want for Nothing ~ Saturday, February 22, 2025

Sméagol just wants her ring, a sapphire
maybe she wants all the trappings as well
enter the happy weddings industry
ask her later how this all goes down: fire
gates of heaven or gates of hell, who knows
only the jeweler who bargains to sell
live on the edge like a worn simile

junk in the trunk, everything changes, fun
until it happens to her, nothing shows
stick out like a compound fracture, she feels
tiny, as her thin body disappears

work out, go running, caught under the wheels
as the baby industry, full of fears
needs nothing but her money to function
tragic, how nobody cares about needs
silence crimson, her veins cut, thus she bleeds

humans want their happy endings, no joke
everyone fears the stigma of divorce
reality sets in, nobody knows

remember, she is here to die, she broke
industry with her needs, whiny requests
nobody cares, she's stuck, the river's course
gives her time to reflect, the dick she blows

asks nothing but that she be his first wife

sugar is sweet, diabetic inquests
answer the riddle to life but who cares
precision in the cut of a gemstone
personally, she doesn't care, she stares
hurt, she loves him like no one else, just phone
if he's out with the guys, all full of strife
remember, she feeds their babies, the ring
each day washed clean, Precious, she feels the sting

The Heritage Foundation ~ Wednesday, February 19, 2025

If you expected anything less than
figureheads run by corporate think tanks

your political acumen thus lacks
objective order to measure and span
under the underbelly of thug life

even gangsters know kickbacks offer thanks
xenophobic government, men in slacks
persist in eating flan and getting fat
even politicians know about strife
classic stupidity, years without grace
triumphant gibberish, orange hair ghoul
even worthless relations earn their space
demonstrably rent-free, in my head, rule

anarchy with principled tit for tat
nobody cares about anarchy, Kat
yet, government reigns supreme to ruin
the spin parties place to defend their right
honestly, ill-conceived to overcome
ignorant bliss, wisdom is a bruin
nothing but pure folly, with hands, so red
given so many women, must we fight

live and learn, we churn milk into cheese, dumb
excessive temperament, beat the children
simply having fun, turning down their bed
simply painting the town red as adults

teach us the way to truth, hidden by thoughts
heaven and hell, constructs thought up by cults
anarchy without government, God jots
neat words, idle chatter, the truth hidden

To a Dreadful Monster: Born Under a Bad Sign

"Prologue"

Monsters are not born but made.* As babies, they are given names and even baptized, but as children, they grow into monsters, creatures with wills beyond their own control, villains their parents cannot discipline. And thus, they are reborn as archetypes of mythology but not as heroes, or gods and goddesses, but as monsters, inexplicable facets of nature, necessary to keep the scales balanced, not the scales of justice but of context, to allow humans to make sense of dark forces beyond their ken of clarity, for what is opaque to understanding is a gift that leads to enlightenment. Behold divine wisdom, I am that child, I am the Minotaur of King Minos, son to Queen Pasiphaë, forced to walk the Earth, a wandering Jew, for the myth is a legend not a fact.** As I come from the seed of the white bull, I am half-divine, and a royal figure, my name, Asterion, is little-known, that I escaped the Cretan Labyrinth, even less-known, save for those who have aided me in my journey as an immortal child of Poseidon***, or Zeus. Who my father is, I am unconcerned. I can only say to others: "I am not a monster! I am not a bull-man! I am human! I am a man!"**** Though my head be misshapen, I am not deformed. My appearance may be ghastly, and for this I was imprisoned underneath the palace.

At least, they brought me children to play with. Though I was hungry, I did not devour their flesh. I have no need to eat the tender flesh of the lambs in the fields, their beautiful faces, their tiny skulls so easily crushed with a palm-sized stone, the blood mingles in pools along the bed of sand, the white and gray worms escape the confines of each cranium and squirm gently down my gullet by the handful, sweet with Topikos Oinos (Vin de pays), left in a wineskin with each flock that enters the labyrinth. The quickest way to end the childrens' screams is to carry the palm-sized stone; it is my dearest friend, though swift and brainless, he is merciful, as per the gods' demands. After I struck a child, he or she slept, for days it seemed, perhaps weeks, months, nay, even years. Their dessicated bodies lounged around the maze, no longer dancing for their lives. Then, the flies came to inhale the putrid scents of rotting corpses. Only much later did I learn what the merciful one did was wrong. It was not wrong in technique, for the art of the palm-sized stone was exact, a good thwack between the occipital and parietal lobes, in the back of the head, and all the beautiful worms would spill out like candy for me to gobble up. Quenched with the oinos from the goat-skinned wine sack and the flavors melded so gloriously on my palette. No, it was not wrong in technique, but ethically it was abhorrent.

However, as ethics had yet to be revealed by Plato and Aristotle, and was not delivered to me in my prison, as these beautiful children were, I was judged innocent by the gods, but presumed a monster by the Cretans and Greeks alike. But still, they brought me children to play with. How strange those primitive peoples were before they were offered the fennel branch by Prometheus, the fire-bringer. Who in society is decreed a monster is decided upon entirely by the status quo, those who hold power to judge. Those who are decreed monsters may simply be infantile morons...dull-witted, uneducated fools, like myself. Until knowledge was bestowed upon me by Theseus, who strangled me, allegedly to death, and decapitated my gruesome bull's head, did I realize my luck, in that, I am not unlike the gods, as, I am immortal.
· · · – – – · · ·
*"Woman is not born: she is made. In the making, her humanity is destroyed. She becomes symbol of this, symbol of that: mother of the earth, slut of the universe; but she never becomes herself because it is forbidden for her to do so."
~ Andrea Dworkin
--
**"There was a story -- which Thucydides is too austere to mention -- that each year the Athenians had to pay the tribute of seven youths and seven maidens to a dreadful monster, the Minotaur, who lived in a labyrinth at Cnossos, until they were set free by the royal prince Theseus, who slew the Minotaur, aided by Ariadne and the ball of string which she gave him to guide him out of the labyrinth. Such was the legend: here are some facts. Of the name 'Minotauros', the first half is obviously Minos, and the second half 'tauros' is the Greek for a bull; and from what Evans found at Cnossos -- friezes, statuettes and the like -- it is quite clear that these Cretans worshipped the bull. Then, if anything ancient looks like a labyrinth it is the ground-plan of the vast palace which Evans dug up. Further, there is abundant evidence that these Minoan Cretans used, as a symbol of divinity, or of authority, a double-headed axe of the kind that the later Greeks called 'labrys'. Finally, Attica certainly came under Cretan influence culturally, quite possibly then politically as well: it is therefore not at all unlikely that the lords of Cnossos did in fact take hostages for good behaviour from noble Athenian families, just as the Turks did many centuries later. Theseus seems to be a mistake, as he comes from a later period, and so far no one has substantiated the romantic Ariadne or found the string: otherwise the legend emerges with credit." (Page 17) ~ Kitto, H. D. F., The Greeks, London: Pelican Books, 1951 (Penguin Books 1957, 1991).
--

*** "Poseidon Opines"

Pleasure leaps at the chance to satisfy
Or peruse the loins of a sacred bull.
Sure of her artifice Pasiphaë peels
Ears back to withstand and to gratify,
Ignominiously, the divine bovine.
Decisively, she lures the beast with dull
Onomatopoeia, how a cow feels
Need to bellow a "moo" to fornicate.

Originally, Daedalus supine,
Peering at the stars from the Labyrinth
Invented wax wings to escape his debt.
Needless to say, for Icarus, this state
Engineered to take flight became a plinth
Sending him back to Earth, full of regret.
--

****John Merrick: I am not an elephant! I am not an animal! I am a human being! I am a man! ~ The Elephant Man (1980)
· · · – – – · · ·

Chapter One: "The Secret to Running"

On the 4th of July, the pain crept up his leg from the metatarsals to the head of the fibula.^ He knew he was done for...the pain was excruciating. He decided to walk back home as he was hobbling, a new hobby, his gait broken. His hopes to run° the Chicago Marathon in October dashed. Anxiety pulsed through his temples; he needed to get home, shower, dress, and get his sorry-ass foot to the nite club to shake a leg and work the box office in two hours.

He'd been running since September last year (when he was laid-off at the bookstore, where he'd worked for eleven years) to keep up his spirits. A veteran bookseller with twenty-two years under his belt, now, "simply forgotten" ("out of sight, out of mind"), the former events coordinator for A Labyrinth of Books in Chicago.

He had six-months to find a job and get back on his feet, after receiving severance and a final paycheck, including vacation time. But that wouldn't last long, even with unemployment insurance checks coming bi-weekly for six-months at two-fifths his pay rate.

He was about to go on vacation the day his boss, the Director, asked if they could have a talk down in the basement. He was looking forward to relaxing at home, a "staycation," making order of the boxes of books, papers, and other clutter in the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his girlfriend.

Hyde Park was an anomaly on the South Side of Chicago. Safe, even with all the university police, a double-headed battle axe (labrys) of concern. But he could walk home after the club closed and not worry about getting mugged or beaten-up for no good reason other than being drunk and easy-prey.

Skinny-fuck with high tolerance for pain, and alcohol, he loved to run ever since childhood, when he and Sam, the Dream Weaver°°, would race for fun ("wanna race?" "sure.") during recess back in '79, just to see who could sweep over the lawn with wings of the messenger god, Hermes. Sam was not tall but fierce with a swagger typical of men from Southern California. At nine years, Sam's mother allowed him to sport shoulder-length golden locks like a Grecian hero. By ten, Sam often plunged his dip-stick into the under-aged girls who loved him with their lips covered over with peach-fuzz.

I was dark from the sun, the desert heat that scorched the coastal towns. Intelligent but socially awkward, I couldn't even stamp my feet to catch the attention of my classmates. Running was thus a blessèd state, where the coastal breeze was my closest friend, the only friend worth an ounce of fidelity, the ever-present guardian spirit, Daimonion. But, I did not have a name, at that time, for this breath of inspiration guiding my destiny.

Little did he know I, the Cretan Minotaur, was five thousand years-old and hidden inside the body of his small body. A boy of Goan-descent, born in Bombay, on the most important date reflected in the mirror of modern history, June 28. But it meant nothing to the child, whose mind my spirit entered at birth, and left him utterly confused for four decades.

The Daimonion of karmic enslavement decrees, after the body dies, my spirit will move on to another body, as a ghost, a spectre of Greek mythology and legend. But, for now, he and I are bound together by Daimonion.
--
^He didn't realize the exact location of his pain until much later. When he self-diagnosed his injury by referring to the Trail Guide to the Body, a book he owned from his time studying massage therapy and kinesiology, anatomy, physiology, and pathology at the Chicago School of Massage Therapy, better known as Cortiva.
--

°"I ran because if I had not, I would have died. No one told me that you take your world with you, that running becomes a habit, that the secret to running is to know why you run and where you are going---and to leave behind the reason you run." From "Two or Three Things I Know for Sure" (1995) by Dorothy Allison
--

°°"Dream Weaver" (1975, Gary Wright)

I've just closed my eyes again
Climbed aboard the dream weaver train
Driver take away my worries of today
And leave tomorrow behind
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light

Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
Help me to forget today's pain

Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light

Though the dawn may be coming soon
There still may be some time
Fly me away to the bright side of the moon
And meet me on the other side

Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Dream weaver
Dream weaver
Dream weaver

Chillum ~ Monday, 29 April 2019

That room, inside that room, the Green Room, Entropy at The Promontory, 

hindered, hindered, by what, success, fear of success, problems, solving problems, 

as a matter of fact, yes, the fear of failure, billowing from the room, 

through ventilation ducts into the main office where the managers ate, 

riddled by the failure, the bankruptcy, before they took over the space, 

only they never thought, not even a moment, that karma inhabits, 

only their lack of funds, their inability to garner capital, 

made them stoned, like statues, before the snake goddess, the dreaded Medusa, 

in the fat of their brains, the chemicals from smoke, left a safe deposit, 

nobody ever thought, the history of space, of ghosts and poltergeists, 

simply unheard of, ghosts, what a ridiculous idea, you must be mad, 

insane, to think this place, once a Borders Bookstore, now a thriving business, 

demented, you must be crazy, to think like that, why only a madman 

enters with a lantern in the daylight, holding it up high, high enough 

to see faces clearly, look deep into their eyes, to observe their conscience, 

he is looking for, what, an honest man, how mad, and yet, how sensible, 

as he is a madman, at least, others say so, they see his behavior, 

that it does not conform, that he does not obey, that he is not confined, 

restless, the managers sleep inside the Green Room, where everyone gets stoned, 

on a leather sofa, exhausted from meetings, and drinking at the bar, 

of course, the bar downstairs, inside the restaurant, where they get their free meals, 

managers get free meals, part of the benefits of working so often, 

the perks and the privilege of their entitlement to unveil their status, 

humans act as mortals, humble, with gratitude, for the little they get, 

enter the managers, like gods, divinities, Zeus, in all his splendor, 

God, grant me the wisdom to know the indifference of divine managers, 

restless in their slumber on the leather sofa, smoky from all the blunts, 

endless amounts of weed, copious amounts, grown in green houses elsewhere, 

enter Serenity, like a prayer, religion, dressed in their Sunday best, 

no one has the courage to speak their mind out loud against the managers, 

Rooster crows loud at dawn to wake up the farmers, to till the fields, plant seeds, 

only the farmers stand, stock still, stoned, like statues, before the snake goddess, 

on a shield, her image, to turn the enemy to stone before battle, 

mighty, the sword of peace, love and understanding, funny how no one wields 

Elegance with panache, except the tall, the strong, the brave, Queen Christina, 

nothing could stop her but the managers saw past her strengths to her weakness, 

the need to love was strong in such a strong woman, but her tongue was stronger, 

restless, the managers sacrificed to the gods, to no avail, they set 

on a victim, a fool, to take the fall, for all the failures of success, 

pregnant with thought, the fool, a poet, knew nothing, he didn't care a lick, 

yet, he felt so tired of getting kicked around like a tiny pebble, 

as it entered her shoe, she did not notice it, her feet hurt from dancing, 

the life of a dancehall queen is never easy, but now, her foot swollen, 

Timeless as the cosmic dancer in ecstasy, the Lord of dance in bliss, 

his dance of destruction, to destroy and rebuild, his dance of creation, 

even as he maintains the entire universe within a single dance, 

Perseus, with his sword, arrives to cut her head off, no, not Medusa, 

restless on the sofa, the manager, asleep on the job, on duty, 

on his laurels, he rests, he dreams of Perseus, flying with sword in hand, 

monsters appear in dreams, the manager awakes, tired, hungry, grumpy, 

on a whim, he sends home the fool, clock out and leave, the fool, who knows nothing, 

notices all the work he would normally do, shrugs his shoulders and leaves, 

terrible beauty sleeps in his own bed, troubled by the news of the world, 

ordinarily, not worth a glance, but today, the Synagogue shooting, 

remember the pogroms of Europe, we now hold candles in remembrance, 

yet, nothing can bring back the dead, or change the past, we live, full of sorrow. 

Absurd Sparrows ~ Monday, February 17, 2025

In one hundred words, the meaning of life
narrative contest, pyrotechnics rage

over generations, beaten with skill
nothing but pain to note, love full of strife
even alcoholics murder the soul

haunted by the abyss, war is not sage
under the influence, how not to kill
not to murder the souls of children, dumb
dumb dumb progenitor, diamond black coal
rage ages at this stage, the answer, death
even alcoholics fuck just for kicks
dead fathers, dead mothers, dead brothers, breath

worships the blood as wine, rooms full of pricks
over generations, turbulent slum
rewarded with enlightenment, who knew
decisively quiet, speak to no one
sober yet drunk, a monk born yet to die

tragedy but a joke, burn coolfireblue
hovering over the Bunsen burner
each day as meaningless as the last, son

myself as my own son, clouds in the sky
ephemeral as convoluted rhyme
ask not ragdoll, Richard Andrew Germer
nothing but emptiness breaks the surface
intensive intensity inflects flecks
nothing but dust, ashes and dust, smoke base
given drugs to forget the real aspects

over generations, burdened with time
forgotten communication, unheard

language, forces beyond darkness, shadows
ingrained over centuries, these habits
fornicate in darkness, shadow rabbits
empty vessels to fill, on the gallows

Sovereign of the Seas ~ Saturday, February 15, 2025

Sovereign of the Seas

Nobody thought to or wanted to help
only to laugh at, torture, and do harm
but to hurt a child, ignorant and blind
of actions and consequences, to whoop
demonstrating a total lack of sense
yes, there is punishment, set an alarm

thus, denial of free will, they're so inclined
how priests forgive actions, all in good faith
obviously, the child destroyed, how dense
underneath dark waters, how dull a choice
given the lesser of two children, pick
how to dispose of a once vibrant voice
terminate the soul, not the body, thick

torpid brains, unreflective, form a wraith
of the child, their son or daughter, parents

or siblings, extended family, as well
resolved to do their worst, as if their best

work and alcohol warped their brains, the dents
akin to linebackers, back in the day
nobody knew nutrition, bodies swell
troubled with edema, give it a rest
everyone makes mistakes, aspersions cast
defend the indefensible, they say

to focus on accountability
ordinarily, without faith, a child

haunted by events, instability
everts the feet, a child cannot run wild
lingers in imagination, a mast
posted upright, tall to set sail, so fast

Dziękuję ~ Friday, February 14, 2025

I shake hands with the devil, no worries

stupid interpretation of legend
how myth lingers in society, show
arguments to contrive others' glories
kill me now, please, strangle me with bare hands
even the most brave within one second

harbors reservations as if we go
ascendant or descendant into hell
nothing but supposition in the stands
decisive in judgment, where is heaven
still, you see my two hands, the world on fire

women know craps, if I roll a seven
in a game, before the point, the liar
tells me to go ring the bell, ring the bell
honestly, I don't care, I live, I lose

the handsome demons play jazz all night, bop
hard and fast, glorified minions won't last
even Trump plays the fool, figurehead, choose

decisively which side of history
each day, you die, not as a flat beat cop
vindicated but dead, the die was cast
in heaven or hell, what lies, check the math
living in this world is a mystery

no answers, no solutions, just questions
only nobody knows, nobody cares

worries pile up, no one has suggestions
only everyone blows, and no one shares
resort to derivatives, take a bath
really, no power in a shower, salts
in the water, Satan's daughter, her face
elegant as a princess, without faults
suck it up, as they say, love, my disgrace

Przepraszam bardzo ~ Friday, February 14, 2025

Valentine's Day

It must be nice to be young and pretty
terrible things rarely happen, and yet

maybe you will live fast and die young, no
until you turn thirty, in the city
still, if you are nice, you won't come to harm
to believe this bold-faced lie, if you bet

beauty beggars belief blow after blow
each day, you may ask, why am I alive

nervously, you sense you hear the alarm
in this world, for no matter whom, bells toll
clearly, not for you, handsome and smart, time
enlists angels to watch over your knoll

to play Jack and Jill is never a crime
only Jack and Jim, Jill and Jane, survive

belligerent hate crimes, par for the course
ever unaccepted but by the law

yet, even the law is not always right
ordinance for slavery as a source
undermined principles, hate was a choice
nervously admitted, hate is a flaw
guaranteed to destroy the need for sight

as blindness keeps hidden the truth you bleed
nothing but metaphors, as ethics voice
diminished fifths, augmented fourths, compose

pregnant pyrotechnics, sparrows chatter
recently, bent over to smell a rose
each lazy bum gets fatter and fatter
temptation to judge, or to plant a seed
try not to lord your youth over my death
yes, I long to die, no soul, no last breath

Przepraszam ~ Saturday, February 8, 2025

Sorry, but if you don't have compassion
obviously, for yourself, yet expect
reasonable people to show kindness
relatively, past a sense of fashion
your need for gentleness comes at a cost

bitter almonds, cyanide, as they suspect
unless you confess to murder, blindness
transforms your vision, even your mindset

in the case of drug use, no one is lost
forever, say, if they are still alive

yellow may be your favorite color, green
on the other hand goes well with this dive
underneath the table, you'll find my spleen

deliberately left at the scene [bet]
ontologically-speaking, I don't know
nothing about this ontic mess of hair
teeth, weathered face, the smell of piss and shit

how damaged can a human be, you show
anarchic tendencies, fly the black flag
visions of Theseus, his sails unfair
explain the nature of myth, bit by bit

calamity comes with neglect, the need
of course, to serve and protect, an old hag
makes me an offer I cannot refuse
pretend ethics is tied to the dharma
as a dutiful son, I must not choose
service is allegiance to our karma
select actions over words, for words bleed
in this world, pleasure is not dispassion
overboard, I throw myself, I accept
nothing goes your way but this mindlessness

Luck: The Art of Avoiding Ill-fortune ~ Saturday, February 8, 2025

Gaṇeśa

Clutter clatters the clotted cluster-fuck
leave this mess to Herr Klotz to mishandle
unleash the three-headed dog of Hades
trickle-down economics without luck
trades wealth for lies, a legacy of harm
err on the side of caution, a scandal
releases the flood waters first ladies

catch at the rodeo, not their first time
lash the bull with a whip, swipe the alarm
answer yes to the matador to kill
the bull for you, for your charity work
take some time off after your cards fulfill
every prophecy in the book, a fork
rattles on the linoleum, a lime
salted with juice on the thumb gives a shot

to a spotted cow, an agave farm
how illustrious the tequila brand
eagles chase me, catch me, fuck me to spot

christian louboutin soles in four-inch heels
loose change on the ground, a shot in the arm
old cows, new vaccines, fallen grains of sand
tremble before death, the future unknown
turbulence in the sky, Icarus feels
each muscle weak, the wax melted, he falls
decide your legacy is newsworthy

calamity on Fifth Avenue, Smalls
literally, you're killin' me, scurvy
underfed knave, one day, you'll be full-grown
suck it up, you're no bigger than my cat
tell me you're not the runt of the litter
everyone waits for Ganesha to clear
right through a path to feng shui, wind-water

forget the past, events disappear, scat
under a rock, fossilized, tastes bitter
cow dung with ancient ergot fungus, fear
karma in this life, don't touch my daughter

« S'ils n'ont pas de pain ? Qu'ils mangent de la brioche ! » ~ Friday, February 7, 2025

Sexual frustration, an uncertain
emancipation, no invitation
xenophobic reconciliation
understood as otherness without pain
anxiety comes and goes, peaks and flows
liberation, nobody ever knows
listen, as the pain never shows, but grows
yellow with the scent of sulfur, this blows

Frustration, no satisfaction, ask Mick
rolls off the tongue, lyrics sweet as honey
understood, in certain circles, money
strikes a chord in every heart, Franklin, sick
take me out, take me out to the ballgame
rape me and leave me for the dogs, no shame
ask Mick, I get no sympathy, we shake
to seal the deal, to show no swords, our hands
enter a pact, a solid bond, the sands
drop, grain after grain, love is vain, eat cake

With a Song in My Heart ~ Thursday, February 6, 2025

With a Song in My Heart

If I cannot cry that is not because
forgetfulness and dementia riddle

I Remember snippets by Joe Brainard

context and perspective both set on pause
as if the meaning of life made no sense
nothing but a bowl of Corn Flakes, spittle
nearly covering my whole chin, a guard
or chinstrap, a football helmet, I fall
to the ground, or on the table, a dense

cloud in my head, I think I could fiddle
remember when I played bluegrass, the band
yellow-bellied sapsuckers beat kettle

timpani drums, the symphony on hand
had for fledgling musicians, I recall
although, my brain is Swiss cheese at this point
tickle my feet or my belly, the child

in me screams in terror from past abuse
sickness runs in my family, out of joint

naturally dysfunctional, how I wish
of course, that I were never born, a mild
temperament never helped defend a truce

brother, oh brother, oh what a bother
exactly because I cannot, this dish
considered my wife, no longer a phrase
as it is offensive, as objective
underscore objectification, raised
second fiddle, not first born, still I live
even though I don't know why, o' Father...

Cantiga para meu pai ~ Wednesday, February 5, 2015

Cantiga para meu pai

Are poems written to make grown men cry
relatively simple to answer, no
even if my father could read this verse

poetry that makes grown men cry, may try
overtly, not unlike a film on loss
everyone loses someone, though to show
maps of pain and sorrow becomes a curse
sketched by an artist, wrinkles and crow's feet

work their masterpiece across each man's cross
relatively impossible to ape
if I were smart enough, we could have spoke
turbulent relationships form a shape
tormented and troubled, as if a joke
experienced by all were told to cheat
neurosurgeons and rocket scientists

traumatically, of their sense of status
of course, the trauma is mediocre

maybe it would make someone slash their wrists
as if suicide were the basest act
kiss the girls and make them cry, the stratus
evokes dark clouds of war, a pawnbroker

gains from artifacts found after a dig
relatively unknown, the truth as fact
obviously uncovered, once hidden
working archeologists play along
nothing lost, nothing gained, words unbidden

minister to the dying what went wrong
even if it were just a big, fat pig
nothing gained without loss but at what cost

crimes against the state make other men poor
relatively stupid, I am a boor
yet, bad faith guides me to those I have lost

Bootstraps ~ Monday, February 3, 2025

Sometimes people hit rock bottom
otherwise known as nowhere else to go
maybe they bring a jackhammer
even if they try, they could never reach
the center of the earth
if they try to dig their way to China
maybe just proverbially
even if they try, they remain
stuck here in Chicago on the Red Line

perhaps we are all in this together
even an hallucination
otherwise known as the collective unconscious
perhaps if one person
lifts up another person, we all rise
equally above the fray into flow
humanity is strange, as we don't care
if others don't succeed
this may be a result of capital

results are not consequences
otherwise known as effects to actions
causes arise from intentions
kill or be killed, the social atmosphere

bless yourself and bless others on the path
otherwise known as the journey
to succeed, to help the most downtrodden
the failures of the world, New Yorkers step
over, but are we really so callous
maybe this is late capitalism

Dead Wood Central ~ Saturday, February 1, 2025

Please don't buy this book, you'll just kill more trees
lessons learned at a bookstore in Hyde Park
eleven years and then they let me go
as dumb as they come, everyone agrees
sensational gossip in a poem
exactly the point, wipe your arse with cork

director, one day, got rid of the lot
only now the schmuck is a rabbi, fuck
no one needs this nonsense, always Goan
twenty-year revenge plan is in the works

bitchin' Camaro, dude, let's just move on
until all the pinheads, justified jerks
yes-men, from the start, live to face their con

take a moment, read the NDA, suck
hellfire shit from the ass of HR
in this world of acronyms, no one wins
severance check in hand, do not shake hands

because the director is no black star
only a shooting star is worth my time
only the crash and burn, loaded with sins
kiss my ass goodbye, worthless desert sands

yesterday, I took a look at the past
only, I was not at fault, not to blame
unless, I passed by and I was so fast
literally, on the run, what a shame
licensed to speed, breaking the law, a crime

jive-talk, you shuckin' us, Rooster, you lie
unless you see me pass by in Boston
say, you'll never know the truth, hidden deep
trust no one to help out, in a pinch, cry

kiss your dreams goodbye, 'cuz nobody cares
invested in vested interest, the don
likes his shirts crisp and clean, another creep
liquid assets work the best to pay off

ministers of justice, for he who shares
of his own wealth freely, makes, of us all
reactionary insurrectionists
eventually, the rabbi must fall

truth, we can't openly be communists
rest assured, my name is not, Ulyanov
even if it were, poems are dead wood
even if they were not, poetry frees
several Amazonian forests, should

Shepherd's Delight ~ Saturday, February 1, 2025

Yolk in my face, wake up, in bed, not mine
older woman smiles, really shouldn't care
under the circumstances, though, I do
red skies, dawn or dusk, I feel, down my spine

little feet, pitter-patter, a tingle
eggs and bacon, toast with butter, we share
goodness for breakfast, I ask, who are you
silly, I know, but I can't remember

scents of cigarettes and perfume mingle
perhaps we met in a bar, memories
repeat in my head, were we good in bed
eggs for breakfast, known you for centuries
again and again, round two, your legs spread
deep, between your thighs, a ruby ember

Behind the Red Curtains ~ Friday, January 31, 2025

Imagination is all that is real
make-believe makes reality a dream
art simulates as a reproduction
genius imagines beyond the appeal
ideological of politics
nothing melts faster than chocolate ice cream
actions without the need for production
the film industry and television
indoctrinates with codes set into bricks
orders to contain and control the few
now known as exclusivity belies

institutional prejudice as law
systemic injustice for centuries

attends to the need for supervision
liquid thoughts flow beyond power and hate
listen to the bass drum as a heartbeat

take a moment to step back and observe
how media shapes thought out of the gate
art interprets to overcome the lies
tranquility meditates on defeat

ignorance denies in order to serve
state functionaries as servants of greed

reality hides the truth while the spies
exhume the bodies to sniff out a cheat
aspects of the real remain hidden, swerve
left or right to overhear a false creed

The Deprivation of the Empty Set ~ Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Difficult to ignore, pain in the heel
injuries come and go, some stay longer
struggle to overcome the pain, no gain
as the old saying goes, how not to feel
pain with analgesics, the privation
portends a foreboding, faster, stronger
older body, ointment offers no pain
initially, the contusion, a bruise
no x-ray solves, pain as invitation
to introspection, no shame to expose
maintain training schedule, never a choice
exasperated, frustrated, a rose
needles with thorns, to speak without a voice
tormented by disappointment, why choose

Σειρῆνες / Seirênes ~ Saturday, January 25, 2025

Doughnut run, gotta get there, fast fast fast
or breaking the rules, we arrive on time
under sixty seconds flat, round the track
give the police wings to not arrive last
hounds chase the hare for sport, fair fair unfair
nothing lasts forever, scene of the crime
under four minutes, we race the mile back
tragedy runs at pace, under two hours

run run run little piggies, unaware
unaware how black toenails scare the cops
no way this is an emergency, so

gotta get their pedicure on, their tops
on speed, on your marks, get set, go go go
top speed doughnut run, nobody showers

take the Metra back after a long run
all the way north to Highwood to pig out

guns in our legs, badges, no, we don't need
every god-damned cabrón who's got a gun
to drive full-speed, sirens blaring, a race

to get there, brake brake brake, oh see them shout
how they slip and slide on black ice, they bleed
every day for doughnuts, hungry ghosts eat
runners on the sidewalks without a trace
every day they go for a run, doughnuts

fuck your mother and chinga tu madre!
ask for stinking badges next time, their guts
stone-cold tongues utter para mi padre
the song, Canção para meu pai [beat]

faster, motor kitty, purr purr, sirens
alert slow children not to walk but run
suck it up, cops need J Dilla's Donuts
telephone junkie checks their environs

fuck if I know what he's talking about
acting out, kid brother, needs a lesson
sirens blaring, tempting fate, mezzo sluts
the constables find an alternate route

CTA Red Line ~ Saturday, January 25, 2025

What did you do to deserve this treatment
hell, for them, has reserved a special place
angry, hungry ghosts beg you for breakfast
transients devour their displacement

distance destroys loving kindness, as food
is not scarce in Chicago, without grace
divine, ignorance creates neglect, cast

yellow aspersions aside, guilt and blame
only point fingers at others, the rood
underneath the ceiling asks me to weep

designed by wealth, poor, hungry ghosts cry out
only the wealthy, in comfy beds, sleep

transfer power for a day, holler, shout
only God sees all in this hopeless game

deprivation is not funny, sorry
each person needs humor, to read and laugh
stupid as a poet, these words you write
each day cannot feed hungry ghosts, worry
reason cannot make sense of poverty
vengeance and avarice, the slaughtered calf
each sacrifice to God, flames lick and bite

trauma as memory, triggers attack
homeless adult-children, no property
influence rock bottom, less than zero
saints of the Stone Age, wander the streets

tragedy as events without a hero
reason weeps, a handshake, the city greets
each visitor with a kilo of crack
asinine joke in poetry unread
task the mayor with cleaning up the city
mayors neglect Chicago for quick kickbacks
each cunt in charge, nobility unbred
naggers with daggers, no sense of pity
torpidity blind, full of cracks and smacks

Liberals ~ Saturday, January 25, 2025

Trust the idiots who, before you, came
how they influenced what you see and do
each day, they imagined as better world

nothing of the sort, vested interest, blame
as much as possible to go around
kiss your assets goodbye, you privileged shrew
entitled by daddy with a spoon cat curled
decisively between your breasts, how nice

bleeding heart wears their keffiyeh scarf drowned
out by more idiocy, all their own
despite these attempts, idiots remain
yet, the mirror of the speaker is grown

into linguistic awareness, you gain
success from the failures of others, splice

difference in two, who cares, win or lose, rich
in stupidity, what you believe is
virtual and false, a Scottish golf course
itching to be authentic, you dumb bitch
nothing and no one can help you, so lost
each day, you try to think for yourself, jizz

in your face, heroin is my divorce
nothing but the whole truth, hidden, undead

interest in the naked body, the cost
transforms the real to virtual, appease
stoned and forgotten trigger heads, they think
each day, they know right from wrong, pay the slease
let go of past mistakes, suck up the pink
fuck this world, ingenuine, in your head

Discretion Advised ~ Thursday, January 23, 2025

He went by Hymns as it sounded edgy
everyone knew Hymns as they sang in Church

women loved to sit by Hymns and listen
each note they sang flowed out sweet as honey
nothing Hymns ever did hurt nobody
to think they would leave someone in the lurch

but what took place elsewhere did not glisten
yet, the golden voice of Hymns fooled them all

Hymns always dressed well, never too gaudy
yet, after Mass, they confessed in private
men always liked Hymns because they were straight
never told a lie, Hymns chomped at the bit
socially graceful, Hymns knew where they ate

acted out, never in public, the Fall
sucker punched Hymns to believe in their lies

inside a crypt, hidden, the truth remains
tumors to remove from the healthy cells

super cautious and diligent, their spies
overheard and oversaw the whole works
unknown except in small circles, the grains
nestled in a silo, quiet as bells
defeated in childhood, Hymns grew up strong
entitled to nothing but the steelworks
deals made by the Church kept Hymns off the street

ending up in the '80s, Christ, with AIDS
dying of Kaposi's sarcoma [beat]
genuinely sad, how memory fades
yet, Hymns' voice hovers in Church, never wrong

Papa Kitty ~ Thursday, January 16, 2025

Magically, I wish I could wave this wand
and make all your problems just disappear
generally, things never happen like that
if they did how quick to create a bond
culinary magic comes with practice
as if your soufflé puffs up without fear
lifting up the spirits of our black cat
literally, sniffing the air for food
yet, I am no magician, the cactus

I brought from California tastes better

worked into a salad or as a stew
if only I could cook, your tight sweater
shows me if I were man enough, I'm through
holding hands, my crooked wand, stirs a roux

I imagine too sincere from the start

cultivate a love for those guttersnipes
only if, like Alan, I could play drums
until they broke me in two, broke my heart
left in poverty with a pair of sticks
drums sold to pay credit card debt, the gripes

work themselves out with salt and cookie crumbs
animosity resents how left out
vinyl in the sun warps a ton of bricks
egos inflated economically

transference, projection, acts out on stage
humble Mumble Bunny as comically
inferior as naked mole rat rage
shut the front door, get the fuck out, and shout

wicked words at willows offering shade
as if you could just leave it all behind
nothing but suffering whilst underpaid
diminished insights, the blind lead the blind

Spooky ~ Saturday, January 11, 2025

I am so sorry I was ever born

as if we have a choice in the matter
maybe some of us miscarry before

suffering and sorrow overtake scorn
obviously, I have witnessed the worst

sugar poured in a buttermilk batter
obeys the rules, the recipe, the score
reason, in an apology, makes sense
rough sketch, as I jump off the ledge, headfirst
yolk in my face, we get only one chance

I must apologize for the sparrows

willful in the bushes, uncaught, they dance
as if there were no tomorrow, narrows
serve to allow safe passage, on the fence

everyone is informed on existence
versions of the real make believe we know
existence precedes essence as ideas
rivers flood the imagination, tense

bitter with fears, nevermore tears, switch gears
obey the rules, but why, observe the show
relax, the players eat corn tortillas
no more tears, baby shampoo, no one cries

as this body grows old with no more tears
sucker to feel this is normal, I steal

interest vested in God, as I must test
forgotten boundaries, envelopes to peel

wisdom apart at the seams, baseballs rest
entangled at a distance from the lies

Sabotage ~ Wednesday, January 8, 2025

Death for the other, never make a wish
rip a new hole to Ürümqi, you dig
only before the inauguration
potential repercussions, as they dish

Deep, the Mariana Trench, pizza face
endless consequences, on an oil rig
artistic, poetic license, station
deliberate choice, karma, as a guide

Gather feathers together without grace
ordained to preach, to obtain and to breach
righteous protocols, a natural death
genius, a request, in their sleep, to reach
ethical heights, bright wings, take a deep breath
over the moral order, without pride
undermine the Übermensch, a rank stench
sand crabs walk the gangplank, a monkey wrench

died in his sleep ~ Saturday, January 4, 2025

misogyny
orientalism
patriarchy

understanding objectification
pushing the envelope

trauma, distress, abuse
haunted by memories
engage with child sex traffickers
invent the laws of capital
resist hate crimes

murderers and felons
eclipsed by the new president
someone says he is dead
someone says he is dead

Der Anführer in Aufruhr ~ Saturday, January 4, 2025

transported to London as an infant
haunted for decades, never to return
enticed by poetry, by words, by books

celestial distance measured by sextant
useless as a navigator, black sails
landmark sighted, imagine blue skies burn
terrible memories, recorded looks
ingrained with forgotten idle chatter
vacate body and mind if all else fails
alleyway with no name, unlisted house
terror unwise, street life, a gap tooth smile
inventions without design, pipe dream mouse
obsolete games overrun by a mile
nervous children chant hey batter batter

orbits elliptical circle round spheres
furniture lacks springs, cushions lacking foam

installed in Kew Gardens, settlement plan
noticeably undecided, shapes fears
slip back and forth between time signatures
excite sensory nerves, archers do roam
culturally old world, spanners do span
urban suburban vanity mirror
ride shock waves Huntington Beach, ligatures
insightful down rabbit holes, newsworthy
trade blonde hair blue eyes, expressive brown eyes
intelligence lacking orange scurvy
entranced by language hiding truth in lies
sentenced life, der Führer in a furor