Friday, June 9, 2017

"The Pope Retorts" ~ Friday, 9 June 2017

"You're going the wrong way!" He stood and barked at trains as they passed his window elephants could pass by along the road below but he couldn't care less lesbians could cavort atop his queen-sized bed but he wouldn't notice liberal as was G-d before Republican politics put him down outside the universe banished from humankind in the fascist shadow whitewashed by history in camps full of denial don't look away he'll drown

snot-nosed anarchist brats whine about genocide as if they could undo all the murdered corpses they read of in textbooks like empty promises liberal governments offer as police force to each broken regime level the world says G-d and extinction occurs dinosaurs of deep time obliterate the lie of our humanity as Jesus undresses watching the trains pass by without thought He implores conductors to argue

"virgin hymen" a joke one Democrat relates to the Argentine pope ignorance breeds children like books out of charred wood from butchered rainforests socialists disabuse the pontiff with questions about theology agnostic atheists break bread with the Satan who reaches down to grope girls boys to say hello pedophile Lucifer begs forgiveness he jests enthusiastic flames devour apostasy for Christ's apology

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Pounce ~ Saturday, 3 June 2017

Since all of you conspire to wake me up and there is very little I can do to stop it then I must decide to rise and fill your bowls with food and pour water for my little critters who howl and fight over the fact I am not dead asleep any longer but see my feet rustle under the top sheet and blanket or just the comforter and see the need to pounce upon the little mouse or rat they find hidden and must attack with force with claw and tooth until they see I have risen

Friday, June 2, 2017

Speechless ~ Friday, 2 June 2017

I stand in the cauldron water boiling searing my flesh and imagine the natives are getting restless waiting for blood to pour out of my eyes then it will be over this life will have ended and I could not foretell a better way to die than this mode or fashion this remedy to sin to resolve past mistakes in a very hot bath with flames up to my ears who knew these men offered such a gift to warm me from my toes to my crown as king of this domain I thought best to venture forth conquer and destroy little did I foresee my future was in trees hidden from my own spies bound and gagged not a word I spoke to these kind men ready to cast a spell to relieve me of pain in that my blood would seep out of my pores and flow over the edge dowsing the flames by then body and soul drown in my tears unrepentant for years what was the point as king to care for those I've sown into the earth with mirth no love ever have I shown my subjects no joy did I bid them witness in war or times of peace never did they decline to fight for my honor for my kingdom for me but now who dares to come rescue their lord in time before the heat melts flesh from bone too slow in their search maybe this is what they mean by fate being a source divine I have naught more to say words no longer befit a king speechless and dumb

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Southern California Is a Desert ~ Wednesday, 31 May 2017

What I wouldn't give to be with my friends as horrible as it was in high school to return to that wretched place and time knowing nothing how the future plays out at least we had each other mad bastards angry at all the world in paradise we'd never have it better none of us but getting older could never be worse than growing up with all my bastard friends in a punk cover band with teenage dreams the future was ours for the taking no getting drunk taking drugs and passing out always in trouble with lousy parents sneaking out late at night driving their cars underage drinking at the kiddie park tripping on acid outside Disneyland eating burgers fries and vanilla cokes at Bob's Big Boy on Adams Avenue riding our bikes everyday around town to Camel Records and Music Market getting stoned in Tony Nealon's side yard going to underage clubs and dancing hanging out at South Coast Plaza with friends going to motel parties getting drunk on the weekends on Harbor Avenue somehow passing classes year after year taking college exams graduating never having a steady love interest always knowing nothing lasts forever I don't want to watch this body grow old never have enough money to retire never be able to afford a car or have a job that pays for insurance can't go to the doctor or the dentist what's the point of this life America I'm sick of being alive poor hungry only getting to eat one meal a day why did my parents come to this country the land of milk and honey makes me laugh the land of opportunity fat lie live struggle suffer get sick and then die this country of fast food lies and neglect note our homeless veterans on the street in shelters badly in need of repair poverty in the face of Hollywood Southern California is a desert may the western wind blow it all away

Saturday, May 27, 2017

In Memory of Lost Time ~ Saturday, 27 May 2017

If I could start over and relive my lost youth trapped inside a bookstore never would I have thought twenty-two years would pass like a prison sentence maybe I would have been a vagabond traipsing across Europe learning every language I came upon like a linguist outside the classroom door maybe I would have sat at tables in bistros in Paris and elsewhere originally made famous by those writers of the forties who fought real battles on the front lines in the resistance and wrote philosophy yielding to none the force of their dialectic never caught on the fence offering arguments systematic and sound to set scaffolds burning fierce unquenchable flames for all eternity watching the firemen fight losing battles against the tyranny of hope romantic yet unfair organized as poets shouting epithets at police their language wrought sulphuric in workshops inside dismal classrooms with a gleaming trophy to represent their past and possible future but their present is lost tossed aside like a gift from a gilted wedding abandoned for true love intrepid motorbike gangs pass by the melee over tires burning bright mighty outlaws outside those systems of language that govern at a cost exactly when will I discover the nature of time and rise above 

Thursday, May 18, 2017

The Kids Are Alright ~ Tuesday, 16 May 2017

We may never return to those warm summer days buying gear in thrift shops eating Chinese for lunch walking in a downpour burgers at the diner memories take me back to our time together when we weren't so lonely as we had each other like four lonesome brothers who never felt teardrops yet today the tears stream down my face as I wake and listen to The Who never did I know then how easy our lives were that we could not return ever again our lives scattered after high school teenage dreams come to end verdant grass as I pass you in our cross-country race I win nothing finer endless the stream of tears girls we chased now women none caught but the homely rest assured I may jest but with our ugly mugs crooked teeth broken homes real love came much later too sexist to mature into grown men the glue entered our veins to bond us by both fear and hate we sit as bonfires burn treasure the memory of nights on the beachfront we lived so close we tend urchins along the coast like us lost to the tides too young to know the past reserves only future pain look forward always never back to our youth never would I accept this game with time to play drums not to write these poems take me back to the time we made music our band of mods and punks flew fast oblivion we found with wine and drugs I want it back I seek the truth

Didactic Mysticism ~ Thursday, 18 May 2017

First you have to make it before you get to die if you don't write the book under no conditions will strangers know to mourn the fact you passed away considering you left nothing behind to read but excuses and lies kangaroos have better chance in the lottery of fame and fortune look eye to eye with demons inside your heart and soul like cancer in your blood disease eats at tissues like a fine restaurant you could never afford 

Breathe brother breathe until your lungs can breathe no more then cease this restless fight even if you feel down deep you need time to finish you have much more to say you need to let it go no one cares at this point about red-eyed fruit flies or someone needs to check your priorities list as you enter the door needless to say your words are of little concern unless they stop a flood decide now that this life is more important than the chairman of the bored 

Resolve to make amends with the sandman for lack of sleep it isn't right even if everyone else jumps off the same bridge choose to be your own man please no one but yourself if what you do pleases others do not complain ask for help when you need learn to know whom to ask don't ever ask for more in the interest of God He knows how much time's left in your stunted lifespan remove the guilt and shame you carry on your back your star knows of your pain

Monday, May 15, 2017

Mallard Among the Spooks ~ Monday, 15 May 2015

Problems come problems go if we solve them by June we can balance the books if we catch the bastards we can lock up the crooks or they'll put us away take your pick they don't care they just want their money fair and square the bastards you know this will go down badly if we don't find Mallard among the spooks 

Young and Brown enter court sharp in suits to manage the facts with blatant lies our best efforts to find the dough went unnoticed by Flynn or so they say under his watch we lost the funds somehow noses powdered with cocaine nerds in college we made bombs for Afghan rebels shot Russkies against the wall

Mention the war out loud and they all simply laugh as if swatting at flies on the wall was easy like killing those stinking commies by firing squad then we watched the world change for the worse forever since we beat the red scare however we still fight as our enemies now are Afghan rebels odd even though the Russkies support for al-Assad prove our rockets' red glare removes the taint of war collateral damage aside we heard the call 

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Yes No Ifs Ands Or Buts ~ Sunday, 14 May 2017

Yes no ifs ands or buts no one to stand before me in my way ever
ever ever I wish to leap over hurdles observe the sea otter
swim ever so fast under over between in case she needs to flee

never have I sat down so long to watch events unfold to see over
old age my youth run off in love with life I fear uphill I rise to climb

I stand to watch the tub fill up to flow over over the edge water
falls spills onto the floor soapy from the wash nothing to do I see
stand in terror over nothing no one gets hurt no one loses all hope

as if I can hold back water release the jam unclog the plug in time
nothing to do but watch to bear burden after burden I feel so lost
despite my age I look younger than most my age why it is I do feel
so much aware of pain we all suffer old age sickness dying I toast

old pale cognac in glass crystal without a fight to fist cyan to peal
ring knell the bell it tolls for me I wait to see if I ignore the trope

born neither black nor white never have I fit in or felt I can sever
unto humans their game as I see fit my age creeps up on me I die
tragic never to live like you or you or you stuck in my shell I cry
shards of cut glass in tears I laugh myself stupid I see death lover

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Song for My Father (Canção para meu pai) ~ Saturday, 13 May 2017

Is it too late to start again to start over to stop and start over
control my fall to land safely to break my fall to halt to start again
ascend to feel the sun I look below to see how far I must descend
relax to rise higher to feel the heat to see how far I can hover
under duress I must confess I am falling ever so fast stop stop
stop my rapid descent I dive into darkness into despair I plunge

higher higher higher until sunshine melts wax feathers flutter I fall
until I plunge enter the sea hard as marble I dive beyond my ken
broken I die my skull shatter my bones batter never will I ascend
rise up lift me higher salty the sea my mind without a word to say
if I listen I hear I am legend in death in life my flight I drop
shimmer icy dusty comet azure brilliant blue sky I scream I lunge 

mask my terror enter the sea I dive I plunge I scream I lunge I call
your name father before I die before my death I fall I drown I hear
tin drum battle cry fly not too high nor too low into the sun the sea
how did I fall the heat the salt the sun the sea I dive into the bay
o gods you name the sea after disgrace my fall hubris I die I fear
silence the wine-dark sea swallow me whole legend I am now free

Sunday, April 30, 2017

"La petite mort" ~ Sunday, 30 April 2017

Today, I'm heartbroken. I don't know why I'm here. There must be a reason.
I still search for answers as to why this happened. I don't know whom to ask. 
Still, I am here for now. I don't remember how I arrived at this point.

The questions are many. They are ready-to-hand. A blindfold for treason?
Hanging or firing squad? How long before I die? If I don't die, what then?
Exit the womb stillborn? Would that have been better? Why am I still alive?

Someone must love this life. Even I have moments. Fleeting in solitude.
Even I taste the tart raspberries with honey in Greek yogurt and bask
As if the summer sun across my bronze flesh in the ocean, buoyant,
Surfing the perfect waves, tubular in motion, gliding with my body
Over the jet surface then crashing to the depths, deep where a mermaid's den
Nestled under the sea, awaiting a sailor, drowned, hungry to survive.

Fortress of solitude, where the creative spark lights at high altitude,
Origin of lightning, cosmic forces collide in the Crab Nebula,
Radiate beyond space, beyond time, beyond breath, where consciousness resides.

Jubilation! I found the reason I am here, beyond all enquiry,
Ordained to suffer life, old age, sickness and death, wisdom spectacular,
Yoni surrounds lingam, the origin of joy, where the death drive presides.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Sonnet ~ Tuesday, 18 April 2017

There was that night I met DJ 5K spinning bhangra hits straight out of Punjab dressed head to toe in traditional Sikh gear like an ancient guru born in Bombay. I sat mindfully at the box office in yet again another dead end job, working to shuck pistachio shells, beer in hand for my end of the night shift drink.

He took one look at me, the artifice of a poet, my salt and pepper beard, long hair flowing in resplendent black locks, and lean runner's figure then thought how weird to find a sadhu in a pair of Docs in a nightclub, stout in hand, made him think...

Thursday, April 6, 2017

"On the Pain of Not Returning" ~ Thursday, 6 April 2017

Unless the stars align in the fourth dimension, I win the lottery, and heaven rains manna from dark, fulgurant skies, I will never return to study at this school, this institute of art in the Chicago Loop. Instead I will perform anarchic acts of love: I will plant raspberries on golf courses, they grow like kudzu in Memphis, burn like wild brush on fire in the hills of Southern California, away from the salty, beach air.

If I were to return to this school my classmates with whom I came to climb the ladder of degrees would all by now be gone, writers who came to learn the fine art of gliding like a flying squirrel in a squadron, a troupe of performing artists on the flying trapeze, graduates in forget me nots and hoops on fire like lions trained to leap bravely straight through the gyre of heat and flames, the scent of fur singed at the mane, golden yet worn for wear.

Remember me, I doubt you will ever forget our time together, time spent at the local bar, wasting our days and nights drinking and toasting Joyce with Bushmills and Guinness if we got paid that day, if not we drank cheap beer and spoke of better days, when we have enough dough to place a winning bet or send some home to mom and dad, earn their respect, as laughable a choice as studying writing at the local art school, it matters not, I fear.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Sonnet ~ Tuesday, 2017 March 28

arguments for the sake of liberty
rarely occur within a fourteen line 
gamut of poetic exposition,
urgent as the need to dethrone thirty
murderous tyrants who govern our lands
egregiously with harsh penalties, fines,
nefarious acts, as executions
transpire and exile for those who incite 

revolt in the kingdom of golden sand,
excellent are they who fight oligarchs 
guaranteed protection by lash-bearers
noted for their contempt of anarchic 
usurpers in their attempt to empower
memorable rebels against red kites

Monday, March 27, 2017

The High Road ~ Monday, 2017 March 27

The I that is me is not this body. Like a book on the shelf I am content to appear as the spirit found in words on the page whether genteel or bawdy. It matters not a whit whether you choose to judge my appearance with malcontent complaints. I will choose to ignore your words of abuse while I seek out the high road. As a mirror projects the words you choose to describe your discontent with others, I move beyond your transgressions. I seek the high road of success and find others like me abused by words who choose to seek out a higher ground and faith in the high road.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

"Out of Sight, Out of Mind" ~ Thursday, 2017 March 16

once dead, now forgotten by family and close friends, not a kind word spoken,
bury or burn the corpse in order to move on, in order to progress,
insult to injury, add or subtract, to speak truth against villainy,
testify to witness, to bear the weight of smoke, passing in flight, broken 
underneath suspension bridges, over rivers, through valleys, past shadows
silent during daylight, hidden within darkness, speechless since without breath

fornication left none to follow his footsteps, walk a mile in his shoes,
ugly soulless wingtips, flightless, without feathers, egrets without regrets,
solo with a sibling, with loquacious parents, sparrows in the rainy
clouds of thunderous chatter, striking violent bolts like gods against mortals,
uisce beatha, water of life, aqua vitae, his breath like peat meadows,
sugar turns alcohol sweet, fortified port wine, tawny, ruby for health 

tripping trinkle tinkle every night after work bottom shelf with the blues,
erroneous accounts cover up the disease with familial lies,
suffer in ignorance, in adolescent fear, the love of an angry
tormented patriarch, hateful, spiteful teacher, full of silent quarrels,
injured and insulted, the boy becomes a man, forgives guilt, never cries,
suffers the shame of tears in lonesome solitude, in life, a ghost, hungry

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Resplendent at Twilight ~ Thursday, 2017 March 2

"Resplendent at Twilight"

Fuck Shit Up were a group of skinheads in high school who found community under the auspices of the straightedge movement from bands like Minor Threat, generating a scene by starting a music label, Dischord Records, acting out of DC, even kids in Cali saw opportunity zipping off all their hair with a pair of clippers, then shaving their heads clean, if they were boys, but girls wore bangs, side locks, neck locks and the rest clipped down short.

Misfits like Mario never felt the appeal to seek outside his tribe, align with the wrong clique and the group dynamic hedges against his bet, resolved to the win-win strategy where none lose when they fight without swords, games where all can profit, even minorities like Mario makes friends if he shaves off his hair and wears a flight jacket, his steel-toe boots look mean, negate the bigotry of the majority outside of his cohort.

Welcome to religion, an alternative faith, a military vibe, against the discipline of the ROTC, junior or otherwise, lacking in leverage, they gain in unity a power not found alone, kick down the doors and run like hooligans abroad, thugs always find the ends entertaining enough to make the means worthwhile, violence makes his eyes resplendent at twilight, sinking his teeth down deep to tear flesh from the bone.

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

The Hungry Little Donkey ~ Tuesday, 2017 January 31

Once upon a time there was a donkey
wandering lost in the desert hungry
wondering if anyone could feed him
just a carrot all he wanted to eat

was an orange carrot but nobody
in the desert had an orange carrot 
to offer the little hungry donkey
so he kept wandering until he reached 

the citadel a fortress on the outskirts 
of an oasis where the donkey drank
water from a trough beside a deep well
long ago the donkey grew up inside

the fortress but he never became strong 
enough to become a big pack animal 
so he spent many years in the desert 
wandering between oases in search

of the all-elusive carrot to eat
at the citadel he entered the gates
and met with the sahib his old owner
who let him go to wander the desert 

but before he left he told the donkey
he may have some carrots for him to eat
but he couldn't promise or guarantee 
any carrots for the donkey to taste

the hungry donkey left feeling bullied
and teased by the powerful grand sahib
then the donkey met with the memsahib 
but she looked down him with false pity

then the hungry donkey left the fortress
never having tasted the elusive 
orange carrot the sahib brought to mind
but then the donkey made friends with a wolf

who took one look and laughed at his bad luck
no coyote would ever want to eat
such a skinny unhealthy piece of meat
and so they walked the desert together

in search of the all-elusive carrot
and perhaps a juicy hare for the wolf
but in the desert nothing was juicy
except the donkey's imagination 

the donkey felt sad to leave the fortress 
but it gave him time to think about life
to contemplate all the mistakes he made
as if he atoned for all the mistakes 

his luck would change for the better for good
and he would no longer be a hungry
donkey with an oasis all his own
and all the carrots he could ever eat

he thought about going on a hunger
strike but nobody would notice once gone
out of sight, nobody cares, out of mind
if the donkey died nobody would care

the wolf would have none of his self-pity
the donkey would have to prove his self-worth 
to the whole world not only to the wolf
the hungry donkey left the citadel 

he vowed never to return to a place
where he felt little support from so few
of the teachers who professed no scapegoats 
at their school watched the donkey leave for good 

he felt their absence but knew they had no
interest in his ideas his attitude 
rubbed them backwards against the grain and fur
he had a lot to process from his past

the times had changed the systems of belief 
he learned when young ingrained inside his brain 
he would somehow have to expel or teach
others there is no excuse for childhood 

for accepting erroneous beliefs
to fit in with your childhood friends to laugh
at others with less power or influence 
especially when someone mistreats you

once he left the fortress for the desert
the donkey sat with the wolf to discuss 
the meaning of darkness the distant stars
sending light waves across the universe 

and one day the hungry donkey forgot
to wake up with the wolf after sunrise
and the wolf knew the donkey left this world 
to search the universe for a carrot

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Sonnet ~ Wednesday, 2017 January 25

Akron swims before dawn, high above the city, an Infinity Pool 
centered in Singapore, allows him to do laps before the world awakes,
reflect on the day past, the day to come, before tourists arrive
on the Observation Deck to sunbathe, get drunk on the Sands' blue-fire-cool,
sipping from Martini glasses, as if never to apologize for
the wealth they must display as social butterflies, and trash talk for the sake
inglorious of hate, for no better reason, than love cannot survive 
crimes against poverty like beating up beggars asleep in dark alleys.

Say nothing of distant lands and abhorrent men on vacation, too poor,
as they say, to enjoy the Infinity Pool as Akron does at night,
the son of the Head Chef, he runs Olympic laps with no one to bother,
obligated to clean up after the foul guests get into a food fight,
reason allows Akron to persuade the owner, his grandfather's brother,
illicit use of pool services at off-hours, with dust from the fairies.

How I Conceive of Time ~ Thursday, 2017 January 26

What I may or may not need to explain to you at this point is that time exists for all moments simultaneously from the big bang until the absence of all light when darkness overcomes all forms of energy visible to the eye and in this ultimate collapse dark matter sucks the power from spectral light into a massive ball of dark radiation feeding like a cancer on the whole universe and once this stellar force swallows all but vacuum to become a tiny compact stellar power source it waits for a command as if someone could press a miniscule doorbell and time would start again from a new beginning anything could happen a configuration no one has yet conceived impossible to think the imagination balks in great confusion at possibilities countless as the digits enumerating pi and because all of time exists in shared moments that happen all at once our idea of time as linear is a figment of imagination conceived by conscious minds to make sense of all this we call reality ephemeral flashing in phenomenal realms what you may understand is that nothing changes like a lighter sparking waiting for gas to burst to call forth ancient light.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

A Phone Conversation ~ Wednesday, 2017 January 25

Satan!? Nothing doing...are you seriously trying to tell me that people think I believe in "the adversary"? How humorous people are when they need to feel entertained by scapegoats, their imagination precedes their dignity. Am I supposed to laugh at their childish mischief, as if nothing could come of this feckless type of misrepresentation? I am a senator who hails from Illinois, am I to take this as a joke, light-hearted, like no one's out to get me? Tell me you didn't see this in a newspaper, the media have had their claws at the ready since I was elected. As if I have to prove to the public again I grew up Catholic, in a Franciscan Church, confirmed during high school. Nobody can disprove the calumny once said by a news broadcaster, as if slander were truth and I, Satan, himself.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Three Hundred Words in which I Question the Parameters of Truth ~ Thursday, 2017 January 19

Three Hundred Words in which I Question the Parameters of Truth 

To forgive a person after the damage is done is no easy task,
hatred and aggression meet with justice in court, in a legal system 
rarely known for penance, contrition, repentance, sacraments of the Church,
equally unheard of is to bear witness by neighbors we must not ask,
exacting revenge is most likely encountered by local citizens.

How do we make the streets of Chicago a safe place for all visitors, 
understand why I ask this unsettled question in the face of a past
noticeably riddled with bullets and hatred, a cure without symptom, 
diagnosis of crime as persistent disease make the citizens watch
responders on the scene battle epidemic proportions of illness,
every participant waits for a prognosis, a fight that never ends,
doctors weigh their options when malignant tumors shut down the local stores.

Wisdom is never found but sought out by those who cannot accept to cast
overboard the whole crew who keep the ship afloat, sailing to unknown lands,
reason tells us the world is not flat with corners like a cube, but a sphere
decisively easy to chart, to map a direct path between points regardless 
sea creatures may take down our vessels, overwhelm our crew, tossed to the sands.

Islands appear as safe havens in seas seasoned sailors travel in fear,
navigators set forth the course between point a and point b, where no man

Wonders about the paths unpaved by construction, imaginary flights
hubris only laughs at, darkness always remains unwritten, a blank page
ignorant of the lines that shape our future plans, until we reach the heights 
chosen by mountaineers to overcome the odds of survival, the rage
humans engage blindly in these games of conscience leave us without a plan.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Achtzehn: Devil at My Heels ~ 2016 2 24

Runners run in any weather, any weather at all, whether or not 
Under threat of snow, rain, sweltering heat, they sweat and stink, like pink grapefruit. 
Never never never underestimate will power to overcome dark 
Night, bright daylight, high noon in June, July, August, the summer months, hard fought 
Each day, ten miles, up to twenty, the maximum before the marathon. 
Race twenty-six point two wisely, for the weather matters not to runners. 

Rippling muscles, tense, tight, micro-tears, injury, stress, strain, welcome the pain, 
Argue with the body all you want, rest your bones, your weary bones, no doubt 
Creatures of habit run themselves ragged, muscles twitch, trigger points set sparks, 
Inflame tissues, burn red referral pain the length, breadth of a pound of flesh. 
Never never never underestimate pain to switch sides, dusk to dawn 
Gut-wrenching pain, over compensation, betrayal, bodies torn asunder. 

Singular intention, focus fiercely, finish the race to run again 
Each year until you dead, a living, breathing corpse, zombie road runner, shoes 
Alight, aflame, the heat of Arizona, dry burning sky, burning bright 
Season after season, dig in ultra-distance, mileage is such a rush. 
Only when you done, dead dog tired, muscles twisted, feel the pain, sing the blues, 
Never never never underestimate drive to quench a thirst in drought. 
--
ABCADE FBCGDE FHIGHI
--
Rui Carlos da Cunha

2016 February 24

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

"The Drunken Staircase" ~ 2016 2 9

Frost across her windowpane, Mr. Crane
Looks up at the warm lamplight, a blight
Against the brick wall, nothing to recall,
Nothing at all within the window frame.
Nothing to say to no one, as you see,
Except Mr. Crane looks up, slightly tight,
Rye whiskey in a ass-pocket, to crawl
Yearning up the staircase, up to her door.

Rest assured, Rae hears Mr. Crane dimly
Attempt to ascend the drunken staircase,
Ever ready at the chance to flee, she

Flings open the window to dive two floors,
Light as a wavelength, an acrobat's grace,
Yet still she falls, shrieking like a banshee.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

"The Adversary Speaks" ~ 2016 1 21

Temptation is the treasure of my trade.
Hades hound howls horrendous inhuman
Eruptions, inelegant egregious
Articulations against angelic
Depictions of the downfall of demons,
Vagabonds and vagrants of the heavens
Expelled expressly to expose exploits.
Rebellious for revolution, revolt,
Sweet for insurrection, sugar so sage.
Artful as always, my assault was ape.
Reason for irreverent royalty,
Young hellions beyond unity, beyond yes.
Shambles, shenanigans, ship of lost souls
Populated by pardoned pedophiles
Ejaculating educational
Analyses, arguably astute.
Kind of dark in the prickly prankster park,
Suck on larks from sunrise until sunset.

Monday, November 23, 2015

"Quatorzain for the Little Brown Guy" ~ 2015 11 16

the little brown guy was neither little
nor brown nor even really just some guy
some guy who could fix your leaky faucet
who could teach you how to parallel park
who could post bail when you’re in the drunk tank
who could dispose of the body you killed
some guy you don’t introduce to mother
the little brown guy was not just some guy
some guy who would drive you to the airport
who would loan you 10K without interest
who would smother your mother for your debts
who would cut off your ears to prove a point
some guy your father wouldn’t approve of
the little brown guy was just not this guy

"the rub : imparting music to our ears" ~ 2015 11 23

sugar melts bittersweet in black coffee
lets sorrow lie dormant as sleeping dogs
erratically paw and whimper bad dreams
erotically unsheathe erect puppy
perturbations pulsating tumescent
in full display flanks set wide nothing sags
nothing to hide the cool air fans at drones
gliding as detritus floats through the air

switch off the lights at sunrise the distant
orb blazes magically as if demand
required immediate payment for debts
requisitioned by the state motherwhore
over dark mass the orb forced to amend
wicked solar flares pulsating in wafts