Shadow of Ash07-22-08

October 7, 2008  :: 0 comments

Everything you do effects me.
You are the butterfly
to my causality.

Your eyelids open up
universes.

Your horizons are
my periphery.

Your voice , in synapse
a chorus of spheres.

The sub-atomic thought moments
that make you
feel alive.

Now inserted
and intertwined
in-between mine.

You are blindingly beautiful
as you explode in time.

I am a
man-shaped
shadow of ash
left behind.

Grande Soul Mate Drip

October 7, 2008  :: 0 comments

You are like
a Starbucks Grande coffee,
spiritually
in my soul.

You fill me up with this
dark hot
kick it in the ass coffee.
There is no room for anything
or anyone else in this cup.

I can’t drink anyone or anything else.
And no one or nothing else can drink me.
Our souls are married and bonded
and everyone and everything else
drops away
when we are together,
causing ripples of
friction, jealousy, resentment
and all manner of stupid madness
in all kinds of people everywhere near
for some pretty much inexplicable reason.

I don’t really care I suppose
except,
only problem being,
when you fill the Grande Starbucks cup
of my soul
with your burning goodness
you leave room
for cream and sugar.
and you’ve never added the cream and sugar
and I won’t drink it without
because it’s too strong
and frankly a little bitter.

You keep handing me the filled up cup
over and over
saying c’mon drink it.
But I won’t.
And you get pissy saying
I keep pouring you this awesome
goddam coffee
into your Grande Soul,
just shut up and drink it
and I keep saying
No, I drink my coffee with cream and sugar,
see,
you leave enough room for it
there in the cup
just enough
and it’s not like
as long as you keep filling my
Grande cup up
over and over
I could actually get any
coffee
anywhere else
the way I need it.

So there I am,
best god dam coffee in town
in my life,
ever
hands down
a bottomless cup
you keep refilling
dark, bitter, and
and although I love the shit
out of some coffee
It’s something
I can’t drink
so I have
no coffee at all.

Or maybe being up
all night with you
just makes me think up
some ridiculous shit
in the morning
before leaving the house
to get a cup.

agony

September 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

The agony of love,
how terrible it is.

The pain of truly being alive.

Troubadour suffering,
denied sight of the beloved.

Empty silent nights.

Every aspect
pounds and rushes.

flowing
through the entire body.

Wildfire memory.

A sweet pain in
every terrible breath.

SAD2008!07-28-2008

September 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

In the building, up the elevator, at my desk.
I hit enter to start the computer.
The screen to log onto the network pops up.
It says “Password expires in 2 days,
do you wish to change it now?”

I choose yes.
I type “GOODBYE0728!”, and verify it.
There are only so many characters one can use,
or I might have typed in;
“I CAN’T BELIEVE
YOU ARE LEAVING AGAIN!”

Or perhaps;
“YOU DEVISTATE ME!”
Or possibly;
“PLEASE STAY!!!”
Or maybe even;
“I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH
EVEN THOUGH YOU ALWAYS
HURT ME REAL BAD!”

Or go crazy with something like;
” EVERYTIME YOU LEAVE
I FEEL LIKE HALF MY SOUL IS MISSING
YOU FREAKING CRAZY BROAD!”
But no,
there are only so many characters one can use.
SO I settle for GOODBYE, with the date.
Then after a while, that will expire
and she will still be gone.
and I will want to type;
“STILL MISSING YOU” with that days date.
But that will likely be too long as well.
So I’ll settle for;
“SAD2008!”
and that will be that.

hummingbird

September 29, 2008  :: 0 comments

I was outside
on the patio doing bench press
surrounded by
flowers and bushes and trees.

I’d finished a set
then sat up to rest for a moment.

Directly in front of me was a
Hummingbird.
I could see it clearly.
It’s frantic wings
darting from place to place
flower to flower
taking what it needs to survive.

It seemed like time stopped
as I, and this beautiful thing
existed together
in a frozen moment.

It was beautiful.
The kind of beauty
that lingers
forever
after.

Suddenly
it was gone.

I went back to my bench,
but I was different
than before.

It reminded me
of you.

Post Modern Orphic Hymn

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

French fry forearm tendons.
Contract. Release.
Tambourine plink ping breathing
diet soda can. Big gestures
when I lean back, clad black at
the stroke of midnight arms
falling palms down facing, plink
again. Neck roll concentric crackling
like footsteps on shattered glass.
All for the world.

All for the world I think,
as some wild June thunder busts it up.
See that puff
of smoke that rises there, as I exhale thusly?
Oh, it’s all full of French Canadian clown music
entangled in fine gravel dusk memories.
Where we stood inside the time stream.
Watch it float up and away taking lost spectacle
elsewhere. Shredded memories no good when
the tall grass has known death and resurrection
time and again
since the slipping away
of wishes, days, and clock tics.

A can song fades to black..
Elysian Mysteries thunder as embodiment
It’s different to be me.
Nothing anyone
would understand.

Machine of Almosting

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

Mad genius sloped back flicker in the sun,
ethereal agent sacred clean
caught up in Spiritus Mundi machine.

Echo flapping desert bird wings,
toward
slouching beast, lost, sing, sing
crestfallen desire.
Giant aching acre wide heartache of legend.
Simple fruition of a female golden mean
nothing more,
minus modern moviehouse adaptations.

Pratfall whirlwind blink violin whacked,
depressed on the eve of great depression,
he was depressed, obsessed.
Formed from seraphic anti-matter Goatee
I must already be
an impious version
of singular quantum implosion
privately
safeguarded by the apathy
of everyday notions.

Vacillating melt-down mushroom cloud
dream believer circumstance unspoken,
strictly speaking, fate,
lips against the glass eye road to nowhere,
deserving of so much more.

Just want to grab true real words,
once held solitary in silent temples.
The idea of permanent impermanence like
circumventing the torn rent veil of night,
circumspect in circumstance
always circular.

Abrupt impromptu jagged batwing fancies,
dash about no worse than
clown groupies.

I want to blow out your candles,
make you forget,
foraging
inside the confines of a moment, with me.
Tell me you want me,
unfolding as just what it is,
eyeballs, everything unexpected.
Templar treasure comfort just thinking of you.
Upon the heads of.
Upon the heads of kings.

Marching band crackle fizz bear claws
cat’s-paws.
2 anonymous door frame red roses in
burnt toast wind.

Do I drink excessively.
Am I. Am I. Am I.
I am chasing sudden autonomy weeping
letters in the snowy blood of
ancestors already sleeping.

Even now as the moment dim light silences,
chicken wire around my heart and
brainpan self-speaking into
the next simple breath,
and the one after that,
and after that.

Evil Walks the Land

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

She blew through the glass door, black
tall boots and short cropped dark, gray peppered hair.
A stack of papers and notebooks approximately 7 inches thick.
She Belonged body and soul to Mary Kay,
A quasi-cult corporate Hydra.

It appeared terribly absurd, the way she
spoke to thin air, gesturing and smiling out of habit.
As if an empty chair held the actual form
behind the voice on the Cell phone ear piece
which facilitated obtrusively loud far off communication.

She advised the voice to pray,
that the hotel off of George Bush Toll way
would offer them a lower rate on the meeting room.
To pray that they would
include the buffet as a part of a pre-agreed upon price.
And that the buffet might attract more participants to the event.
at an attractive price of $2 per head.
She advised the voice on the other side,
the invisible cohort,
to continue praying in this direction.
That she was absolutely sure
that the lord had a plan for them,
that their business initiative would work out splendidly.

She was very loud, as I said
and something like a circus side show attraction
a bearded lady, a sword swallower.
She was a soulless female networking automaton.
A real flying saucer suicide, and she was loud.

I couldnt drink my coffee.
I couldnt read Ken Wilber and conceptualize emergent Holons.
I couldnt relax.
I couldnt breathe in normal ways.
Then suddenly 2 men walked in, shirts tucked under bellies,
with the same space age Cell phone ear devices.
Like 1950s Robots, Klatu Barrada Niktu
Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto.
They simultaneously ordered Chai Tea Lattes
Then began speaking in a rhythmic Latinish
Benedictine backbeat conjure chant.
One started a Boogaloo Shrimp Breakdance
twirling head spin routine, while the other tapped his foot.

It was time for me to get,
and to get fast, while the getting was good.
I farted a heady bouquet while sauntering past the woman.
Letting her have it real good.
And I could feel her praying in my direction
As I plummeted through the glass door.

Crazy Girls…

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

I love the crazy girls.
They are more alive than giant
crocodiles.
They possess levels of depth
that un furrow
Like blooming flowers of impulse.
Their words like throwing knives
non-sequential ideas that
entangle themselves
In vines of truth
And they area all mad
Really.
At least all the ones I’ve known.

If the entire universe was
careening to a halt,
and I could save but one thing
from oblivion
It would be the crazy girls.
I’d save them just for me
I’d keep them and I‘d
watch them
and listen to them
and hold them tight.
I would never point out the illogic
of their assertions.
Only pull them close in
when they cried
And kiss their mouths when they
laughed.
It would be just me
and all the crazy girls
all alone
in a perfect universe.

THE REALLY BIG SHOW!!

September 28, 2008  :: 0 comments

Fire eater, dancing poodles, head in the lions mouth
hi-wire tight rope walker
that’s me mother fucker.
A fucking circus act.
A really big show.
Repeat performance, uncanny skill, precision
crazy-clown showmanship, OH, How I dig it!
Whiskey a go-go. Go daddy go
do it all the time, yeah, yeah.

The act begins with me
somehow drawing these amazing women into my life.
Different sizes, different shapes, different ages, different colors
different styles, different beliefs.
The only common factor being a recognizably strong will and personality.

Part two.
Then through some strange mystic interaction
these fantastically fabulously bad-assed females
come to see me as this
talented, intelligent, insightful, entertaining
compassionate, honorable, worthy, respectable
gentleman, artist, friend, lover.
Someone worthy of time, energy, trust, emotion, attachment.

OH! It is truly grand indeed! It is, it is, it is.
However this is not the final act.
Not the finale, not the end of the show,
Because in ACT THREE comes the old switcheroo!
Couple weeks, couple months, bunch of years, something.
It starts with something like
“You know what your problem is?”
Then after a while, the female is raising her voice.
yelling a bit, pointing, telling me how it is.
Sometimes big, sometimes small
sometimes private, sometimes public,
but they seem to have always figured it all out.
Exactly what my character flaws are.
Exactly just how fucked up I am.
Exactly what I need to do differently to be somehow right.
To get my shit together, to fix it all up.
To not be whoever it is that I am not supposed to be.
Not doing whatever it is that I’m not supposed to be doing.

It’s a farce, a fucked up romantic comedy, a cautionary tail
Shakespearian tragedy, slip and slide serious group therapy
highly entertaining, dramatically enthralling
a really really big show!
Three ring circus, big top blow out, Chinese acrobatics
High wire tight rope walking jumping falling without a net.
Head in the lions mouth.
come one, come all, come one, come all,
come one, come all, come one, come all,
Watch now, as he begins to learn to laugh at himself.