Where storm clouds make way for brilliant skies, And the hot of summer moves to chill, In dream, in wake All the potions that we make, Like details coiled in the sand To be washed into the tide, Each moment reclaiming each thought, And each thought deluging, Yet not diluting, The potency of their will... And yet- what will, And what will come to be... Not exact, not crystal Not composite, Not yet formed, And yet not formless, But dropping down Like the yellow egg dropping Down into the blood and ovum of perception With mouths they speak, they taste, With hands they grasp they touch, And in the profundity of their searching With eyes that see All that Found and foundless, How gentian bitter, and honey sweet those tears Make way for magic, and poetry for as they so loved the flower. .. And said it wilt too soon, The joy of all their wishing: Is a world of endless blooms * A man who forgets everything, a thick and endless fog, how to stir this pot of old memory, can I... remember? to distinguish between one face and another among the daily haze, one day to the next, one dream to the next dream, a moment here and gone was once an entire life from infancy to febrility, sucking the tit of content, wishing the world to lay down its wistful head to hear its own heart, in the belly of its mother and then lift itself again, like the rising face of a flower, soft in the fierce and ambivalent heat the mind a flickering lantern, devouring oils, kerosine and ghee, upon a cotton wick.
* Born in the desolate city Cincinnati down by the river, he spit me out of his many mouths He moved the milk and it was volatile... I drank it, and it turned blue... It was so... all I'd want was the good kind of freedom the freedom of drugs and magic the freedom of music and poetry and a gentle many pens, brushes, inks, and poisons came shortly after and they spun bacchus, pastoral, canna sweet until they were weary and spoke to me for confession I wrote down every word as if they were my own and sometimes even tricked myself to believe that it was so but... this is not my tongue these are not my teeth I've only flesh to claim as mine and hardly even that. *
Colorful wine, vino apparent, ghostly and long eyes, a whistle, omen, curse, I hold the hand countless all the fingers upon the palm of contentment, fragile, my heart moves now- all the image precedes with precision backwards in the margins, salty in the waking, a woman pulls nothing and nothing precedes you, backwards, you call to your mother: "please sangria, may I borrow your face for the season? I've got nothing for precision, nor lights to illuminate where you go" * The pausing charm, I've a bone to pick with the marrow, The motions of the arm all but dappled and white, the snaking motions of an ill predicted bride the spine all full of liquids, calling drunkenly to the arm of satisfaction, to make things happen then silence them into nothing * A memory stands in the falsehood of a mind, a protein reformed with every thinking in describing, we remember. and it becomes merely words and dreams to interpret it... A memory stands alone in the falsehood of a mind If to think was to remember words- then to speak it: The abandonment of reality. * Though I fret the loss of my memory like it was a good enemy my companion does not find solace in me I cannot pull the stem cord of his brain the hot wires are black, and the white ones neutral I miss his kiss and he is here with me he is only in form, I can mold his body like putty and not get one inch closer to the blood inside I've hardly any money, nor will power to find a job I've been pushing paint and ink through my mind's unrelenting fog * oh on, continuing thru Cincinnati empty streets, the powder blues bildins standin where it stud uprite shoulder to shoulder moths in the bed kiss kizzin in tha dark like I got none of that this aqui alli a-climbing up my bones holdin it in like a puzzle peice peice peicein a schmeck schmeckin the bony ribs... carnation, open up yr pretty kitty blossum all but my table pink an' fleshy pleasant, come on come on come on, carnation, come on home carnation, and kizz me till I weep those reel gud god real tears real cherry teers. * The president's gray is the blood of the nation
where flowers wilt, I lay my head, I am the nation's weeping dead * a hole digs deeper, dreaming dearly of the stars dropping silent, a hand unfolding hips, desperately the dogs will pain on winter's frozen lips. * Ravels unfold, the estate beholds, I tell you have I slumbered? with slits for eyes, my soul confide the nature of the matter... which element I did recieve through food of mouth or air I breathe, through food of mouth or air I breathe, what chemicals I did receive to act my brain this manner. * Unsatisfied, I reach out and it is violence. Urgency. The telephone outlives me. The coils of the strand, my old and boiling blood, screaming out with frozen lips "Oh ice cold, do bring me sweets" pastries to snack, old rabbits to sever, all limbs as, 1-2 a crow caw in the yard dropping a purse whose bloodied hand I did- I did report report and kiss and kiss. I did report and kiss. * Darling, are all your trees so young? I pulled them from your face with tweezers, I forced them to take shape through the motors of my teeth all the old factories, on car trips through wicked portions of the world, all our bony tips poking holes in the earth, to drop down our wastes as we go- south the direction of my garden. * I was nine when he went down into the great salt lake and never came back He never came back, but his faded white body did, and they pounded its chest until the insides released all their foam. Alecia and I lay next to each other trying to remember him, her with her hands all in my hair and I staring ahead into the waters of my eyes, watching molecules rise and fall. I dreamt my father's face was red with blood, I dreamt of womed suspended in brine, I dreamt I was a monster keeping a diary of all the people I'd killed. I wore their teeth in my mouth, and at night I clicked them together until the sound was so great I awoke, and was unable to sleep.
Poems written as a youth in Cincinnati Ohio. * Pretending to be lying, I am I am, so I am drinking your name was never something of substance, I would never have drank sweet words like that * divine secret, divine fuck you, divine electricity and divine automobile go go battle-house, go go electric divinity. * I am kissing away the graveyards of mankind wishing to die early, in a health-less house with windows like teeth, and dreaming that everything would be as it is now, and only reaching the prime of its age. *