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Monday, August 9, 2010

If souls were god's torches

A prayer is just a cry of becoming human
A cry is just a scream
Of a frightening belief.
And how do we remember how to speak in tongues,
And to flow through moving tunnels
While molding the body to fit something else-
A pattern not yet seen?

Being silent doesn't stop
Others from knowing your unquiet thoughts;
We are more alike
Than we will ever be different.
Just save the last breath for god,
Who pardons all your conscious confusion.

That last, most brilliant light you'll never see
Is only a brain being consumed
By the entrophy of existence.

The stars are well-lit cemeteries
Of illumined souls, that went forgotten once
In the unevenness between the boundaries
Of time, space and heaven.

Monday, June 7, 2010

In a Dream

In a dream I shall feel

The wings of the world unfolding, and
Worlds spinning on the axis of mad journeys;
And the seas breaking turquoise, upon their rippled surfaces.

In the heart of the ears
I shall hear the shivering willows, dreaming their
Wood-smoke dreams, full of sap and funneled sunlight;
Pierced by light for a thousand years

And the flowers sleeping nestled in stars;
Gathered in the deep, among the wood-thrushes,
In coagulated violet forests, all shadowed and dark:
And a whispered peace barely rustles this world.

Grafitti Your Soul

The world would graffiti your soul if it could;

Paint social mores, inside of your arms,
Sourcecode numbers, hidden deep in your being:
Country of origin, tattooed on the forehead,
Percentage of fat, blood type, racial slurs..

The world machine is a label-maker
Of epic size, and tireless duration;
From little yellow stars and red dots twixt the eyes,
To veils, and full seminal infiltration-
You must know that somewhere, there's a bulging file

With names of old girlfriends,
Forgotten sex acts, all time-and-date stamped,
Your prints in the font;
The resultant offsprings, and seedy abortions:
For every eye-blink costs the breeders more time.

They'd like for your pay, to reflect ocean life
Affected by too-long cellular calls;
And those Styrofoam cups, once dropped in the desert
Forty years back, which will surely outlive you;
By a million years- no, they haven't forgotten.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Why Won't the Dead Sleep?

I sleep in sadness;
Or else sadness weeps
Weary and diffident,
Around the world, entangled
In morose grey deeps.

Sad in your gladness,
That I can't participate;
In torpors I circumnavigate
The whirling ocean, gravitate-
Would wish that I could burn.

Wish, to feel anything at all:
That love had me in thrall,
Or hatred made a mess 
Of my well ordered senses;
Life: this just is.

Bite me or kiss me,
Wake me up; enlist me,
My dreams grown fainter than a wisp
Nearly drowned in status quo,
When all I wanted, to flame or glow.

There's no time
As life grows taller 
Than a winter shadow,
And strangles your words:
Where did glad go?

I chase myself around a corner,
Find no one's waiting there,
For no one to grasp hold;
There's a vacancy inside me
It's colder than cold.

Hell's a moderate place, at best
Everyone's happy and soooo well-fed;
Watching endless hours, of a tv show:
Please set me on fire-
Don't kill me slow.

Without Proximity

Humans think the whole earth                                              
Should subjugate itself beneath their feet;
Even their religions cry out
That they are meant to dominate this world;
Animal life hides at their approach;
Even their smell is unusual,
Camouflaged by many substances
That they put upon the body;
Godlike, they annoint themselves
With the essence of flowers,
And animal secretions  which waft into the air
From their body's censors-
And what other animal can kill or maim,
Without proximity?

Sleep Soundly Curse

There are thoughts I'd not allow to think, of you;
Though they carry you off in your sleep some night;
These words I shall not write down of you:
Asleep in my past, where you have no right.

They'll carry you off in your sleep, some night;
Beware, beware, for the time is late,
Sound asleep in the past, where you've no right,
An interloper seals his certain fate.

Beware, beware, for the time is late,
And you will die, inside those walls,
An interloper seals his certain fate;
Sleep soundly: till the anvil falls.

And you will die, inside those walls;
The ghosts of my loved ones number your breaths,
So sleep soundly, till that anvil falls;
For every nightmare's a new little death.

The ghosts of my loved ones number your breaths;
Though there are thoughts I'd not think of you,
And every nightmare's a new little death-
Though I'll write nothing down, of you.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Death is a Dark Tune

Death is a dark tune
That arrives on a dark day
When nothing is going your way
And the storms break through
Your perfectly arranged world
Rattle your windows,
And chill you to the bone.

If you should come suddenly
There won't be hot tea brewing
Or clean towels laid out just for you
I might be in the middle
Of a lengthly novel
Forgive me if I'm brusque then
I hate interruptions.

It's nothing personal
Just give me some time
To compose myself,
Look around once more:
It may seem humble to you
But remember nobody
Has made any assurances
About what's coming next
I want to remember
How this feels.

It may be that
I could find my way
Around your dark paths
Maybe stumble a little;
But pick up again,
Go on having my predictable
Thoughts, make myself
Another cozy place, settle down
We're all just searching
For a little peace anyway,
Aren't we?
You really should
Get with me on this.