cerulean haiku

cerulean love
like the kind I thought we shared
frozen color blocked

the prairie wind

this dust
the molecules of mullosk and humming bird feathers, and my brother's knee scuff at seven, and the dog who roamed with the Osage, that had three litters.

spit up on this wind that blows forever in prairy towns.

shifted endless, traveling sales circus, magic shows promising CEO jobs in lucrative industries like:
Life

spitting up all over, fondled into the air that blows forever-never, forever.

an atomic history film, pieced together, rapturous, always sandwiched with a bit of moisture on your lip in the morning, watched and washed away.

splitting up on a ricocheting rock,
this second divided, like infinity's offspring, sown for lovers, forever seeking the prairie winds.

Poem on Being a noun

an exotic flowerer, vibrant bloomer, forest dweller undefined, absorbing carbon dioxide, feeding surrounding muddied existers, a wild child plant, a vision.

but you saw it, named it, made it something you owned, like a pet.  a horticulturist nurturing what you lacked, loved in your imagination, a biome without life.

life grows on fertilizers, dead things, remnants of made up histories.  dying is living, pride grasper, being a noun is a lie.

egos, trapped

busied bye, existing cell or door,
rasping tuning, like knives, thieves saying,
praying and salivating robbers.

our vision rests, a steamy stain, wiping my glasses, aged dankness, parting glances.
laying wasted land, resurrecting words, like watering wilting plants.

desire stoppers, winning spinning tops, motion wheels, robbing again, bargaining buyers, cheaply heaping, wills broken,
festooned, lived lifers of egos, trapped.

we ring to hear our echoing

spit dripper, spiting us, flowering child littering the prairie,
peek-a-boo keeper, like collecting ants and antigens,
tubes of glass, some filled, some begging for moisture,
some pan-handling for a cure to the cure.

sitting cross-legged, floating on genies rags, skimming the yoke,
light up, the sky up, it's tied up, all fried up.

hands laid across hands, sucker punching symbols, bloodied prints of real,
vibrating! vibrating! vibrating! vibrating! vibrating!
crossed-off diminuendo, many voices, tongues held with bailing wire.

we ring to hear our echoing.

Priscella's aberration

Priscella's aberration, the fantasy male, a gender-tripper.

Slanting and slandering, poisoned yeses and knows on a hay bulls-eye,
it ripples in the grey field, furry magic-maker flinging an ace,
valued above others,
a tasting encasing a dry mouth of ghostliest.

place an olive growth and name it,
i dent it,
tea brews entering as steam in a memory atonality,
small red cells expanding, dilated bright waves depositing bits of bone.
shuffling along, soaking pant-legged history, drying up grass blades.

riding along, hair windy, particle inheritor,  recipient of dust clouds.

the ego

crippled souls of Heracles biting at the ankles 
of sanded wooden grains, ingrained topped-off visionaries
pulling, tugging vastly there in star fields as if ant hills
owned cities in hearts of purple, our tasseled caps.
grown with magic opined bloodied servants
the wine cask sits openly, begging.

complained refrains, seven added bells
ringing ears, waxed variants summed up with a tab
as if
your hold in a ship on calm, watered piles
delicate backings, it's moist
billowing up, pillows of fur
the ego 

two minutes

bubbled milk and three fingers tapping on the knee
shadows of one translucent thread, locked in concrete
it's the sun, son ... two minutes from now, less if you're lucky
past pastures of imagined shit, future-fucking mind tricks
STOP
is there a rock there in October? it's a month created, time keeper bullshit
looping looping looping candy lands

wind walker

liquorice lacquered, nimbly host, advancing ghost to be.  skipping withered form, insectional visionary, poster child of light.

take another vessel, some star-shaped beast, or leafing swaying wind walker.

angel girls

powdered pill-dotted, winged fluttering,
paper corner floating, faceted eyes of autumn frost.

prairie landing strips, particled sentient, flying with lives, past and present pastures, emerald sewn, drawn with rapturous and earthly Beings.

vixens fixated, angel girls, flirtatious ones, a flat or c chorus vibrations, like your utensils, holding notes, reading pleasures that carry you over Kansas fields.

Son

Bright child, razor wired, tired baby seeking
a sound, tinging and pinging, rattled tooth, heard misunderstood one.

crooked neck, pecking tiny toned saviors, helping hands, sweating palmed, slapping while hoping, generously given, open like a petaled morning kiss.

seven twenty three fiver, thriving heavily on nickel coppered conductivity, ripping out outerwear, a light beam, a star-named Sun, son of a greater galactic peace.

never ever

cold caramel, rock-hard, slipping out like foggy sweet things you said, flowing warming syllables of swirling mixtures, cavities, silken ice that crept up, frosty as if we never ever.

tiny red itching fire pot, creeping investigator, rending, a blue hole, holding sell, prison cell, death camp traveled, Pi calculated love story fiction, as if we never ever.

plastic kings, zip locked air tight kids, flying round, blurring wizardry, poof and puff, like breathing, surfacing after being down 30 seconds too long, as if we never ever were.

hoping sister

sat in, ragged and rugged, threading through simple talk, closing doors with mirrored pages.

slowly stepping, stools as visages, vestibules filled up like scaring papers, patterned after umber walkers, vying for forgiveness.

hoping sister, hopping about like fresh energy, wattage filled sparker, letting go, electrifying!

vanishing man

film figures, transparency walkers, between pains, tapped at wild animals, caged beasts, once noble, truth filled, unaware.

children's books filled with peaks, and capped boys, dancing boys, pure rhythm sons with tongues, cannabis kids, rode red busses west, studied lines of faces, finding tribes and flying.

captive dogs find a pen, vanishing man hears no sounds, what dreams may come, will go to dust and silence.

grief's gravity

grace filled passion playing, soft tones, so silk-like, youthful hair, notes racing up and down like my finger on your back, endless transmissions we sometimes tune in with or tune out of.

it is a round, rich sound, echoing as you thump and listen, excited rhythmic, but mononuclear, attacking silent sitters, laid-back beatless boys.

poles in rows, planted stakes, planned designs in watery mud patties, already fallen. eye lensed, cleansed, and ready to rise up, champions of grief's gravity.

The I Lie

river speaker, iced water, like diamond drills down, soft bedded stones, stinging tongues, constant needing, feeding baby chicks, selfish softened, spoken to comfort need for me, the I Lie.

your banquet, high and piled with meals of Love, offerings, ritualized by dillusionistic demons, angels, jesters counted, burnt matches tossed, forgotten, never-objects, dust mites of thought these humans. You Slaves.

chained beings seek freedoms, running in railroads, steaming forward, steel power, light at the end is only Truth. stepping on, always moving, blazing, blinding, being.

stolen boys

blood mud mixed up child, mouth stitched with tissue letters, lit easily, flaming vocabulary, floating embered pieces like october outside, soon a frozen ground, dead earth.

these cold tissues, a restaurant plate presented for an inflated fee, like Facebook posts, positioned to stir kindred connections, "look at me!  look at me!  look at me!  I AM!"

Ginsberg almost told the Truth when truth needed to be told.  now it doesn't exist, melted snow, flaking about, twisted about, pretty boys, guilty boys, wearing skirts and painted nails.  child likened.  stolen boys.

wishing ghosts

posts, wooden wishing ghosts,
marked etchings, fibrous scars bleeding into reincarnation, stages full of proper rages, entitled to mortgaged dreams based on dissolving tissued fantasy islands.

sitting in 1980's bay windows, brass magenta glassed wall to wall screaming wars, babies booming, "lies lying liers!"

holocaustic fears leveled cities of children.

beast

bellied by beasts, scratching, drooling, hairy piles signaling tawny delights.  alphabetical molecular like ladders to read things translated as real things.

flashing blue yellow, pointed light, vivid, shockingly-intense, hot fire light, scalding purity of light, over rainbow power filled rays of light, white white blue-white light.

from one center, centered, in the middle of the universe, all matter gravitates with a gravity, regrettable consciousness, sick and vomiting pages written as truth, absurdly.

Dream, fantasies, and dillusions

Fortress keepers, parcelled pieces, seeking and heaping story-filled stacks, fully fictitious.

Shrouded lines, crossed rails, yellow and black x's, blurring by.  Horizon filled peaks stream rugged beats echoing promises of expansive gold, wealthy cloud forming synchronizities.

Dreams of the me.
Fantasies of the you.
Dillusions of the I.

The Golden Calf

Sanctuary sessions with broken boys.
Swearing against the self-involved.
Ego Queens, spitting adjectives, flipping, flapping, rotting and bloating.

Entitled Yeshua handing out meals; devouring stale bread and piles of swimming beasts. Suffering illusionist using Words like a golden calf.
A ficus cutting from Ashoka's daughter, a bough who lost her golden child.

When I's and eyes are dissolved, infinite blackened holes,  wafted memory-shadows, selfish offspring.
But the tears are soaking and wet and endless endless endless!

Just one more warm safe embrace, foolish suffering, and attached.

Monday June 16, 2014

Howling

Give(n). Live. Why wait - Open-lighted.
Heightened Magick Passionates.
Skilled. Lessened. Festooned or tightly vibrated.
Seven, Five, Twenty. Thee Seeker, Tweaker.
Layered leveled binary responses.
Seated, tabled participants. Howling.

kaleidoscope spinner

kaleidoscope spinner
tongue wagging
caged beak
little beast
featherless, foolish, and foul.

scent masked
senses tasked
carnival tricks
every fraying card
praying for a false and weakened
suitor.

in the buying market
targeted hearts or
counting coins?
billing the willing and killing
the dillusioned.

and silver spills from your lips
whilst you dine at my
expense.

the Me that never existed

greening, slick, rock-like wooden shadowed earthly, unmoving fixation relationships objectively solid, wasted words never spoken, never screamed, ripping stitched magikal frightened boyhood chalky sentences wiped away like a bloodied lip from back-talk.

what we thought was we when me never existed, calloused, slurring S's, uncourageous studies of falsified reflections genus homo erectus.  standing from crawling, nose freshly covered mired dirty feral primordial sexuality. but the me that never existed was in Love!

a wooden cube is an object.  crowned cannonized geometric angles or angels holding truths like bird cages containing soul-sprung songs sung melodious for ears of selected few, off-key rejections, failed registers, missing notes, never questioned sketches.

pained panes painted shattered, heat was released, living greening stones felt bitter the cold January.

and the me and the we and the i, dissolved.

and moss will never grow in that place imagined by the us.

whizzing by

whizzing by at 100,000 miles per hour,
a stolen glowing masterpiece, a fire bird. dropping bass only to return to azure and purplish skies.

searching atmospheres for a single inhale, magic numbered sanctuaries within chaotic sampled sameness.  pierced reincarnations of shaman, stacked to burn, fueled and combustible.

i am but a shadow walker looking for sunlight.

Dreamworlds

See
Lift this vale, pale acrid blind.
Waking to another rich velvet tasting,
a frosty blended vision, earnest visions of our so-called realities.

Hear
Brilliance blinded our storks and rattled bloodied sabers, azure faceted weapons.  We sew fine, slivers of silver ghosts and name them.

Smell
Dreamworlds play recordings, hardened vinyl darkness scratched with Truths.  Analogous, digital softly-spoken mountains upon mountains cleanse our palets, removing our tongues, feeding us light.

The Suffering Wind

First dust rustles and dances;
a current of brown glinting stars
shaking anticipated and fated to fly.

Pines yellowed, anchored, pick up and hustle too as dust passes whispering beats, sultry, rhythmic notes.

This conductor of sway is a suffering wind; relentless currents, chaotic blows, never ending, never judging, merciless force.

Structures are built by choice in the path of the wind.  Dusty leaves blown by barely revealed and painted eves worn, withered, and sacraficed.

But breeze begets gust begets gale begets torrents that lift and destroy these proctections, these safeties.  Even our foundations are cracked and potted promises.

The winds always subside though and Courage constructs new replacements, steeled buildings, hopeful shiny dwellings.

Go West

Go West I said.
Something elevates there
(picking up and out of a scorched flat place).

I packed and winnowed
and Kansas blew back.  The currency of currents aired on the sides of a dusty and blued Scion that once was his, only a symbol of me.  False, mechanical machine sculpted in a factory with words like Love, and Forever, and no Other.

Once I borrowed your shirt.  We believed it fit, and then it became mine, like you.  Now the wind of Kansas chills the clothes that are mine alone in this box on wheels.

Tiny atoms, remnants of exponential moments fill this car as it moves West.  Your words are exhaust that exhausted and drove me.  I almost picked up the hose to drown.

Were it not for peaks of snow, the enemy, and a promise of flesh feared as a boy, a queer boy, the air would not pass and not be consumed.