Monthly Archive: February 2016

the cure

Worcester sauce
is part of the cure
pabulum, pennies, and bottles of myrrh

take them together
and bind through the night
cross over my dreams and pull to the right

i’ll text you tomorrow
i swear that i will
if i remember this thought that i’m having here still

unfortunately i won’t be
getting much sleep
i’ve partied too much and my mind is too steep

i know that i shouldn’t
be such a jerk
since i’ve got to get up soon and rush off to work

the cure is not helping
i know that by now
but i think that my symptoms are gone anyhow

a powerful feeling
has come to atone
to pull me apart and flatten my phone

no matter the path
both the lows and the highs
the only sure thing is the mystery inside

tomorrow

tame gorilla keeping calm
yesterday’s troubles
now are gone

tomorrow’s taking
just as long

as looping time
rolls right along

don’t stop singing
your true song

it takes a lifetime
to belong

your hairy days
will not prolong

the potent mind forms
of time’s balm

the task of sorting
rights from wrongs

for tame gorilla
very strong

welcome to
our wisdom throng

u.s. hamartia

turn around, citizen
we only want to see your flaws
lick your wound
and make your laws

we demand your compliance
every day
so listen again and
do what we say

use pesticides
don’t use them
don’t rue what you knew
with cancer and bedbugs
we’ll eat better too

now that war is so good
and war is so great
stretch all of your faces
into more and more hate

turn around, citizen
we only want to see your errors
in our profitably prolonged
fighting with terror

gays should be beaten
and black people hung
but wait, citizen
a turn of events
and our pendulum’s swung

marijuana was bad
so we blew it away
until it became good
because it now pays

vote in elections
you must make your pick
though all of the candidates
are making you sick

listen to the sirens, citizen
huddled your rooms
alone or together
in your collective tomb

enslaved as masses
without even a coller
what if there’s no resurge
for the almighty dollar

the ‘merikan people’
have a decision to make
was it all a bad dream
or just a mistake?

lay bare

i wander the apocalypse
with an atomizer
attached to a tank across my back
holding Mediterranean oregano oil
mixed with cloves and cinnamon
and colloidal silver
automatically spraying a bubble
out around me
from the top of my hat

people are sick all over

maybe your headache was your sickness,
she told me before she passed,
and now you’re immune

have you ever laid bare
your insides before
there ever was
an outside
at all
surrounding your core?

my headache has mostly passed
i finished today’s poem last night
it will be called ‘laid bare’

you are the leaper of headaches,
she predicted,
you might be the last one standing
with your two cats
selling the remainder of your days
for Jerusalem artichokes and honey

i just popped my last tablet
no more ginkgo for bonzo

there’s no getting back to fighting trim
when it’s something else that’s fading

it’s either that
or it’s time to wake up

long after

walking down to the corner
Abraham passed a yellow trolley clanking along,
its power poles connected to an overhead line

this made Abraham think of his father,
as he followed the trolley and the line
passing a sharp turn and then coming to a break in the wall
where light poured in from the outside sun

by nature, Abraham’s father adored a vacuum,
and as the light poured in, the air poured out,
and Abraham said to the light aloud,
Blessed Be, Father. Thine eye is true.

Abraham then tried listing all the things
that are distinct from other kinds of things,
but in the radiance of the light,
he could come up with nothing

the nothing not of things was shining
so very brightly
it was shining through Abraham’s heart

it can never stop shining
because there is no time
in nothing

it is still shining
even now
long after the trolley
long after the overhead lines
long after the roadside posts
long after Abraham
long after you

ticket to fly

you have a ticket in your pocket
which lets you on a plane
never knew there was a moment
that you’d give it all away

honor bound by angst
you feel the magic in your toes
but you haven’t cared enough
about the document you hold

back when you were earthbound
didn’t matter what you ate
but lately you’ve been trying
to slightly lose some weight

rising from the runway
you are grinding through your gears
you can feel it in your stomach
and the popping in your ears

you know that things are changing
there’s a buzzing in the air
you got a ticket in your pocket
and your body doesn’t care

there’s a horror show of cravings
that evaporate in space
as you leave them all behind
and finally take your place

you have a ticket in your pocket
or you used to anyhow
does the dreaming dream the dreamer
or can you not remember now

the bare facts

though grown on the same mountain
the terroir is far different in the orchard,
with its marsh water capillaries and sugar baby nests,
than it is deep in the breathing caves,
where all sound is swallowed by the creeping dark

that’s where the brain sponges spawn

the nano-prionic leeches,
on the other hand,
grow in the orchard

if you need mineral supplements
or fuel
or time in the deam-zones
the leeches are your best bet
just make sure to wash them thoroughly first

but if you’re drawn more to
weightier matters
lasting family and friends
probability farming
you can’t go wrong with the sponges

there are some of you, however,
with rarer urges

perhaps you find yourself
contemplating the outshining source,
which, being us,
is hip to the ups and downs of indulging
and is not impressed

for you
there is only the heart of the mountain
and the song it constantly sings:

if you lose yourself
in lasting contemplation of peace
whatsoever else would you ever want to find
whomsoever else would you ever want to be
come now as spirit with me
adventurous one
and simply be free

the soup went splat

did the anger exist before the
container of mushroom barley soup fell?

was the floor of my flat clean
before the soup flew off in an arch?

did my yell of total disappointment
upset the two feral cats lounging on my porch?

is the moon shining full and free
behind the haze of clouds in the evening sky?

will the aches and pains of my knees and joints
get worse and worse as i grow older?

did a mushroom really end up under my bed
all the way across the room?

did i ever really have a face
before the day that i was born?

show me the sound of one hand clapping
and i will toss out badly designed food containers,
personal doubts,
demons of my own making,
and preferences that lead nowhere.

Haiku

Having a day when the verse doesn’t flow?
Why don’t you just write a Haiku?
You know, they’re short, three lines, easy to write.
Doesn’t really matter how many syllables each line has, unless you’re a purist.
Just throw in a line about something having to do with weather or nature, and Bob’s your uncle.
Forget about everything else.

[clears throat]

the offworlder holds laziness
like a cruel breeze
misunderstanding the sun

titration

wounds were lighting up in my mind
like probable causes
strains of memory
tarnished by repetition

i dragged them around
in a sack i wore across my back
with a long grey shoulder strap

moons were lighting up the sky
pebbles searching for souls
gullible gulls
lost in the underbrush

carrying my bounty
over hill
over dale
i laughed all the way
drawn by the outshining pull
of overwhelming bliss

moon shining ghouls
redactable fools

a joy so profound
it swallows all else

death feels like that

illicit snogs
removable cogs

there’s a turning to things
you see
that happens in between the spaces
between awareness

if i stop
and let all the rest drop
my shoulders
my bag
the wounds and memories
i’ve been carrying around
forever

then silence and peace
resume

the normally scheduled activity
of All That Is