A word about rainbows and other solitary things.
As do gather the mists of life, so do individual
creations come to create and form.
The solitude of these are bags of foam,
essence of breath
legs and paws of death,
scarce and rare as a true kiss.
Piles of noble gravediggers shall never find
the immeasurable completion,
the methodical renewal,
the transmigration of hearts
rendered helpless in the face
of total annihilation.
Supreme happiness is only to be found
in the Rainbow state.
Release
Hermetic obsessions, the joy in solitude, oblivion is real.
Release of boring recreations like social gatherings,
sophists with their relentless outbursts of self-involvement
and silly negotiations which boil down to nothing.
The common denominator is “Me, Me, Me.”
“This is the time of my great undoing.”
This is the time, this is the time.
Time to seize the throne of cloud-filled skies, release.
Time to take love in savage teeth
and give it a real shakedown.
Time to reveal to the world that you’re on to it.
The sweet veil is finally lifting,
The continuum is no longer continuous.
The visions are a plenty,
The whispers at early hours of the morning beginning to
crystallize into solid words—Release.
Tomb of Clarity
and also note the ecstasy with which he gathers
like fallen fruit your visions,
and your pools of love and energy.
The way you surrender
yourself, consciously,
to the pain he has in store for you,
the explosions that never occur between you
as you thought they would.
how honestly and truthfully, with a slight
tremble in your heart,
you release your illusions of love,
and how gracefully you submit to his absence.
this is the time of great recognition,
when you lead yourself, weary and tired,
to your tomb of clarity.
The Drinking Man (Ode to Daniil Kharms)
Upstairs above the corner bakery in the very back of the hallway, a man sat alone in his room beside a desk with a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. Every few minutes the man would fill the shot glass up to the rim, not quite to the very top, and, after setting the vodka bottle back on the desk, and staring at the almost, but not-quite-full shot glass for a while (and this “while” would vary from time to time), he would throw back his head and pour the vodka down his throat in complete silence. After his head was brought back into the proper position, a sound would start to rattle his belly and something would rise up from the depths of his soul, something full of gastrointestinal promises of glory. But after traveling what seemed a great distance, this sound would extinguish itself in a quiet burp. Behind him through the window a faint light was showing but it was not possible to know whether it was early morning or early evening. The man drank as if nothing else mattered in the world. After some time the room grew darker around him and the drinking man grew fainter until he was completely swallowed by the absence of light.
All that remained was the sound of his gut, repeatedly failing to keep its promises.
Never
In a pretty green pasture
sits a happy little wretch.
Tomorrow's her last day,
so vowing profusely
for all the caterpillars to hear,
the promise of tomorrow,
the same one,
anticipated since the beginning of time
turns away all denial
fills up with profound hope:
"I'll never be back."
1998
Midnight
I bet you can't tell me who you are
Oh sure, you know so much about yourself
the color of your hair
the people you identify with,
your likes and dislikes
But in the blackness of everyday midnight
you're just an old phantom,
grinning.
2016
A Space Undefined
compliments of gravity
heavy perfumed aristocratic wit:
words to express my particular taste
pomegranates and carbon,
honey and ashtray duality-
i'm captured, cursed and set free,
tumbling through your æther,
a space undefined.
powers
immeasurable, life
and more and more and more
towards death, content
joyful tumbling,
submitting to your spell.
not many things can replace you,
can you name my self-inflicted disease?
(hint: it's not love)
1998
Scary Poem
You the juicy bullet
Me, the aching head.
You the beastly dangers,
Me, the open embrace.
You the howling insatiable wind
Me, happily in your midst
Yours bloody murderous thoughts
Mine, the secret indulgence
You the crazed unhappy idiot
Me, the one who will put you to rest
with a juicy bullet.
1998
Adieu
i'm done with thee
i'm done with thee
the long years under the
frozen tree
i'm done with thee
thy furrows heavy
thy nights rabid
and mad.
I, madder than thee.
i'm done with thee
forever, free
with the sea at my
back
farewell to thee.
1998
"ode to --------"
smug condescension, polite ambivalence
sour mediocrity, morbid vanity
catastrophic implications, with large & small
explosions all around your ugly face
as the final bomb falls from the hands of
justice onto the center of your balding
head,
the victory of truth over rotten stinking
overgrown lies of self-adoration,
and the painstaking price of tunnel vision.
1998
Limits
insofar captive language fast slime
comes the full force barrier
city slick confines cross the desert of treachery
supreme ruler of an empire
to pacify bulging life
castration and limits are put into swift action
navigation: precedence
survival at all cost
1998
Envy
Imagine your fat-fuck fruit-fly
sissy, pussy, faggot
useless
wormy
pathetic friend.
You ask him to die.
He dies.
You're elated
walking away,
you think how
happy you are
to be
rid of his
relentless
affectation.
Light switches on:
you walk back
and vomit all over his
dead face.
This gives you a
strange sense of satisfaction,
and finally you realize
you envy him.
1998
Barbaric Moon
Malignant pale skies swoon
Overhead as much as any lice
And shit and all odors
Horrendous (or otherwise) exert
Their tedious influences upon
The unhappy yet heroic
Martyr.
Nothing much to do now but
Face the vicious moon
And its barbaric unyielding
Silver love.
1998