Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Weary-eyed.

mounting horse
frustration is mounting its horse. . .
is getting ready to go on a journey to the heart and soul
just take it all i have nothing to give
and take it to them.
the war mongerers’ll get it going.

The Throat
All my life
the world
has lodged
down my throat
its ideals, its realities,
its fallacies.

I have stood
often, pensive;
and i think of
what i feel
and i think of
how much will i feel
inside of me.
I feel this strength
is
better than brawn;
i feel this vigor
will
carry me on.

It’s this feeling that I feel—
it is all that matters anymore.
Am I such a dreamer
to bring the world to rights?
Often I wonder why I fight.
Surrendering, and giving up
is so much easier
than losing, than this fight
for something i can never have
and will never see.
But my will carries me.

Fighters are meant to die
And lovers are meant to be reticent
with this life.
I will carry both of those
under my burlesque,
wear them like tight clothes.

I want to change the world,
I want to be remembered
I have the will to do it
You will see me again sometime
My dreams will not die.
Look me in the eye
I’ve got something to say.
My words aren’t meant to be played possum with.
Hear them in you.

Without the words
I am no one, I am nothing.
Without this expression
I am limited.
The words are a vessel
to the temple
of my mind.
Do not
let them
go
For that is blind.
These words are of a
special kind.
Without the words, where would I be?
I wouldn’t have my will carrying me.

For through these words,
there is nothing—then a mountain;
for through these words,
I can make you see.
For through this words,
I can truly be.
And these words
are something
I cherish
and
no matter what
I will cherish them
to my last breath,
the last heave.

All my life
I have been
lodged this world’s
ideals, its realities
down my throat.
When I try to speak now
with them lodged in
I do not hear myself speaking.
I have become silent
taciturn and i can only
speak, and be loud,
through these words.

These words are just
letters given a value
that’s as contrived
as this world.
But these words
these words, they are mine.
I can do what I want with them.
Even though the letters are but curves--
and lines manipulated and given
sounds--
through them
I have been found.

I want to share this gift with you,
I want you to feel it.
I want you to be found.

Am I such a dreamer
to put the world to rights?
I am a lover, I am a fighter
The passion is my fist.
My flower is the word.
My gun has no bullets.
And I can still kill you.
Shoot you.
Make you really alive.
Do not resist
your feelings
do not
hold it in.
Let’s begin.

Do not resist
your feelings
do not
hold it in.
It has just began.
Let’s begin,
let’s begin.

of a human being
I
sucha, such a
chill
like it’s winter
snow&flake&cold
numb.numb.numb.
and i see. . .and i see
tomorrow breathe
this
heave
i do
believe
yesterday meant nothing
to me.

it passed,
and i had my passing
with it. i was not sad,
no, was not sad.
the apathy gets it through,
the numb.numb. it’s true.
no feeling but
i felt.

yesterday meant nothing
to me.

II
open
up
this
head

let me
in
i wanna see
what’s in
here
in the bars
behind the cell
expose it

closed
my eyes
i see
black
my eyes
droop

opened
my eyes
i see
but most
of all
i hear
the
music

where’s the
imagination?
where’s the
child in
you?
i wanna see
through

but
on the outside
of my head
the entrance
is held
with yellow
caution tape

a face
greets
with a nod
of the head

“no admittance,”
he says
“ there’s been a murder here.”

i wanna see
but he says
the same
thing
again

III
i think i quite hate this endless spin spin
how i’m born again. . .
how i’m born
againandagainandagain
ANDAGAINandAgAiNaNdaGaIn
when, really, i’m just covering up
the dead rot—decay—dilapidation—emanciation—
the burying, the insinuation—the entire fallen being,
i’m just gonna go about this deliquescing

THIS FEEBLE ASH
COVERS WHAT’S ALREADY BEEN DONE
this rigormortis—this death’s son.
the hardness of death covers the lies.

o a frail human has given,
o those reborn.
THIS FEEBLE ASH
COVERS WHAT’S ALREADY BEEN
DONE
cover up the murders with a new person
give him control of this gig.
i’m outta service and i can’t be repaired.
bodysnatch me
take snare and take the stage.
say, “hello,” and, “this’s a nice cage.”

my ribs dented the heart, the heart ruptured apart,
the hand reached in to give it a start,
the hand was covered in bleeding.
i felt the world spin and dart.
looking up i saw the intruder
--he stole all i ever owned—
. . .all i ever owned
. . . . . .ever owned
. . . . . . .all i. . .ever. . .
owned.

i’m quite sick of this
spin spin, the way the world looks
to my eyes.
i wanna crash my body
to the sky.
i wanna pry open those
two blue beautiful eyes.
i wanna know how many times
i’ve died.
and how many more times
i’ve gotta come back alive.

IV
a human being’s
main course
is survival
it is
the
one thing
which
keeps about
and, feeding ourselves
this coarse meal,
the taste becomes us.

we fear death
because nature
is meant to be
alive
and our nature
is nature’s nature.

why, i ask
do we fear death
when it is
release,
eternal release
from the struggle?

it is
because
we lust.
but this
human desire
is getting
as dead as leaves.

i think
it is pointless
to survive
when the rewards
reaped from
going on, getting on
are the same.

i think it is pointless
when all paths
lead to the same
end.
it may bend,
but it always terminates.

perhaps
i have yet
to do something
profound.

the only reason
i continue to survive
is because
i am weak.

because i am
a coward.
it is not within in me
to let go
of what i have.
so simply
i will continue to
destroy and
create.

for this is imagination,
this cycle.
every moment of every facet of time
i am making something.
i have yet to see
if it is beautiful.
if it has the power
to change this
messed up, broken
world
i live upon.

to me
i see
everything
that is
most
important
isn’t
the knowledge
isn’t
this tedium.

the most important thing
to me
is imagination.
it is my survival
from this harsh land.
and maybe, just maybe
my survival will become
the bitter struggle
that is
life.

i shall not stray
from what i am given.
i shall not stray
from my gift.
i shall not forget
what these words
have given me,
and when they allow me
to do
so much more
i will be alive, even more,
because of them.

V
“you may not pass,”
still says the man.
but i
wanna see.

all there would be
to see
is feeble ash.
an endless cover
of waste
to keep it all floundering,
to keep it all going
on the trek
of survival.

why was the word
phoenix penned
when a human being
would suffice?

i have paid my price.
let me be alive
and stable.
let me
have myself
back
you
goddamned
thief.

but still
the part of me
that was me—
my only identity—
is gone.

sun’s wires
the sun’s
a ball of
fire, of fire
it’s held in the sky
by wires
(makes it dance
makes it prance
as if it’s got some chance)

with some scissors, in my hand
i’ve got some surgery to do
(nothing big, just fixing
what’s broken
--i’m a repair man)

flying in a plane, a shuttle to the sun,
i wear a suit with a helmet to keep my lungs
it’s to the stars where it’s true.

and when i’m there
i cut the sun’s wires
and make it fall
to the earth, free falling
and destroy it all.

tick tick
“tick tick—this’s time,
i’ve got some wasting to do,”
said the bug-eyed fat-faced fool.
this here’s time, he’s got it all down.
he’s a tick, hops around.
he’s such a goddamned tool.

“you know, when you were born,
you were such a FUCKING PRETTY baby,”
he ticks, and crawls in my skin
digging up it all—“oh where do i begin?”
i would say, “we don’t begin,” but my lips,
they don’t move, seems time’s got them glued.
maybe it’s elmer’s glue, that would be a laugh.

“and look at you now,” time’s saying to me,
the bug-eyes of this tick at me.
if i could i’d rip those two things from his face,
then he wouldn’t see and maybe then things would go my way.
maybe it’d even shut his mouth.
“you feel dead and the time goes on—tick tick—and you can’t believe
this world. well, i’ve gotta say, you’re quite disrespectful—contemptual—
to not like it this way,” and he snarls at me, and i wish i could get the guts
to punch him right in the face then. “for the way things are is because of me. why, you should feel PRIVILIGED to be where you are when you are because of me. but NO, you cannot seem to grip it, CAN YOU?”

and he’s infesting my skin,
and he’s festering within,
and he’s eating every last will i had left,
and he’s shooting down every last dream in the sky i have,
and he’s laughing like a fucking clown
because it’s all funny to him.
and he’s breaking my hand,
and he’s killing every last single part of me that is alive.
and he’s laughing like a fucking clown
because it’s all funny to him.

he’s a tick
in my skin
and i’d get him out
but he’s deep in,
holding on.
he really knows how to make me thin,
and make me want to die.

i turn away from him,
and through a whisper, quiet as i can,
i answer low.
“no, i can’t come to grips with it.”

and, lying down,
i sulk.

breaking & entering
with your eyes
you neutralize
the pupils dilate
wide spheres pry
you’re looking for what
attracts--finds
you’re looking through
a window, it’s got blinds
the window’s wide,
like your eyes.

finger the fingers
to the window
breaking and entering’s the crime.
then--stepping outside,
you’ll be in my hide.

what’s worth wondering
is how it feels.
is it a bony hard wear?
does it seem to tear
when you move this way or that?
too fat?
do you wish you’d stayed inside the window-room?
tell me, is it too soon? too doomed? what’s there to do?
should it stay crude?
or should it be made true,
shapely & smooth?

it’ll kiss
you
i’ll kiss
you
we’ll kiss
us
we’ll do a little
thing
called breaking and
entering
the cops won’t stop us--they’re at their doughnuts,
groveling, eating devouring the things,
and we’re not doing a crime--it’s just human beings.
two beings yielding one broken tree. will it wilt to a machine?
will we wear our slings, nurse our sores?
will we gore, will we soar, will we lie in each other’s arms
on the floor?
is it going to be worth it anymore?
should we have ended before?
are we whores?

tell me, does what we trod upon feel worn?
let’s not let it be a matter,
let’s flatter each other
and wear our hides.
shut the blinds, lock the window tight
there’s a certain wind tonight, blows like a fight,
it’ll punch us if we don’t lock up tonight
and have at each other’s flesh.
for skin is made to press & hush
& feel & blush & touch.

now let us go about
this breaking
and entering--
steal each other’s thuds.

fleshly
happy grabber tustles
down the ground
the ground muscles
brawny shoulders held
it up

the forms waver
like candle’s flame
hands find ownership
give name

grass all over the head
smells caught up
the tangles in the root
watery rain holds

it wettens like a rose
the red open expose
release the pent
the pretty things
all them they must die

put it in a hold
rip naked the walls
flesh hold to bones
skin fleshly a home

two bleedly bloodies
sew together the bruise
engorged for dredge
wide open a cocoon

hands on grass
grope--the fingers writhe
grass feels to forms
skin sore bruise
to skin sore bruise
it all is everything broken
the red open expose

insinuation chokes chest
red open pressed
fleshly open the caressed
two bleedly bloodies
banging against each other
in grass

they are them it is
all of this it is
how can it be this is
it is all this is broken
this is all it is broken
broken it is all broken

so given is
pleasure explained
so lost is
all this drain
all it is this is broken

the groan’s lain
down it utters forth
deep throat drone
flushed the skin tone
red full of flower

it is wanted i to say
it all it is fall in arms
it is all wanted to say
it is all it is fall in arms
all it is all broken it is
this i want to tame

it is all is broken
i tire of the game
this i want to tame
it all is, it is all broken

thing
down in the
thing it is
going fast it is
hitting a thump
the thing it is playing
with all it can

dig down there
it is a place good
it is where you want to be
it is a nice place to go
let’s grow like the thing
like a plant to the stem
the root heads
to the top of the side

do not hide
the way you wear
yourself on the way
you hold it so high
i see it all inside
i will cover its hide
i will make it die
do not shudder at the sight
of the dine
it is eating carcasses fine
this i do not whine
but this i do ply
held to your why

the thing will take me
i will make me
i will break me
to what it is that is nothing
you will show skeletons they will be something
i will be dumping
it all in the trash

sleep end the happy crash
the curb falling over all it too fast
the blurry faces of the past
i grasp your hand but your are not real
we will find where to go
where to feel
the murderer smiles at his kills
the teeth crooked the mouth wide
the gun held in the head makes it timed
metal is a cold way to derive
let us find the finding thing that grinds
make the sound i like to climb onto
the roar of a motor of a bullet of a dine
eat it full it drink the wine
i want an intoxicated swine

and you are not real to me yet
i will make you come to me in a dream
i will close my eyes now and see the things
i will close my eyes and know there’s better wings
i will close my eyes and see it is all more green
that it is all growing

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