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Sunday, April 13, 2014

demon, attosecond

What you seek is seeking you. --Rumi


The moon gets smaller as the night comes on.

Rises over the bay and constructs.


brief as love.

I live on a flamingo wing.

The sun forces gold from shadows and windows.

For a minute in that traffic
static speaks of rain, machines
cancer and harp seals
trucks guns and holy words
slipping into darkness
leaching all the beauty
from a slowing day.

I make the moment given me. 

There is nothing new but novelties.
I had my way. Discovered roads, went wild.
I remember everything.
I immediately forget.
I have the memory of a child.


Night creeps out the streets.

Gulls talk of brittle eggs.

I feel a landlocked whale

who's wandered in bad bays
and gorged on fish
until he's trapped inside a space
to prove how patient is extinction.
If you're seeking enlightenment
this journey ends in the middle.

You will not argue

how Desire set its talons deep:

The constant create-more-creations.

To see more than necessary.

Feel more than prescribed.

Broken laptop with lucite earrings and eucalyptus leaves. Pineapple and lemon on velvet in shade.
Untitled shipwreck.
Silk patterns, bright colors.
Who's fucking my baby now?

A yellow light advising caution

gleams against the last lavender.
My heart is beating like a million trains.
The darkness comes down
like a dagger too eager
to rain and thrill me.
My mind is over
in the sense of seeking.


O to live in a diva's day.

To have one's stimulants used against thee.

It is difficult to find a conversation

that does not lead to love-poisoning-love.

Difficult to find something

that isn't boring 
or disgusting.

Everything we-don't-know-why

brings night on its back
and on the carcass of the moment past
new thoughts form
like fungi dividing the living and dead.

These are not the sexy epiphanies of brilliant youth

but steady streams of task and stat
face and judgment
date and time. Metaphysical dust.
The stuff that poets keep clean.

Everything I've tried has failed to solve me
yet a deep hope remains. It must
beneath the pain and trivia.

The night is lighter later

by a moment than the previous.
O limited men

in limitless oblivion.

At first there's a lack of time
to unravel complexities.
Then an abundance of time
in which all these dimensions
are clowns to insanity.

The closest we get to understanding

can only be confusion.

Like an insect who breathes just 24 hours
I see that I am grains of time--
a second-by-second guess.
It is impossible to do anything but stare.
To move on automatic
with some vague notion
of what to seek and where.

Eternity is eternity
to perfect our deformities.
I constantly curl to places
my soft parts stuck. I was sixteen.
I was twenty-five.
Thirty-three and thirty-four.

Now I'm sad at looking back

and saying what I was:
a starving carnivore.

Beyond solution, deep in self-pity
the earth around me seemed to crack.
If you pieced the puzzle
you'd see a war crime 
ripped from the headlines
bleeding onto the icecaps
while someone gave an explanation why.

Desperate for shelter

seeking connections, saying
even the homeless find them
one warm night
under the punishing stars

I unlocked moment to wonder

Am I the only one?
And Love, it said
I like the way things are.

But X is subject to rapid total change.
Moods will vary
events will alter.
Beauty calcifies.
It seems impossible 

with these gadgets anthems and pills.

Keeping us moving
through mayhem response and the critics
on the most-pristine oil spills.

Surrounded by needles and cameras

injustice frustration and death
everyone was becoming more evil.
The greater the evil
the more it spoke of harmony and love.

Whoever spoke I trusted less.

Whoever was silent
wasn't far behind.

No no, I said, 

that isn't right. It isn't evil.
It's just self-interest we are tired, dying
trying to get by
while lucky-few command us
to go further faster and obey
and we do
without recourse.

At night I stared at couples 

kissing in the bars
and wondered about my future food source.


Strip-searched to the skeleton

because I had to be
there was gunshots in the blue. 

The things we hear, the things we say

mean little on the day-to-day.

I can speak of freedom
but it's a speech created for me
emptying its value
on broken bridges systems
courts and cities.
The list is endless really.

Today a woman was shot for no reason

by a kid with no name.

Look around. You'll feel the pain.

You'll see it as design.
The divine right of kings
who do with power what one does
until we're broke and trapped
resigned and high.

I come to think I've been created 

by a secret committee
inbred as a pharaoh's afterlife.

Any passing luxury sedan

may determine how tomorrow ends.
May understand the speeches written for me.
Why the bombs drop for real.

I will not fear such heroes.

My amen ascends to a blue sky
and waits for a goddess to reply.
After such hopes, one sees
his status is in doubt.
That no reply may come.
And I will 
such heroes in my time.

Such talk and my head fills with images,

a sudden parade to game my discomfort:
Lamborghini/volcano/giraffe birth/commando surgery/
I set sail on a ship with sails of skin
and landed in the annals of pornography
beside the wounded angels.

Adapted to a challenging environment.

Survived and hated it.

Stopped believing newspapers talk-show hosts antiheroes

the all-powerful dollar
villains supervisors
the script of heaven above

got so high I spit on stars

then felt bad because I knew they're set like me.
To die. Avoiding death.
To tell themselves
Eternal life is awful.
To wait to believe.

To believe in nothing, even disbelief.

Drifting here and there
repeating words I'd overheard.
A puppet of prophets.
Or their silent unmoored companion.

What am I floating for really?

To doubt the lessons of poets I admired?

And the music that I hear. 

Is it really genius?

Or a crude commercial 

for an ancient king?


Metaphor clarification innuendo and slur.

I go to bed relieved of light.

Rain oils on the city.
Rocks me to sleep
like tsunamis of lava
under the red-lightning sky.

In dreams I once broke the equations.
Everything was deep and vital
fearless and alive.

I unpacked a neverending train

of the biggest-ever prizes.
Ate bouillabaisse
from the Stanley Cup
on a regular basis.

But X is subject to rapid total change.
In time without effort
I saw shit everywhere.
Bad burgers sat in my stomach like poverty.
Fat clouds of silence my art
my words now brilliant for fools.

Lived a life I was not really living.

When I woke I'd done great things
no one could appreciate.
But when I woke
I was the man I always recognized.

Hemorrhaging money. Smoking dope
a golden liver
begging more.

They put me on medication

on medication on medication.
I lived in harmony with radio stations
broadcasting bland hits
and arctic prophets coming true.

Saw poverty, addiction, as an arc of my story

til that moment it was A) a cliche
and B) misery and C) a disguise

behind which it is easy

to hide from oneself.

Nothing kills dreams like alarms.

But the dream of the next night's
even-softer arms.

Woke up jealous to the sound of rain on tin

stained glass early shadows
velvet thumping gentle cars

birdsong in a forest of malachite.

To sounds I thought the privileged hear.

I heard in the distance.

Talked back down from my deluded heights

I thought Love was next to take me higher.
The proof is in the wound I was
when I found myself once more.

Living a life I was not really living.

A starving carnivore.

My love was everything you've heard,

ultimately nothing to me.
A silent siren
you tempt to sing by being near. 
To no avail because she's modest
full of fear.

What happens when the light of god

has no effect upon the flowers in you?
Do you not ascribe your flowers
to a different source when they arise?

I loved for nothing.

The get-yourself-together-and-forget-it-man

well-wishing friends prescribed
wore thin as I found memories in every song.
Wondering when love becomes weird.
If obsession is wrong.

She's there again in the bedroom. Not naked but not clothed. The bluebirds listen deeply. Silent summer air. Our bodies mortared with sweat in the attic. It is late afternoon, and lace on the sun.

I sleep. I wake. I go.

And the dream ends with its understanding.
In a pile of cloud that never was
the breath of myth
balanced on air
til a breeze proves impossible 
love. Love passes
like nausea. 
Like dreams.
Like alarms.


If this is what awaits us 
is it not a miracle?

Yes or no is either 

side of the wrong answer.
The light that keeps us safe
is hot enough to burn.
It exposes every vesicle.

Supermodel sucking popsicle.

My head nods Yes

like buoys in the mint-sea fog.

All this 
and the universe loves me!
As it loves you 
and the rest of humanity.

But my vanity is wounded

cuz I'm not loved especially.
At heart I hate equality.

I must be loved above the rest.
Be blessed by a butterfly for all you know.

I know that's not the way.

So I desire 
to untangle my desire
becoming more entwined.

A carcrash of everything

waiting for the doctor
Let me complain.

If only I embrace what lies before me

it will be free as the beautiful describe.

An arrowed soul, a flying bird

a sidewalk kiss
a window through the world I see
without the fantasy.


Maybe I comfort some heartbroken heart
with this sympathetic hurricane
and feel you through the darkness.
Toward the hazy spring we end together
forgetting the punishing stars.

Maybe I don't

and you think I have misplaced
all that's real of human value.

Maybe we go round for days

and I am still a crazy beast
with evanescence hampered
by temptation-to-endure.

Maybe X is A and B is T and it is

to emerge, gladiator 
in a stadium of infinite blood.

Given no option

but to wrestle with monsters.
Living like the spasms of a severed limb
acting out of habit
like everything is there.

Blood light kiss. 
Form breath rain.  
It isn't easy for the angels
to deny what keeps us craving.
And how can one 
deny perfection?

Or admit it's difficult 

to deeply feel.
That the senses are an industry
burning up stimuli
to leave us jaded ogres
complaining the sun today was too golden.


People claim the dead survive
in memory, but memories are words
or suns or rock formations.
Like a demon to damnation
everything must go.

Misdeeds and planets miracles crowns.
Even if it means sorrow and pain.
With the juiciest tears ready to flow
from drug-company actor on cue.

Diversions kissed-together
are now clouds, roll away.
Words that once ignited me.
Promises seemed-real.

I live on fury

can't sustain.

Imitate my angels

chewing dip in twilight angles
as homeless men give up their Gloria
under blue sonnet skies
rainclouds like aircraft carriers
sweeping the west.

Nothing can be said

except to explode 
into light


brief as love.
----------------------------------------- Starlings and seagulls
on the cables of big ships
shake their heads 
like thoughts are stuck
and the sky turns 
other shades 
of pink and gold
and bigger blue
that bring the rain.

Other shades,

as if to say
these are not the only options

Alternatives await

if you let time and space 
hesitate its mind with you.

I accept indiscriminately

the rainbow left behind
the idea someone new 
is just around the turnstile
which is all so many 
find worthwhile.

This I may remember.

I may immediately forget.
I have the memory of a child

shown to the world, excited, delirious.

A fog blows over the hippocampus.

Obfuscate the clear with me and be like it.

Cloud the severity of seeing 

so much so clearly
you know more than should be known
in the lifetime of a little god
or a veteran pawn:

Let no fungus grow when I'm gone.

Let all be clean, let all be clear. 

That was my prayer.
If you need to know more
your journey ends here.

You don't come from heaven either.

Your blue is black. Dream over.
Now there can be
no sobbing eye.
You know the way shit works
far too well to cry.

Just know I've seen it with you. 
Felt it for you.

Whatever it was. 

You can tell me

in between your sighs.

If you find yourself in fear

take these words
and blow them to the sky.