i. chrome sea
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
with 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.
Like 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
my grunt exits to elements.
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.
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.
ii. in undress
Strip-searched to the skeleton
because I had to be
there were gunshots in the blue.
The things we hear, the things we say
mean little on the day-to-day.
It’s difficult to find something
that isn’t boring
These are not the sexy epiphanies of brilliant youth.
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.
You’ll come to think we'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.
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.
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
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?
iii. love for nothing
Metaphor clarification innuendo and slur.
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.
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.
They put me on medication
on medication on medication.
I lived in harmony with radio stations
broadcasting bland hits
and arctic prophets coming true.
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.
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.
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?
iv. despite the evidence, heaven on earth
If this is what awaits us
is it not a miracle?
Yes or no is either
side of the wrong answer.
The universe loves me.
Supermodel sucking popsicle
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 desire to untangle my desire
becoming more entwined.
A carcrash of everything
waiting for the doctor
Let me complain.
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
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.
To see the senses as industries
burning up stimuli
that leave us jaded ogres
complaining the sun today was too golden.
v. in the end, another
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.
are now clouds, roll away.
Words that once ignited me.
I live on fury
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
in light as pink and green
and brief as love.
Starlings and seagulls
on the cables of big ships
shake their heads
like thoughts are stuck
and the sky turns
of pink and gold
and bigger blue
that bring the rain.
as if to say
these are not the only options.
I accept indiscriminately
the rainbow left behind
the idea someone new
is just around the turnstile.
This I may remember.
I may immediately forget.
I have the memory of a child.
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.
You don't come from heaven either.
If you need to know more
your journey ends here.
Your blue is black. Dream over.
Wipe your sobbing eyes.
You know the way shit works
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.