Cicadas rehearsed their moonlit melody,
The night I ascended to heaven in my wheelchair,
For my open casket had no aspiring wings,
My instinct punctured beyond repair
A desert fire somewhere saluting me in volleys,
Tiny flares escaped from it’s monstrous hearth,
But a downpour parted from the milkweed leaves,
Perhaps to reflect what I was worth
The fakir’s warnings resounded and echoed,
Scaring off pigeons sitting on the mosque’s dome,
Before being devoured by an innocent tsunami,
So in another ivory womb they may find home
And in the gossiping gape of the deodar leaves,
And in the shivering of the linkboy’s feet,
I heard the tales of the world below,
And how it got trapped in it’s own caveat
The sojourner would have been much easier now,
If the loaded dice didn’t weigh down my soul,
But I was kept engaged by the flirtatious celestials,
The observant moon paused on it’s midnight stroll
Love, the chauffeur, stood wide eyed and still,
As death waltzed in my trembling arms,
I spent half a minute in heaven again,
Fore life retracted me with it’s earthly charms
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Half a minute in heaven
Another Year
Another year rolled off of my cheeks,
Brackish, black, and bygone,
Her schismatic desire cracks into mine,
A beautiful rarity by all possible means
Playfully falling notes from a scherzo,
All collapse under an unfulfilled waif,
The haphazard precess of snowfall bemoans,
The massacres to which snowflakes are subjected
It’s not as if my petulance is allowed,
To make the scene any warmer,
But neither do the sconces complain,
Though they dive head-first in hot candlewax
Another year awaits in conjunction,
Of continuance of this torturous medley,
Some call it life, the buoyant brave few,
I call it a travesty of chaotic jurisprudence.
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Nib
The bloodshot fluid in the pen evaporates,
What was once saturated with potential,
Can only leave impaired stains
On the bleached prairie like parchment,
Where the black armies of someone’s lexical approach,
Await my battle cry
And I’m doodling in a violent attempt,
To help it’s untimely demise dawdle in vain,
Or perhaps bring it back to life
But I only manage to dig canyons,
Nearly cutting through the thickness of the paper,
With no sign of a crimson river beneath
And I think perhaps I would like someone,
To hold the nib of my manhood in her hands,
And inscribe with it the initials of love,
On the prison cell walls of my heart,
Because I am all dried up with solitude,
I need to learn how to write again
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Fragile
She is the delicate string of hope
Stretched across in parallel with the horizon
With the kind of caliber and credence
That could put together this jigsaw puzzle of mahjong pieces
That my life has come to be,
Her iridescence can still limp and cut across
My moods like a train of falling dominos
In chain and in a chain reaction
Of radioactive diffidence that makes me unstable
And all the ligatures and linchpins holding together
My grandiloquent yet somehow grotesque self
Fall at her magnetic boots and I fall on my knees
And fumble to take apart the flaps on the cardboard box
That should have been labeled fragile.
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Silent Revolution
For too long have we considered,
The fate of this rascal,
This phony, faker, poet,
But no more,
No more!
We cannot tolerate this absurdity,
Concealed in this philosophies divine,
Do you not see what he means?
By all this brouhaha,
Nonsensical gibberish in disguise,
Are you blind to his ambitions?
Or are you just blinded by your own?
Wake up comrades,
For a red sun dawns as it breaks,
The monotonous whispers of nocturne,
And abolish this mental serfdom,
To the redundancy of his thoughts,
Come, let us go back,
To the time when words,
Reigned on the prowess of consequence,
And kept imagination on a short leash,
Revenge, my friends, is the answer,
Retribution makes the world go round,
So let us all rise to pledge our oaths,
To our silent revolution of lies,
Rise! , Rise! , Rise!
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All at the same time
I watch the animated war of constellations,
Trying to separate -
The electron from electron glow,
What indistinct entanglement of light!
Getting caught between -
My eyelashes - tendrils of a Venus flytrap,
Open and inviting and unscrupulously seductive,
And as my prey takes it’s final plunge,
A suicidal dive into the depth of my eyes,
The irises can almost taste it,
Ah, the taste of succulent sleep!
To it’s flavor my retinas oscillate so violently,
That perhaps my eyes start drooling,
In their oh-so-efferent anxiety,
Expressed at the sweetest sight of slumber,
As it finally pulls the shutters of delicate skin together,
I can see,
How Orion draws it's sword out,
And beheads the great bear,
As in their in wicked words and symbols,
Some Neanderthals etch this battle's depiction,
On the inner walls of my head,
And my torch-illuminated skeletal chamber,
Coming alive to the archeologist’s interpretations,
Of these fireworks illustrating miniature supernovas,
Exploding in the crisp December skies,
All at the same time.
Gunpowder
Light the gunpowder sprinkled in thin lines across,
The dismal floors of the forest of dismay,
Watch her beauty spread fire like an explosive enquiry,
To which I confess that I’m fuckin’ blown away
I’m choking on sunshine in a filthy cabaret,
Sunshine that kisses her tender, textural grace,
She jolts and cajoles all our sodden senses,
As she hypnotically erases all songs in her praise
There’s something about this mistress of poise,
More poisonously potent than the helium I inhaled,
Could she be the reason why airplanes crash?
Why submarines sink and trains are derailed
If the last junction in our journey of faith,
Is in watching these dismal woods go down in glory,
Then the powers that be need my strongest persuasion,
To allow me to play some small part in her story.
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Sarajevo Girl
Seven clowns on the trail of destruction.
And a Sarajevo girl who can read my mind,
Was this what I was looking for?
A life in fast-forward; a death in rewind?
We all sing lullabies to the moon,
As our ephemeral reasons to stay awake drown,
What’s so because-poetic to the common man,
Is just another blasphemy to the astute clown
Soon with the liquescent wisdom of gods,
And with saline water our ship shall fill,
Then we’ll have neither another word in our quiver,
Not another drop of blood on our quill
And would the Sarajevo girl selling flowers now,
Then sell umbrellas and harvest hope? ,
Phorcydes wouldn’t help us when we ran out of water,
Don’t expect any rescue if we run out of soap
With heavy hearts and with debts on our back,
We learn to paddle this lone canoe,
Let the electrified river with a penchant for falling,
Take us all safely to where everyone’s due.
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A day at the butcher shop
It was the kind of pleasant day,
When no one hurried to hit the hay,
And the sun smiled out of papier-mâché,
And all was yellow and bright and white
And all such expressions trite,
To whisper and chuckle at my delight,
And a swirling and humming dragon flea,
Buzzing o'er my head in it’s undiscovered glee,
And buzzing around a meatloaf melee,
As I sat with my elbow on a bloodless table,
With my apron as clean my soul was able,
To keep desires on a leash and a cable,
While T.V. was busy in conversing with static,
Their discussion being confusing and erratic,
Released my mind to wander out the attic,
Into the meadows where Svetlana might be lying,
Soaking sun and shadows of seagulls flying,
Much to her mirth was their horrible crying,
When all I could hear was the butcher’s insults,
But then I thought of really huge catapults,
And I thought of catapulting catapults,
Later the butcher severely insisted,
That I chop down the pork that had resisted,
The advances of the other knife-fisted,
Members of the butcher clan,
Feeding the village with their master plan,
And rescuing them from fibrous bran,
So I took a knife from his stained hands,
Reluctant battles I had fought on commands,
To meet the butcher’s cruel demands,
I chopped pork for the fork wielding goons,
I sliced baboons for the ones with the spoons,
But halfway in my journey between Jupiter’s moons,
I caught Ganymede’s frivolous eye,
Now my burning dilemma wouldn’t let me cry,
But If I don’t stop murdering, I may never die.
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In Suspension
Like a marionette enacting out,
In suspension and between suspended intentions,
Your every thought, and every doubt,
And then returning behind my veiled retentions
I let my victimized strings compensate,
The sudden jerks you throw between your wrists and mine,
Your reprievable reprimands and words that berate,
Can’t conquer my defeat or defeat my design
I’m no tumbleweed tumbling with the breeze,
I’m a real boy! With real feelings,
I’m no plastic toothpaste tube to squeeze,
I’m as tangible as those tangerine peelings
But here I go, again in suspension,
The blue limelight filling silhouettes with it’s hues,
Am I to dance with your ten-fingered-tension?
I was really free once; but that’s old news.
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Earthbound and falling
Sorry clouds pouring down their afternoon apology,
My attention shifting between the bracts of a lone thistle,
To the algorithmic beat patterns of vacuum in my head,
To the resonating alarm of my carelessness’ whistle
No nocturnal gnat had ever yet seen,
A soul as free as mine in this hinterland so arid,
Blowing up worries in subtle rings of smoke,
Though the distinctions of my distractions were varied
Like the Rastafarian centipede perched on a mushroom,
My words, left trails, like those of the warm and wise,
If you retraced those trails they all led back to me,
And all labyrinthine exits led to your surprise!
A beggar fears the phantoms less than the robbers,
A failure fears nothing but it‘s own self - appalling,
A contraband fears the confiscation of freedom,
But I fear nothing as I’m earthbound, and falling.
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Tadpoles Raining
The oblong sky stared right back at me,
With a calm, blank, uninterested look,
As if to say, "I'm so bored with you",
As if to wish to write another book
So I toss another morph over my expression,
And contrive a look of the harshest reminder,
"You're the one who's bored with us!"
I tell to the sun and those who stand behind her
We threw allegories around like a Frisbee that day,
That would be the later cause of our drift,
But, for now, I'm enjoying bathing in the presence,
Of the sky, the sun and their wonderful gift
Had it been so that the sun was green,
And tadpoles rained from the skies at night,
I would still disappear like the Cheshire cat,
I would still respire with all my might!
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Amethyst & Jade
Go! Fetch me fallacies,
Amyotrophic policies,
Speak Absinthian gallimaufries,
Fake gammadions for gallantries
Talk in a turbulently tumultuous tongue,
Pushing Panic buttons fore you eat dung,
Stop this Inquisitors’ masquerade,
Fetch me amethyst, bring me Jade
This makes as much sense as the invasion of Bucharest,
And the steam-punk galactagogues pumping her breast,
I’m chewing love letters written in hieroglyphics
And my unpatented claims to higher physics
And do not leave her alone in the woods, man,
For horribly horny hyenas might execute their plan,
Then these entrepreneurial dividends may remain unpaid,
And then you may die alone, unlaid
I have a bachelor’s degree in the zymurgy of barley,
You can fuck with Björk, I still like Bob Marley,
And her fertilized ovum is called a zygote,
You should’ve known that fore you put her in your throat
Religious homosexuals are redundantly whimsical,
(or whimsically redundant if I may be practical),
And you, young man, are a concoction of notions,
Drenched in exaggeration of unfulfilled emotions
But me, I’m the marquis of Kilimanjaro,
Where lies my Xanadu, beset with gardens of yarrow,
You may come there, and play with my braid,
And do bring some amethyst and if possible, some jade.
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