Shameless leaves peep below the long corridor of our Village stairwell--- eyed wings of moths seeking light, & me loitering across the street before coming home early to the most gorgeous woman alive. A glimmer in the shadows of our open-blind second-floor window you glisten from a bath, wrapped in a towel I desire to be surrounded by your dewy body your naive beauty captivates this voyeur husband to spy on you across, behind the lightning-riven oak tree under the second-story window Silhouetted, you look out, waiting, & I imagine for the moment that I am to return home, but then, he pulls up, parks & climbs
Monthly Archives: May 2021
with the morning breeze & uncertain atmosphere. the cycle built which propelled a blade of grass through a telephone pole. I face all this in you for you wreck me.
A jade dragon by the door the saffron full-moon stares on. But they argue and bathe in sorrows not mending the ragged cuts of self-pity. "O cruel world, why have you kicked me again?" as the fat pig wallows in its own filth and excrement. Among them, the adversary gets a jealous sacrifice sighing it up with tears to the sanctuary. Thus the ritual is repeated, even sought for & insensibility accounts for these twisted facts. How easily carnal fantasies disengage --like the companion in one ear whispering: "For love I do this for you, only for you, for you my one and only." Yeah, right. Taste a switch & the button, perceive the plasticized flesh. Like a hungry canine, the antler fetched jaw-clamping it in lipped teeth-- Before the altar, "Nevermore" is repeated avowedly A figment of imagination? .. No, it continued, Cast from heaven for conceiving beds of pain, the chains argue aloud, but few ever learn. The end is the finale & indeed, the inception of the future.
When the music ribbons between ancient watches of the night only your face brightens my gloom, for the moon becomes a child's smile piercing the mute darkness. The winding seems to be hemmed by bogs, snarling roots and vicious night shadows elongating, but then her vine clings true making empty pretensions subside. The climb seemed elating, the sinking rut seemed bitter, but only as we were. You became the night, eclipsed by yourself, while his leaves were dotted with distilling drops-- that you may need.
The lust for war is skin-tight & as hemoglobin to bone-- turning poets into preaching prophets politicians into potion preachers children into cheapened chattel soldiers into senseless slogs intellectuals into inflated idiots conservatives to corny connivers liberals into leaky liars & the right into the wrong. simply because war is a blood poison and war is psychotic chaos, a familiar imp that smirks at every easy solution posed by poets, preachers, philosophers & politicians this resident devil refuses to be bought off by an affluent culture of convenience whose minions glibly say, "Just turn the place into a f**king parking lot" especially if you-know-who flips us the nuclear bird-- So what shall I be turned into? nothing more than what I am: one whose eye can see the smirk in the mirror.
Our great Lakota chief warned, "The white man cannot be trusted," and though I am a child I cannot understand why as Sioux, we are forced to learn the white man's ways, They stole our sacred Black Hills --those who would teach us what we do not want to know. The Paiute shaman, Wovoka, taught us the Ghost Dance because our ancestors wish to revive our ways. He said, if we obey, the buffalo will once again multiply with the appearance of our ancestors While we danced-- the pony-soldiers came and massacred us; My mother and brother now redden the snow, but, no matter, I will continue the dance.
The ancient establishment of squirrels now pretends to be in step with the interests of the next generation of kittens, but only has its own nutty preservation as its motive. It exists to perpetuate the same nutcase squirrel philosophy of nut hiding. Many gestation ago, older squirrel politicians fluffed up their tails up and munched on hallucinogenic seeds pretending to still be juveniles to entertain and remind the humans of nature. But many were just the agents of the ancient nutter tribe. The so-called sub-culture broke all the rodent rules, enjoyed an excess of tree-sex and frolic living to party like solitary tree squirrels not caring about grounded social convention. They were careless of the climate of gray-squirrel debate, hate, and dissension carried on in the military-industrial complex of the carnivorous 13-lined ground squirrel tribe. Now the hippy-minded gregarious flower-children of that era have become the very thing they abhorred, though claiming to have bigger and better eyes, they are as asleep as the representatives of the 13-lined were generations ago. The difference is that the new so-called "woke" free-squirrel is anything but that. Being brainwashed to be more fundamentalist than the white-tailed antelope squirrels-- What a pretentious fuzzy tribe of killjoys! The kittens and juveniles of today are tail-tied by those claiming to liberate them-- Let them party again.
And it begins, the great parody follows, violins with watery-eyed hyenas who never truly cared, claiming they were best of friends who were always "too busy" - Now the impostors say, "If there's anything at all we can do .." (I want to soil their face, to retch my dying barf on them) Their false looks are so bloody melancholy- Their empty show curls my lips into a sardonic smile. Unbearable fakes! Fly from my fading face - you frauds! .. flee! --or I may foam on you. The witness of my wasted shell is well aware that I withdraw while being alone-- Only a mute granite will mark my melting memory. for my friends and fans: (If you visit, please leave behind 3 Daffodils and a 6-pack of Busch).
stop. pause. breathe. before you engage your mouth, engage your mind and heart. before you stoke your hating rage stoke your memory with what makes for actual identity before you deploy the missiles of your words like patriot or scud, deploy caution-- first, think. question. reflect. do you want revenge? do you want an I-told-you-so moment? does more hatred satisfy hate? will payback gratify your soul? the "counter" always becomes what it countered should the generation of today be responsible for the atrocities of their parents--grandparents, great-great, etc.? first, pray. suspend judgment--rethink the narrative no one wins a prize by gloating. no one is a hero by murder. no one becomes more human by dehumanizing anyone.
Hiding from what's now mine back of a shivered mask. Owned revenant concurs after his image. Renouncing the tongue-weeds-- their volunteer creator unnatural seeds-- my crime, the bigger yet, the root is alike, and may be utilized other children to bear; The unsullied mirror of choice. After multiple dyings nativity recovers-- Again, a commencement, another day discovers.