Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Psychedelic Space

In a spiral galaxy
beats a rhythmic skin
a heavy thud
akin to the creation and dissolution
of consciousness. 
A big bang,
a weaving of mystery and soul-fire.
The stars drip juice,
a desert, a sphinx, a moments echo
A mountain as high as Kailash
in Tibet, Nepal, India
China, Japan, further east.
A ship sails in rough seas
the captain mans the wheel
violent storm-hewn waves
rush the deck.
A seed is planted, grows, dies
a fruit is born, a race rules
countless dynasties edge
their legacies into histories.
A honeycomb contains a bee
whose buzzing, constant buzzing
alarms Dickenson of deaths trance.
A mother holds her child,
who nestles the milky juice
of throbbing life
which follows her child
into the icy grave. 
the earth melts,
its potential vacuumed
into black holes. 

A small pocket of the universe contains small carbon based life forms

pass by, drive away, turn on, shut off, open up, ressurect, readjust, sink, rise, manifest, vanish, reappear, live, breath, dream, die, reincarnate,
                                                                                    FOREVER (is just a word).

I have no more change in my pocket,
My credit runs out,
The machine TURNS off.

When I was small, after visitng the art museum, my grandmother would take me to McDonalds.  I was forbidden to go to Wendy’s, because Wendy’s controlled woman’s bodies.

At a soccer game, I dislocated my shoulder and my mom put it back in place on the sidelines.

I got drunk once.

The super bowl,
Terminator 2.

LOVE shines from her eyes where her smile used to be.

Before I was born, where did I live?
Zen claps wake up the emaciated AIDS patient.

How many eternities find their way into the dropping ball which signals millennium to the masses?

Mr. T:  “No More Jibber Jabber”

No more credit, no more pocket.
The more turns the turns off.
Mo machine credit off. Machine.
                                                                        FOREVER is just a word
                                                                        that means forever. 

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Ode to Walt Whitman

Ode to Walt Whitman

Rough, worn, pithy, hearty, 
dance of life
hand in hand
glide into the invisible
behind the eyes
of one central self
teaching learning
anew anew
ever refreshed
the corpse the grass
the leaves
the kosmos
oh Walt
oh thee
container of all selves
the soul of eternity
stepper over of infinities
untier of illusions
into juicy truths
and poignant agonies.
Great journeyer
weilding a staff
wrought with the bark
of all people, all things
of all moments
Can I ever thank thee
for teaching, revealing
my own self
and leading me on
searching anon.
I know deepest within
me and all else,

"I stop somewhere waiting for you"