"Here lies another
running-dog lackey
of the bourgeoisie."
I puke my guts'
contents at every notion
that epitaph might acidicly
etch its judgment
on my tombstone.
With hammer and chisel
I scrape away
social and cultural
conformative manipulations.
I piss into the stagnant
lake where repressed
emotions pool up
exiled by pointing fingers
into politically incorrect hiding.
I rip into shreads
every legal tender -
all forever incapable
of honest nourshment.
No matter where
my ashes might be spread,
they shall never rest
on land or sea:
My dreams weave
never before seen
patterns on air currents'
unpredictable whims.
Monday, January 12, 2009
To Greet a Warmer Dawn
Into a still, dry silence
Venus descends, unthreading
her honey-scented, tightrope
like a beam of light which knifes
through the darkest hour.
Cricket chorused chirps
crescendo as the moon hides
behind the garden maiden's
shawl - her cloaking embrace -
wards off frozen fingernails
scratching down my spine.
Dew-moistening Venus'
wet tongue kisses my cheek
breathlessly, anointing this fragile
human flesh in her ancient
yet eternal rite, wrapping me
with the sticky scent of oleander.
In the moment before
the first mist rises,
a purple-robed lady
sculpts out from deformed
clay a new, serene countenance
to greet a warmer dawn.
This poem was published by The Cartier Street Review in their February 2009 issue.
Venus descends, unthreading
her honey-scented, tightrope
like a beam of light which knifes
through the darkest hour.
Cricket chorused chirps
crescendo as the moon hides
behind the garden maiden's
shawl - her cloaking embrace -
wards off frozen fingernails
scratching down my spine.
Dew-moistening Venus'
wet tongue kisses my cheek
breathlessly, anointing this fragile
human flesh in her ancient
yet eternal rite, wrapping me
with the sticky scent of oleander.
In the moment before
the first mist rises,
a purple-robed lady
sculpts out from deformed
clay a new, serene countenance
to greet a warmer dawn.
This poem was published by The Cartier Street Review in their February 2009 issue.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Starry, Cloudless Nights
An unsolicited commentary offered to Robert Bly
The old black dress
no longer fits. It's
too tight, outgrown.
Unsewn, intuition hints
through de-spooled,
rainbow threads
unwound on cold,
tiled flooring haphazardly,
unconcerned with any
mannequin's silent deception.
Pre-conception of objective
formulas severs creators'
minds from hearts.
Art's fathomed
in the breath,
in the spaces
between, where unconscious
intuition breathily whispers
on glimmering,
starry, cloudless nights.
This poem was published by The Cartier Street Review in their February 2009 issue.
The old black dress
no longer fits. It's
too tight, outgrown.
Unsewn, intuition hints
through de-spooled,
rainbow threads
unwound on cold,
tiled flooring haphazardly,
unconcerned with any
mannequin's silent deception.
Pre-conception of objective
formulas severs creators'
minds from hearts.
Art's fathomed
in the breath,
in the spaces
between, where unconscious
intuition breathily whispers
on glimmering,
starry, cloudless nights.
This poem was published by The Cartier Street Review in their February 2009 issue.
Absynthe Skies
Absynthe skies
forever pour
over an event
horizon's edge.
History swirls just
beyond the vortex:
matter's uncondensed
energy - diffused
brilliance. Eternal
darkness beckons,
a fait accompli
infinitely compressed.
Sacred and profane
marry, co-mingling
their assets and debts
in the universal
trash compactor.
forever pour
over an event
horizon's edge.
History swirls just
beyond the vortex:
matter's uncondensed
energy - diffused
brilliance. Eternal
darkness beckons,
a fait accompli
infinitely compressed.
Sacred and profane
marry, co-mingling
their assets and debts
in the universal
trash compactor.
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