Monthly Archives: October 2013

In Beauty

want to see
your beauty
beyond the surface level
trivail details
These paper  masks
wrapped around our heads
Can’t see light
Cause I couldn’t help myself
(You know how I go)
So rest up
and don’t let up
on the accelorator
And the padding around your cell
is wearing thin
we all perceive
one inch deep
we were just looking
at each others eyes
We were scared
which isn’t rare
But we couldn’t even see
the humanity
the dignity
the revelries
the cosmology
of our flesh being

Embodiment

sitting
standing
hugging tightly
tapping lightly
waiting silently

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Poem- Be Gone

Constructor of mirages
you were the puppeteer 

I was a dead man walking 

talking
to myself
to fools
that surround me
they were framing every question
layered in succession
Those awfully attractive dreams
weren’t mine
but implanted
into my mind
And these courtroom proceedings
were all devils of my creation
questioning my motives
cross examining me
entrapping me
It was all fake
but a true material reality shines through
Self-deprecating thoughts
I’m through with you

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Silent Sweet

what’s to say
with a silent opening
where two lines converge
and join, kissing
enveloping one another
devouring the other
what’s to say
when all lines have been crossed
where the marigold’s are all pruned
and our crops have been all picked
and the dessert wind stretches across
scorched earth
dry bones
wilting grass
fossilized remains of a carcass
where the sun yawns a drawn out morning
and falls asleep without good night
where these foxes with eggs in their mouths
steal away in comfort and serenity
tip toeing away to the twilight
before their mothers awake
stricken with grief
They cry

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Recover

     I won’t come back begging, groveling at your feet 

      I wonder if I’ll recover now 

    with these graphs and maps being spun into spider-webs 

     so you spawn that poison for potions to drink

  and I downed every drop licking to bottom 

 I’ll be happy with 

    All these people are sewn onto me 

   latch onto me  

   but they don’t even know it 

  but they make up the self 

   And I keep on shedding 

   but everything stays the same 

   but I won’t come begging for your affirmation 

   perpetually in motion, self-contained 

  recovering from dream delusions  

  musing in the museums 

  humanity all lined up 

 but who’s really human? 

 because I’ve met some real monsters 

  all the children lined up 

  the drill instructors all shouting

 

 Don’t know which is the voice of reason     

 Listen to that small whisper 

  the sound of silence 

  at the epicenter of your soul 

   

      

    

    

    

    

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Say Yes

 wish you would be inclined 

 to say yes 

  a shuffled shout 

  what tired mouth 

  and I was sentenced 

 for carousel incarceration 

  What hand-me-downs 

  imprinted to wear 

ending in a Hindenburg blaze 

 so why won’t you say yes 

 instead of your prescience overriding  

  mangled, mishandled, 

 some wrangled broken down jeep 

 breaks cut, heading towards a fiscal cliff 

  so why won’t you say yes 

  least I beware wolf eyes 

  funeral processions, intercessions 

 mortar and pestle  

 dance hand to hand 

   into fine urn ashes 

   

  

  

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Fancy

 fell in love 

  with a small picture 

 thought it was scripture 

  turns out these unspoken words

  probably will be left unspoken

  because there’s nothing but emptiness

  a shallow imitation, a fancy for grappling 

  receding tides, and underlying sensation

  what scrupulous attention to particularly nothing 

rivals come ashore, suitors for the gauntlet 

  testors, come the testing 

  wrestlers, come the wrestling 

  conniving imaginations crystallizing 

 redux darwinian impulses 

  irregular heart flash, heart swell 

 continue to quell, shedding serpentine powder 

 I will meet you  at the equinox 

  when the quivering heavens and earth fuze 

   

    

  

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Depravity

I wanted to draw you out
 lure you out
  with opulent riches
 to lay you down
  six-feet underground
 when we heard the pistol reports
  my fingerprints on all the shells
  that hole
    in your chest
   the blood came out
    I knew I was
    suseptible
    to such evil
  when I abandoned
  my inheritance
    Were we grief stricken?
    Or cackling in delight
   When our enemies received their dues.
   To grab their horrified faces
   and shove them underneath the bathtub water
   and their thrashing signals life
   until the bubbles rise to the surface
   and the water is placid
  Would you cast me out like Cain?
   Curse me with a mark?
   Make me wander forever?
   Have I silenced my conscious?
   rendering it inert?
 an amalgamating cancerous ink blot
  metastasizing to the rest of the body
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Some boy

She brushed a single tear off his cheek. The gem fell, shattering into a puddle and before it flowed into the drain it evaporated without a memory. He only sat there slumped over, a mound of algae growing on him. And when he spoke, his voice was raspy, dust regurgitated, as he moistened his ancient map cracked lips. It was elemental as the silver seed was planted in his limbic system, merely an idea but soon sprouting, blossoming into a full grown sapling. And he chanced a glance, before he realized he shed a single tear. She seem to him an angelic crane, descending from Mount Fiji. And the icicles which clung to her hair were mirrors reflecting the possibilities of the world, swirling into infinite variables. His silence, and her silence stirred inside, and only time stretched what distance they had only exacerbating longing and desire into a finite moment. And so he woke up, his eyes fluttering like from baptism, emerging all wet from the melancholy history of a marching band parading for no apparent reason in a hurricane.

He reached out, but she was always at arms length, which only spurred him.  But he was trying to breath again, and listen again even the drumming in his head, and his fear kept his courage at bay.  And even if the ubiquitous monsters growled at him, hypnotized him into trance, which only led to unending stair chases, and fire escapes, he could only wonder for a different paradigm. If dreams only were dreams what’s the use? He believed that such felicity would eventually come to the righteous, if the world revolved correctly, and if east and west would finally meet if you walked in opposite directions.

But the ice cream trucks would come with the ring a ling, their tunes teasing mannequin saccharine flavors, and he fled to them, until his belly ache. And the world and Brittney would laugh at him, at his blue polo he would wear to sleep, his mom would slip on him every morning even with his bed head. He never dealt with the moments of loss, of silent aloofness as the other children would be playing on the jungle gym, dirt hands on monkey bars, digging holes to China. Even if the faces in the trees, couldn’t console enough. And his God became the only friend, where as he got older, he became a philosopher, a psychologist, a theologian, a sociologist, a cultural critic, a minister , while indulging on cultural goods. But he was only a boy. At times he felt robotic as he performed how he was suppose to, and yet with a full awareness he was not human, in the sense of flesh and blood. And in some ways, he gave up hope in his idealistic pursuit, and dived further into his studies, until these even began to alienate him from others. And he gave his heart to a few lovers, but it was tossed away without much of a thought. And his eagerness, and yet perfectionist personality made him even more obsessive, like a mad scientist longing to find a cure for a terminal illness. And he crossed many mountains, and climbed down many ropes, and at moments he felt that the ropes were about to snap, and he would fall and give up on humanity. He kept on loving people, giving his mind and soul, dedicated himself, even with this thorn in his side, this virus making his blood run black. He kept on being a fool, until he was blending into the elements around him.
He stood up (remembering his own history), shrugging off a hundred rainy days, and even as he uncrossed her hands, he didn’t know for certain, he would choose. She was chosen. And whether she chose back or accepted it he wouldn’t know. She would be a kindred body, spirit, soul, who he could share his life together with. She had her own story, but he didn’t know yet. She was broken, and he wouldn’t be able to heal her, but he could be there. Waiting, being ready for when she was ready divulge whatever calamities in her life. He would wait as they would face the world together as a duo of childlike portions. They would learn what it was to be Adam and Eve again. Where deception, and blame would be replace by truth, acceptance, bravery, love. Patience for the patients, him and her. And such oneness could be only expressed as a trinitarian, as one sacrifices one’s life for someone else. This is alchemy, coal into gold, water into wine, body into bread.
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Silence

Have I found?

some solitary sound?

In the silent symmetry ?

Underneath the wooden lattice

You hid, wanting

lends for some verisimilitude

some credibility

what daily prompting

wake up, muffling alarms

pour stale cereal, then milk

tie shoes

brush teeth

some imported life

of ennui

some mechanical, stitched mouth

act, work, repetition

massage neck, back, low back rocks

silent, rewind, rethinking

hopeless devotion

infinite oceans

linear, multilateral, multidimensional thoughts

apparent miscommunication

verbal, nonverbal

garbled, tossed,  and wrinkled

squeezed into a monolithic

nondescript

day

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