Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Window Moths

Moths come to my window to bounce and flutter
I want nothing that reminds me of pandemonium
Mimicry, is the echoed call, which distracts the future
I understand black and white; so let the colors run away
Never needed any brilliance to mark my path
Someplace in the folds of a jacket near a crumpled paper
Is quartz, which I will not find, until I am elsewhere

Monster at my Nape

Only in the gilded lands,
does sometimes the idiot become wise
Then decide,
that wisdom is too heavy,
and recede away with the waves
Only within a life of comfort,
can the fickle, wax and wane
The self-imposed hardship,
teaches nothing, but delusions
To those who play destitution
as some hobby,
dancing happily with poverty
While the rest of us sleep,
with it’s rotten breath on our nape
Simply twirling with terror,
does not mean you know its name
Or the scrape of its claws on your chest
As it embraces you

Friday, June 22, 2012

Chasm: For Those Who Dreamt

We follow every rainbow nonsensically with alienated wonderment.  Our autistic faltering is mellifluously further then lovelorn murmurs radiant.  I am spellbound, by the somnolent twinkling of the last ersatz fairy, which sits beleaguered on the other side of the glass blinking, between my disfigured fingers.  My hand clutches the punctured, however nostalgic lid, as I turn the wheel of time forward, because only speculative abstracts learned to shadow me.  I never studied to care for the faux fairies, only cook vegetables, hug you back when you hug me, and seed the revolution.  I toe the edge of the

Chasm: For Those Who Dreamt,

a place where people reunite with bewildered obsessive compulsives severely deficient in lucid surreal. Everyone knows that one must forever fall to find a future that is not fickle.  Gravity reckons, that the only direction with loyalty is down.  My limbs are the tail, of the gigantic blue whale, hurtling into the vastness, diving too sincerely into the winking bluish chatoyant of denouement.  My erstwhile felicity buried deeply within the labyrinthine sun worn creases of vapid eyes.  The sweat surfeits slowly along frozen brows, deceiving our tongues, which licks at them as if they were tears.  My curious enchantment, which resembles travail, shimmers with trepidation, from brackish waters of diminutive mosquito infested swamps pooled in my palms.  The graft of solemn acrimony overwhelms my mouth; I beguile tepid retch into the void from my third mouth.  I smear away the vestiges of blood-flecked puke with a hand bearing self-made stigmata. 

Saturday, June 16, 2012

This is For

This is for the lovers, 
and those who suffer, 
this is for those who share
This is for those who care, 
for the cats that think of others
This is for my sisters, 
this is for my brothers
This is for the people who reach out, 
this is for the people who speak out
This is to remind you that the times are changing, 
and the work you've done is amazing
This is to assure you of of community, 
this is to prove to you that you are beautiful

Here We Come

Dance, dance, away your problems
Close your eyes and feel the rhythm
Wiggle, your liga-ments , 
Dance like your born again
Twist and turn, your limbs
Forget your guilt and sins
Dance with the people
Feel us near

Shake your hips
Pucker your lips
Hold my hand
Make our stand

Close your eyes 
And dance with us
Let the bass heal
The past is dust 
Gotta stop running
Feel the change coming?
Your not the only one
On your face, feel the sun
Reject the race, here we come

Shake your hips
Pucker your lips
Hold my hand
Make our stand

Gotta let the anger go
Don't let the paranoia show
Stop watering the hate
Control your fate
Time to take control
Shake yourself awake
Less copy and more create

Shake your hips
Pucker your lips
Hold my hand
Make our stand

Love Undercover

We all have a choice,
To ignore the suffering or to stand in unison
To tan under the sun, or to stand to fight with voice and feet
The revolution and the anger
Does not make us, we were born as lovers
This toil will never break us, we love undercover
This battle for oil, has made so many suffer
Human arrogance obliterates the Earth system
This hate
Does not belong to us
The hopelessness in the lives we pursue
The racism and bigotry
This pain and frustration
Does not belong to us
The terror of war and fear of rape, the forsaken youth
The hungry and poor, the love draining into bloody pools
Does not belong to us
The screaming of people in agony is haunting me
Everyday more voices added to the cacophony
Why must the world hurt for our pleasure
Why do we allow everything to die
The warm misery spatters on our eyes
The death and the fixation on pain
My deepest recess is my only escape
A tiny room in the attic of my memory palace
I sit huddled and listen to the pain and terror of the people
The untouchable with no names, shivering along with the millions of cold
Surrounded by the smell of meat and the poisoning of the soil
And the dying stench of our putrid flesh
Gas in the air and the ignorance of your stare
No place to hide from the virus of capitalism
Its tendrils wisping into my psyche
Seducing me...
with infection....
while I sleep

I Remember Losing My Way

I Remember, 
I Remember
My Way

I believed in peace and love
Laying underneath the universe that spins above
Touching the leaves lightly when I walked
The experimental words my mouth talked
Dancing in the rain, fingers streched to the sky
Pain was a strange thing and I didn't fear dying
Humming songs not yet written
Led by instincts and not indecision
And making art everywhere I existed
I remember when being soft was not sissy
Watching the ants and bees work
Asking everyone questions late into the day
With no concept of time or design
No understanding of the grind to be mine
Laughing until my cheeks hurt
I only knew better and had never met worse
Born a child of Babylon
Not sure, I got the strength to carry on
I did not suspect or protect myself from
The weight that awaited me, this hate has forsaken me
Our roots are deep, stop shaking the branches of the tree

I Remember, 
I Remember
My Way

Friday, June 15, 2012

Send It On


Send it up
Send it through
Send it right back to you
Send it up
Send it through
Send it right back to you

Your inner view to me is
Something that I do desire
Struggling to see a new something that I fantasize
So I'm sending


Send it up
Send it through
Send it right back to you
Send it up
Send it through
Send it right back to you

You can't disguise your emotions
You know that I see in your eyes
Your soul's me, your soul's something that I feel inside
Run, run, run, run if I run Lord only knows how far 
That I and I will fall behind
Gotta find a better place, gotta find a better space
So that I, so my life may be the reason why

Hold on be strong, for your own
Move on before long, you'll get home
If your feeling insecure
You can be sure
Even if it take forever and a day for me to do
I gotta send it on to you
Tell me what will I do
Send it right back to you

If You Forget Me

If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine. 
Pablo Neruda

Monday, June 11, 2012

Totemed Names

My mind
is a storehouse
for totemed tomes
A place too obscure
for the
of alienated souls
Only those
with cricked necks
can remember my name


My sinew, stretches, with a, sickening, sound
My mind, melts, mixing, minuscule, mistakes
My brow, beats, bitterly, back before, beckoned
My peace, pretends poverty, patiently, peculiar
My words, wither, whispers, when wanted

Towards a Walk in the Sun

by Keroapetse Kgositsile

The wind is caressing
the eve of a new dawn
a dream: the birth
of memory

Who are we? Who
were we? Things cannot go on much as
before. All night long we shall laugh 
behind Time's new masks. When the moment
hatches in Time's womb we shall not complain

Where oh where are the men
to matches the fuse to burn
to snow that freezes some
would-be skyward desire
You who swallowed your balls for a piece
of gold beautiful from afar but far from
beautiful because it is colored with the pus
from your brother's callouses. You who creep
lower than snake's belly because you swallowed
your conscience and sold your sister to soulless 
vipers. You who bleached the womb of your daughter's 
mind to bear pale-brained freaks. You who bleached
your son's genitals to slobber in the slime of missionary-
eyed fakery. You who hide behind the shadow of your master's 
institutionalized hypocrisy the knees of your soul numbed 
by endless kneeling to catch the crumbs from your master's table
before you run to poison your own mother. You too
deballed grin you who forever tell your masters
I have a glorious past I have rhythm I have this
I have that. Don't you know I know all your lies?
The only past I know is hunger unsatisfied
and a kick in the empty belly
from your fat-bellied master
And rhythm don't fill an empty stomach

Who are we? All night long
I listen to the dream soaring
like the tide. I yearn
to slit throats and color
the wave with the blood of the villain
to make a sacrifice to the gods. Yea,
there is pain in the coil around things.

Where are we? The memory...
and all these years all these lies!
You too over there misplaced nightmare
forever foaming at the mouth forever
proclaiming your anger … a mere
formality because your sight is colored
with snow. What does my hunger 
have to do with a gawdamm poem?

The wind you hear is the birth of memory
when the moment hatches in time's womb
there will be no art talk. The only poem
you will hear will be the spearpoint pivoted
in the punctured marrow of the villain; the
timeless native son dancing like crazy to
the retrieved rhythms of desire

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Recollections of Somethingness

Moored to anguish with twine made of hedonism
The most desired material thing dissolves in our palms
Too much is oppression, nothing left to rescue, but love
Lift this reality into the black space between the stars
Paint over the old piece with patience strokes of revolution
Every short breath exhales us closer to nothingness
Each dream unpeels the hopelessness of the wasteland
Heroes with murdered tongues, don’t even attempt to speak
Wretchedness protruding from wounded writhing bodies
The shrieks of urgency rendered dim by fleeting infatuations 
Hypnotizing us with titillations, to forget the reverberations of courage

Sneering Crow

I am lost in the quiet 
         before the storm
Woe to the 
     babbling damned who
meander the desolate
     woodland with the petrified trees
            My smile stolen
by the mannequin
      on the back of the crow
Who only visits
     to sneer
              at my crumbled hole

The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature

Nâzım Hikmet Ran, the "romantic Marxist"

The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature

by Nâzım Hikmet Ran

He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
   with a garden where honeysuckle grows
       in a riot of colours
           that sort of house.

The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
   that the giant could not
make the building,
   could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
    in a riot of colours
        at that house.

He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
    and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf
with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
   in a riot of colours
       that sort of house.

Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
    in a riot of colours
        that sort of house...

Thursday, June 7, 2012


I am the sympath,
I am the empath
Lithe planetary body
Tugging on all threads
Psychometric visions
Every suffering my observation
My tendrils tickle five dimensions
Born a worker, even my essence toils
Carrying the weight, bearing the load
My solidarity will always be with the masses
My toes touching the mighty world tree
Listening to the collective voice tremble
Pollen in the wind, overwhelmed
Becoming our worst enemy, our only enemy
Too scared, even to breathe
Helpless, to act in the face of oppression
However, capable of love, of sensation
Of joy and happiness, of laughter
Buried under a mountain of shame
For you, for the future, I will
Withdraw the depression, the self-hate
Imprison it within me, with all the rest
My cells become cells
Where your jailed humiliation screams
My bones incarcerate your injuries
My hair becomes the dungeon for all heartbreak
My nails confine your regret and misery 
Even while I sleep, my arms search for agony
Clawing deep into honeyed grief’s thickness
To collect your tears, to seize all your fears
Revolution is clearing the path for others
Teaching the world followship
Face the cliff, dance on the ledge
Don't be scared to fall
There is freedom down there
Look me in the eyes and leap
So I can see liberation
I am the sympath
I am the empath

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Untitled Erasure

Your fingers are like pills,
I become sedate with just one touch
As the shafts of light that
Shatters in our room
comes as a witness to your finest felony
stealing the precession of my moves
Which folds in on themselves
Its a crime that can only be pulled off when one operates with
crippled instinct
all gravity and the seasons lead back to you.
This is where the weight of that gravity
bends each note of my heart stem

I can only hand this truth over to you
That the stars are still indifferent to us 
As they wait for no one behind the lights 
But their indifference is perfect 
Like the last pieces of a dying artist
Who you swore you were going to meet.
Their great 
Great heights
is always
The next stage 
For flaming monks 
In their silence 
Reaching the purist form of escape
From the tyranny of flesh. 
Like these stars
Some night when a rare black out falls over the city
And the glare recedes from view
I will look for you 
to find my way home. 

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Tactical Conclusions

Actually, you don’t really exist, in a state of delusion
Political radical, but blissfully culturally confused son
Spending your capital like every other loser
Fashionably tactical, prattle forgone conclusions
Fearing communalism and any other kind of fusion
Fanatic individualism, like madness, fills your illusions
Frame our socialism like it’s a system of exclusion
Like we want to keep the body after blood transfusion
Like we don’t hate the state, like we want profusion
With the back of my hand I slap your face as a rule man
Just a sham, It’s all talk, your just one of the master’s tools
On the road to revolution, we don’t have time for fools