This Be the Curse
They fucked you up, your mom and dad.
They meant to do it, take my word.
It was all that envy they had
In that moment your life occurred.
It’s because they were fucked up too
by Sunday schools and holy men,
who half the time spoke words untrue
and half cried their solemn amen’s.
Man hands on jealousy to man.
It ferments like some baleful brew.
Come kids; start as soon as you can,
All of you could propagate too!
Paracelcus
I hear the screams of the mandrake
as they are plucked from the earth
by the cattle atop the knoll.
Their squalls reverberate
through the hills and down to the town.
In a hospital, a bloody babe
harmonizes, and the resounding shrills
persist through the corridors and intermingle
with the sonorous drilling of an instrument
that trepans a crown. Outside the town,
the echoes reach a serpent, who hisses
and writhes, biting its tail.
It’s a sort of symphony
that comforts me, and ensures
an inevitable cycle.
To Wait
A dark day to dare flight; clouds colliding, a weight too cumbersome for a perpetual perpetration; some perfect weather. Oh to break free from the bastion of bastards and to sunder the snags; see the swelling sun! Laudable, lingering, lavishing the light! I am Pariah, puttering to my pew; shuddering in shit, held sheltered; bent, buried, burnishing my belly. In an amniotic amnesty, hailing a hellish amen!
Fire Place
Without a doubt in our mind, we never cared to warn
the visitors as they strode in to hang up their feet
in a shameless effort to warm their soles against the
prideful fire; which cackled with a conscious, pure vigor
emanating a sweet aroma as they burned fat,
repeatedly flinging it on the flame, taunting it
to get a rise from the now angered element
that reacted proudly as we ducked outside, unmarked
by the god inside; unchained, now cackling louder.
All within the room lost their senses while we waited;
patient, humbled. We watched as the wooden apertures
submitted to the blaze without resistance; blinking
rapidly while the smoke, with graceful ascendance, rose
to the trees and blanketed the frenzied fire until
it was satiated and lucid once more. We bowed.
Intercepting Jun-Fan (Bruce Lee)
Above a vast campus with
no intentions
as I walked across the terrain;
just stepping toward
what seemed like the only other human in sight.
Breaking through the distance I could see what
looked like a raw whip; a fresh branch
unattached.
Both suns cast shadows off scholarly pillars
composing an opaque grid over
what would become our bastion of battle.
There was no motion;
I decided to speak.
But instantly I’m cut off
by this insignificant man,
who introduced himself.
I am the subtle tide.
He spoke with flowing dignity;
a river—unrelenting and without pause
yet he was a pool—gentle,
reflecting my glances
and measuring each of my breaths
as he stood still, rippling—
my eyes flinched.
I found myself a weed in the water —
surrounded; as he crashed once again
intercepting me. Defeated I asked
if I could learn that.
He laughed earnestly and said
no, but I could certainly become it.
Wing Dust
Your smile descends to your jaw
like a parachute letting you go.
The pressure—excessive,
as you plummet
like a hale comet.
Letting go always seemed
a dark orange butterfly.
Wing dust smeared
on wishbone fingertips.
The blue below beckons,
churning like some sinister brew.
The air—seething,
as you plunge;
a bullet piercing water.
Falling down always felt
a glorified descent.
Fingerprints stamped
on stained-glass wings.
Your eyes collapse,
like two spent suns.
The jaw—grinning on the shore,
holds enough light
to be ecstatic.
A Fateful Outing
I sojourned to the forest
Which stood bathed in loony light.
I happened upon a wolf
Who with panting smile spoke with delight.
“Mind your grimace,
Do not mourn this fair night;
But behold her splendor
At her majestic height.
Adjourn, and learn from the moth.
Whose urn is shaped from the yearning bright.”
And so I dove deeper yet
In woods cluttered and blurry.
I bore fire which shew a moth
In haste flapping and in a flurry.
“Live up your hours,
In this swift mercury;
Opt not to fritter time
With your needless worry.
Away, and survey the roach,
Pray it not betray you in scurry.”
In a leap I bound further
Into grand plants to arrive
In presence of a cockroach,
Who chittered with a spirited drive.
“Look upon me
And know you are alive;
For all that is crucial
Is habit to survive.
Forage, and pledge to the Recluse,
By imparted knowledge you will thrive.”
Now in fatigue yet I pressed with glee,
At long last to attain my delinquent due.
In the distance I witnessed an ancient tree,
Awaiting secluded, carpeted in emerald hue.
Determined, I pressed on at a vigorous degree,
And finally neared where the majesty grew.
Weary, I perceived the stock as if I were a flea,
Then beheld the sonorous voice which I did pursue:
“What stubbornly you seek in your debut
In my presence which surrounds thee,
Are things yet which you cannot construe
with your callow state that presently be.
Yet a few things ye have accrued
In your sojourn surely you’d agree,
Is the knowledge you doth pursue
Is not without your duration’s fee.”
Medley
The last time I walked outside,
only darkness.
We coexisted; I was content
with its abundance.
A night un-phased by the
celestial aura of the Loon.
Yet by chance, or fate perhaps,
I was caught by a curious ray;
One that pierced sternly, justly.
I stood beneath the enlightening
beam, and cast a shadow
to the ground which
clung to the darkness;
an asphalt effigy,
opposed to
a light-post reverie.
Within the ruddy arabesque,
swings a pendulum.
My eyes are trained to them now;
the flailing, blurred space surrounding
the gentle gyrations
reminds me constantly
like a swinging censer
that it was meant to be;
a melee with fate,
or just
more time to wait.
Oculus
On the curbside I caught myself
staring at the asphalt as it glittered into a galaxy of broken glass.
I found the ancient, empty space in-between the stars
had light-years since
been kept from my oval windows.
Alas, I caught–the coroner of my eye
An L.A. Noire woman
With ruddy lipstick,
netted stockings,
stilettos,
a cute revolver—
and a selling smile.
The ad on the wall–Above the empty
Square black velvet case;
Mouth open; a white-silk grin
Reflecting dimly off the glass.
Before I knew her,
the hammer struck the primer
in slow motion.
A supernova of shards scintillated beyond
the cracked bullet-hole pupil on my oculus.
The bullet chiefly ascended
With no friction
To the empty space in-between the stars
Igniting ancient light-forms,
Cosmic residues of times long gone.
Yet no verity was lost.
No matter left unanswered.
My lens, undaunted,
Blinked back into the obscurity,
Amongst the dross, staring
At the smoking cartridge.
Vitriol
Deep in the confines
of the terrible tunnel
of the Beast,
I reside and bargain
for my release.
Like the fecal beetle
that urges new life through decay,
it begs the æther
to bring forth life
as it takes one away.
Transplanted peering souls
lingering and stray
being coy and asking questions
to the cosmos
“do you think I can prevail?”
I hear answers but they’re just echoes
bent by the stars and moons.
I who dare to surmise
I don no disguise but simply
feign wise;
I continue to query
to no end I’ll never bury
this desire within me to know
the formula, the theory, the thesis
Finally I stand; I’m free still
dripping with vitriol.
Weary but determined I scream
“to what avail?”
