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I wish to write haiku
with as much force and content and style as Prometheus Unbound
by P. Shelley;
three lines and as many syllables as there are feet of children.
I want to dream rondeaux, forgetting
the C that spins into an O.
Anne or Sylv, gaping unto death
for what, I ask.
"For caring?"
. .. .
Tanka poetry of assassins who kill all
without being seen,
a friction that is silent; budges as
the walls start to gather impressions
and suck up the chimney flute all
my bird calls, until you
and I don't have to be schizophrenic anymore.
nor our dark morning cries ask for more money.
. . .. . .
Did the poet-to-be ever stop worrying?
I've begun my carpentry in heaven.
Heaven is too empty.
i've called to
my unborn daughter, and her son,
having spoken about them
approximately
for 10+ plus years.
Have sex in a chatroom, get a virus,
scare your neighbors,
fish in the sewer,
back log of green blips, and bad ideas.
. .. . ... ..
Maybe. My word, God Jesus
Mother as Church between you,
with Mary listening
to your heart beating
in my silent
shattered center.
Pain undissolved.
Blake, and co. Everyone apparently knows
His color, and Rimbaud
more like Stallone
because there is no explanation for
Seagal and Barnaby and Bartok
and my Germanic Jews ...
And remembering nothing.
Hitler and ice and silence
stench of consciencevwafteing from bodies
sweating from the close fire.
Repression, hate, martial arts.
Pain no longer bothers you?
. .. .
G·d.
The hidden name which does accord
Bacchus' wine
Saturnalias from flowers who only ask to
See and be seen
More Sun
More wind
uncaring either way.
. . .. . . ..
When the strength leaves my bones
and Egypt sends its cursed dogs out
After the chariot,
and you say my name --
fire in my mouth.
Not disappointed, but very jaded.
Is there a difference?
One person
All day
Sacristry
Fear
Nodes
Lover
Not enough?
My lodestone
My Golden Compass
pitiful women
pitiful men
boy without hope
breasts perfect
perky
without brainwashing
without Ultra marine
without Timpani
Confineless.
Your staccato heart beat
Axis Mundi
Aqua Permanens
The strongest tide I have ever known
from the center
I impress you.
yet if you were to scream my name
with bilious
and sacrilege idiots
hurting you
I would misunderstand.
I am like Billy Madison
or Drew Gold or
Adam Sandler
without a soul mate
or the x²:
twin-flame
that was on a coke can.
Buy my love, dear.
But you cannot stand the hate?
. . .. . .
Missing houri
tunnel of colors or fun that others leave
to me.
To hear
your most pitiful grievance
to know
God's name
in relation to that.
Abrasax,
amphibion,
little pads to swim
my red little friend.
co-create on the hairy back
of a spider,
flies buzzing in dance.
Pools of spit and tongue hung by the tomb.
Atum-rê
Eggs from mummification to wrongness to
Cancer to Pisces
to Mars.
Scramble my brains with a sharp strong stick
up through my fearful
invisible nose;
the Asp that swallowed a darkened moon:
and Watch the Sun dancing again.
Nothing wrong,
nothing right.
A ritual on My watery face
I take care.
R.I.T.U.A.L
Vitriol.
Her beauty his beauty the mom.
Morning darkness slight wind
sussorous
Sex magic and trees and seeds.
Dead seeds.
Ice³.
No more that we or I or alone a soul could be lost;
a greater man than anyone
Promise.
His cry could get me to do things
if I ever hear his voice
if I listen hard enough
Torture the King
Sacrifice his Queen.
Beneath the bandages I
Ahmose and my Art.
Feudal to fealty to unimpressed to unshaken.
Little nuns, breaking.
Missionary work around S. Africa
Afraid to leave the country
Afraid to live here too.
USA
where the blame
doesn't matter.
Where Trump with his remote
I don't care.
Politicky and I dont worry.
Try to sway persuade me
And we see through.
Pain for a million years to see one sheer glimpse
of the tithed field where
with her stringy hair she gets wet
your feet and warms with her breath.
Rööt to Mara.
Htuk.
Çatal Iyayük.
Aramaic bard,
Yiddish,
Saratoga with tears
and my black grandmother,
Aunt Jemima.
Stephen K.
and her rocking chair
Every book I forgot the name of.
Ending loom.
Show me,
not tell me.
But then when you do tell me its so much more
Special.
Non-abrasive
No repeat.
Double-entendre driven into the ground.
Publish me.
What means more
than fame or money?
Answer me.
with as much force and content and style as Prometheus Unbound
by P. Shelley;
three lines and as many syllables as there are feet of children.
I want to dream rondeaux, forgetting
the C that spins into an O.
Anne or Sylv, gaping unto death
for what, I ask.
"For caring?"
. .. .
Tanka poetry of assassins who kill all
without being seen,
a friction that is silent; budges as
the walls start to gather impressions
and suck up the chimney flute all
my bird calls, until you
and I don't have to be schizophrenic anymore.
nor our dark morning cries ask for more money.
. . .. . .
Did the poet-to-be ever stop worrying?
I've begun my carpentry in heaven.
Heaven is too empty.
i've called to
my unborn daughter, and her son,
having spoken about them
approximately
for 10+ plus years.
Have sex in a chatroom, get a virus,
scare your neighbors,
fish in the sewer,
back log of green blips, and bad ideas.
. .. . ... ..
Maybe. My word, God Jesus
Mother as Church between you,
with Mary listening
to your heart beating
in my silent
shattered center.
Pain undissolved.
Blake, and co. Everyone apparently knows
His color, and Rimbaud
more like Stallone
because there is no explanation for
Seagal and Barnaby and Bartok
and my Germanic Jews ...
And remembering nothing.
Hitler and ice and silence
stench of consciencevwafteing from bodies
sweating from the close fire.
Repression, hate, martial arts.
Pain no longer bothers you?
. .. .
G·d.
The hidden name which does accord
Bacchus' wine
Saturnalias from flowers who only ask to
See and be seen
More Sun
More wind
uncaring either way.
. . .. . . ..
When the strength leaves my bones
and Egypt sends its cursed dogs out
After the chariot,
and you say my name --
fire in my mouth.
Not disappointed, but very jaded.
Is there a difference?
One person
All day
Sacristry
Fear
Nodes
Lover
Not enough?
My lodestone
My Golden Compass
pitiful women
pitiful men
boy without hope
breasts perfect
perky
without brainwashing
without Ultra marine
without Timpani
Confineless.
Your staccato heart beat
Axis Mundi
Aqua Permanens
The strongest tide I have ever known
from the center
I impress you.
yet if you were to scream my name
with bilious
and sacrilege idiots
hurting you
I would misunderstand.
I am like Billy Madison
or Drew Gold or
Adam Sandler
without a soul mate
or the x²:
twin-flame
that was on a coke can.
Buy my love, dear.
But you cannot stand the hate?
. . .. . .
Missing houri
tunnel of colors or fun that others leave
to me.
To hear
your most pitiful grievance
to know
God's name
in relation to that.
Abrasax,
amphibion,
little pads to swim
my red little friend.
co-create on the hairy back
of a spider,
flies buzzing in dance.
Pools of spit and tongue hung by the tomb.
Atum-rê
Eggs from mummification to wrongness to
Cancer to Pisces
to Mars.
Scramble my brains with a sharp strong stick
up through my fearful
invisible nose;
the Asp that swallowed a darkened moon:
and Watch the Sun dancing again.
Nothing wrong,
nothing right.
A ritual on My watery face
I take care.
R.I.T.U.A.L
Vitriol.
Her beauty his beauty the mom.
Morning darkness slight wind
sussorous
Sex magic and trees and seeds.
Dead seeds.
Ice³.
No more that we or I or alone a soul could be lost;
a greater man than anyone
Promise.
His cry could get me to do things
if I ever hear his voice
if I listen hard enough
Torture the King
Sacrifice his Queen.
Beneath the bandages I
Ahmose and my Art.
Feudal to fealty to unimpressed to unshaken.
Little nuns, breaking.
Missionary work around S. Africa
Afraid to leave the country
Afraid to live here too.
USA
where the blame
doesn't matter.
Where Trump with his remote
I don't care.
Politicky and I dont worry.
Try to sway persuade me
And we see through.
Pain for a million years to see one sheer glimpse
of the tithed field where
with her stringy hair she gets wet
your feet and warms with her breath.
Rööt to Mara.
Htuk.
Çatal Iyayük.
Aramaic bard,
Yiddish,
Saratoga with tears
and my black grandmother,
Aunt Jemima.
Stephen K.
and her rocking chair
Every book I forgot the name of.
Ending loom.
Show me,
not tell me.
But then when you do tell me its so much more
Special.
Non-abrasive
No repeat.
Double-entendre driven into the ground.
Publish me.
What means more
than fame or money?
Answer me.
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