how many hells?

my own intestines
pondering firing squad
reel broken stealing

never wanted human being
a mouthful of snake
head shaved peasant

palms out, two arms
rip off the head
dangle over the edge

breathe in and out
mutant head
weep confused, stamped

out of space and time
downtown midnight haunted
a foggy loneliness becomes visible

rebuking eyes
pink meat
ten fingers, two eyes

cold brain

laughter alright
with my skin and my blood

how wounded, these beautiful haters
the dry lipped fool
crying shopkeeper

eye beaten
fierce desire
closed mind

human shapes
taxicab movies
holy land Marxists

suffering and hopeless
that worm
trembling under the bamboo

false dreams
I inhabit this universe
cringe with meaty fear

morality pistols
the ghost
with assembled armies

seven hundred hells

Writing: just call me lucky #3

Writing: just call me lucky #3: a. they are standing still, waiting pour their coffees onto the floor the monkey claps his hands they bring him a tray of excuses he p...

Writing: just call me lucky #2

Writing: just call me lucky #2: a. out stars, come and see my dimness collecting the kings fallen road, wall shadows is it you? falling onto the floor pop, pop, pop...

Writing: just call me lucky #1

Writing: just call me lucky #1: A. nerve gas appetites as shouting angry ghosts seeping in with mustard and wine reaching for the white fool struggling with your fabl...

25.19

25.19

Sometimes we pretend at being normal as we gather all the beatniks around the stage. Each one has a little drum in his hand that he uses to tap out a disjointed rhythm. You wanted their lies more than their truths. Together we built a glass palace that stood high upon the hill. When I held the stone in my hand, it felt authentic. I left you here sad and unfulfilled with so much more left to be spoken. I always thought of coming back this way and placing the jeweled crown upon your head. But, I was distracted by the wasteland. It was the wicked void that called me on, to journey forward into dark upon dark. I was standing under a tin roof and wishing I had a friend, someone to play legos with. I conjured mister Bo jangles under the cloudy sky. He danced around your Shirley Temple and we all clapped and shouted for more. You said he was your hero when you used to believe in the magic of dance steps. I wonder what you believe in now. Do you still believe in me? Even when I put the blindfold over your eyes? You said this was ordained by god. You said that god’s blessing made it legal. I never thought of this as a crime. It was your smile that said, “go ahead, take a chance.” You stood there with your papers in your hand, you had on your reading glasses and the blue jean jacket you stole from Herman. I listened as you spoke about desire, dreams, and vision. I always liked you in your sweater and scarf, standing outside your house with your arms crossed. I always wondered who it was you were protecting. Traffic was backed up to the funeral home. We turned around and went back home. It was a little too precious, a little too conventional. We are hiding inside each vignette, meeting at the chateau. We made an external object inside this fake space. Can you feel the pieces work on each other? We are in bungalow two, a small universe. I forced you to touch the evil charm, standing erect amidst the brambles. Sometimes I would pour you straight out of the can. I was only expressing my feelings. It is all about expression now. Before we measured success by individualist means, nightly we threw drunken wild parties. Herman was such a big alcoholic. He would compensate by being overly macho. He was afraid of being considered a cutie-pie. We settled down in the suburbs with our drinking and depression. You would comment on the hunger of nature. We kept humping away making more centipedes. The speed and the energy was all a part of the experience. We are amino acids struggling up out of the slime. We put a grid across our hearts to prevent others from looking inside. You say it is all about divide and conquer, pushing forward the technique. We live in a mechanical world that is filled with and seems to exist only for machines. We need to turn things upside down and live for nature. We need to stop worshiping the machine and begin to recognize and value the animal.

untitled

bending down, touching
some break
they cannot breathe
solid wrapper
my soul bleeds
if I had something
just anything
then I could dance

she was asleep in the next room
shoot and destroy me
like the age
like the trauma
with a stone around her neck
with her hand dances
shouting blue and rattling dark

you stand in the midst of them
as a mother of all flames
we shall build upon your glow
like the hills of Waukon
seeing the river for the first time
my might is bone and sinew
none stays at my feet
only frothy breath of the destroyer

feeling good like a saturday night
like a suicide
the hard evolution
not your original plan
they are hanging from your trees
following you after dark
little green eyes
ready for a change

it is all in the nature
in the smile and the handshake
all these colors coming out of my fingertips
they are the prize
they are the tatse

we were riding the double decker bus
you were talking about your cooking apparatus
how you could turn the cocaine into rocks
we lived as enourmous flesh
inspired and dominating the town
at night we set the town on fire
just for the sake of fire
it needs to be tended in the right way
the devil can't rule by himself

he needs to fill his city with souls

25.20

25.20

You believe that one day you will be able to find your way, that the fever will break and set you free. I realized long ago that it was freedom that you wanted, but you continue to run head-first into that which enslaves you. Dreaming and swearing and constantly falling in love, it is a never-ending madness. Each drop of medicine only makes you sicker. Can you hear the storm clouds approaching? Hear the noise of the workmen as they build for you your tower? You will climb the stairway to reach god as you hold your lucky charm in your fingers. Reciting prayers that you learned as a child as you climb each step, higher and higher, you believe that magic never lies and that god makes all smiles, but in your heart you know the truth. Tonight you will burn your candles in the tower of your heart and you will worship the worm. You consider the worm to be one of god’s most useful creatures. Like the worm, you were born old, much older than you give away. You are sad and heavy and play the part of the tortured soul very well. Most people don’t realize that it is only an act with you, something that you try on for a season or two. Everyone knows your name as Mr. Crowley, but I know you as a brother. You see the bad before you can see the good. One would think that you were born a Capricorn. In all your evil workings you strive to do the right thing. You want to balance the books of karma. The night falls all around you as we go to dinner. You throw off the grayness of the day like a worn coat or a tattered robe. You are evoking a world of thought and feeling. We are coldly aware of the singular absence that haunts our lives. We hold up our drinks and toast the absence. We drink to the emptiness and to the king of nothing. We are familiar with the emptiness and are intimately aware of the various shades of emptiness that makes up one’s life. Mr. Crowley speaks to the emptiness with a full-throated roar that he was born with. He reminds me of the immense world of emptiness that I am familiar with. The day would be over and I would mingle with the crowds, being both pushed and shoved. I would be both fighting for a life and taking one. I dwelled in the realm of contradiction in the mesmerizing spell of the nothingness. When we have nothing, there is no guide to show us the way, no map to provide direction. All previous treasures mean nothing to us now. Our treasure is in the promise of hopelessness. The glamour has been replaced by seduction.