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Thursday, April 22, 2010

Toothache

Hand against my sides

I sighed and urinated on the pavement.

Cigarette bouncing on my lips,

The slowness of breath and movement (death)

Still got this toothache and anxiety /

Cold sex against the static hum

Of horns and candy,

Reaching deep for comfort.

Hard drag hacking habitually,

Wild laughter in balls of sleepy salvation,

Exodus into holy routine and shame.

The agony of words:

Which words or word begets language?

Money and material dripping from cracks /

Angels in bright cities dancing along the bridge:

Who satisfy longing and madness,

Who eat boiled eggs and salt,

Who paint hallucinations of bleak nostalgia,

Visions of dinners / shadow faces

Gnawing on biscuits and grease.

The howl of summer skin and jeers,

Gestures of clenched teeth and erotic tears,

With bawling eyes / shameless kicks.

The windows of alleyways expressing

Love and music,

Scent of shit and brick,

Hazed glow of coal, burning ash.

With garbage rooms cynical eyes,

Resting from dizzy abandonment:

Paint cans, notebooks, cigarettes & Buddha.

Resting and silent,

Worries and calm mutations /

Solo collaborations,

Steady hack and blow thru chipped walls;

Death, a strange lethargic beast smiling in

Front of televised Christ, who swears my

Silence and sex and scent and sense

Will damn us all.

Another hack slacking illusion for our

Dualistic obsessions,

Radically reductive to random acts of radiance,

Lotus sits on worn mattresses /

Gazing longingly at oxygen and light,

With noodle breath and complacent urges,

Beautiful slug caught in slush and slime.

Wild eyed marveling singers,

Blowing their blues to whiskey and wine,

In Philadelphia’s strange clock motion,

Which binds us all to fury and frankness,

Spitting ageless loquacious aphrodisiacs

Into solace and despair…

And my tooth still hurts.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Holy Ruins

Such anger!

The crumbling crack of

Industry’s ghosts,

Eating smack along the rivers edge,

Poverty statistically stereotypes derogative hymns,

Angels of Tioga & Fishtown

Sprinkle cancer on my cigarette,

w/ it’s deep drag and exhalation pouring

Over steel cased skies,

Uninhabited rooms echoing through plywood

And newspaper headlines read Democracy for Middle East,

Young woman pokes holes in these papers,

Let in this light of rickety Els and Golden Cathedral

Domes…

Oh yes, even in the Ghetto, god is rich.

Skewed Stars

Small mind

Streamed bliss walking against

Skewed stars,

Hidden before glowing half moon

Street snap and crack of pavement

Adjusting itself everyone’s

Asleep in toe curling erotic euphemisms,

Bland/no rhythm

(SHAP-SOCK-LETS-GO)

Watching over the hills

These all knowing blessed

Little critters, now they sleep

Evoking Allen I kneel before

Shrubs/sucking their dirt and herb juice

Cut off like crosses clumped in Victorian

Bouquets,

Piss and drink water from

Chrome faucets, dispensed from heavens

Whirling fans, circulating cool

Enumerations from boxed.

Steady blinking of four-thirty

A.M. glows red against the wall

I am counting moments til’ light.

Visions

The Prophets in the desert,

I am in the desert!

Among fools with their smudged aces,

Starless trench of mountains and heat,

Horizon bleeding triads of color/

Between squinting eyes and silhouettes,

Smokey air like a dirt road bar

Whiskey feet against microscopic stones,

Dancing wildly,

Abandoned steel roasting for perfection

In praise to emptiness and hunger.

I stepped out as if it were

Some new moment,

The barrage of color and scent

Indiscriminately howling against

The backdrop of laughter and coos…

Pounding and chanting/ no difference

All little red devils swaying in the electric breeze.

I want out! I want out!

Want to pause and drop all clinging and sense

With everything sick and stumbling.