Beginning with madness: ending with love

Beginning with madness: ending with love

I.

Heaven is hysteria in a fine rolled joint.

The trigger of air pressed between objects,

Echoes caught between the books.

And the answer is Christ

As a perfect triangle.

And the answer is wine

As a solvent.

Repetition: reminds us.

Repetition: is candy-coated

Pushing us to starvation/salvation.

Repetition: is the weight of soft music pushing old mops

Against the wheel of life.

What about that connection is surreal?

What about that connection knows itself?

II.

Whatever is beautiful,

Whatever is just,

Give me these with naked eyes

That I might not spoil their truth.

Rid us of the rotten apple boiled in salt.

Here we must eschew the wild herb,

Which leaves us drained and savage.

Bliss or unfocused resilience,

Shifting between the water and the wine,

In the end, let me scrawl my poems

Into the wall and regain fragments of the whole.

III.

I have been missing the point all along!

One thousand catatonic poems,

Blessed with revelation,

Busted beards of bliss,

O mysterious cigarettes of sunshine!

　

　

　

　

IV.

Dose this make us insane?

With plastic purchases

Steamed in mountains of genetics,

With repeated rhetorical allegorical books,

Assumption of ascending thought,

Drunk strangers mad with glow of

Antiquity,

When will you teach your millions

What they already know?

I purchase desert silhouettes

With Abrahamic morality,

Building up towards the great eye.

The definition of insanity is reproduced/cloned

And cool eyed ramblings. Juxtaposed salvation with…something…

Blue collar crying satanic tears for revolutionary Trotsky’s and Che’s,

While suckling the breast of Manhattan’s

Factories of Gold,

Burning black smog along

NJ’s Turnpike.

The definition of insanity is two joints

And half a bottle of wine,

Three day hazy indifference,

Trying to grasp significance,

Repeating tasks with empty mind agony.

　

The definition of insanity is unknown

And relaxed.

Acceptance in the form of hysterical bits.

V.

I have been missing the point all along!

Now you got it!

Now you got it!

Go outside, get drunk: notice anything different?

Roll around in it, kiss it,

Follow the breath/catch it,

Notice anything different?

Sit/stand

Stagger/swagger,

Stumble…do you notice anything different?

Now you go it!

Now you got it!

Now you go it!

Now you got it!

Architecture

Architecture

The pigeons who struggle in thick heat,

To presume their worth,

Perched atop crumbling shelters.

The orange vents/miniature cites

Scrambling up their backs.

Along those steps/agonized bliss/

Still poised after drunken nights.

Succumbing incessantly to out-stretched awe!

That I could sink between chipped paint,

Or soar over electric lines and understanding,

The shifting of feet or clicks of doors/ignitions,

Plastic, or rustled vegetation,

Overturned crates and bales,

The bounty of which chirps at it’s own

Random distribution.

Goals

Goals

Goals.

I want to constantly ask:

What is this?

I want to get rid of I.

I want to write poetry, paint stories,

& play music.

I want to know what my face or yours is.

I want to memorize the excitement of your

Eyes in climax.

I am the saintly bum,

Nothing more nothing less.

I contain every variable

Choosing silence instead.

Flathead

Flathead

What to say of this nature?

Paddled to the middle of this self,

Water lapping at stone,

Immovable and time bent,

Breathed in obscure color,

Snow capped laughter,

Pine and sun/affected and unmoved.

The water churns and rises, never halting.

I fix myself against the backdrop of Heaven

As if cloaked by the very thought,

These dusty places give birth to every breath and bone.

Skimming the surface,

Every drop of water,

Reflects and returns.

Find no clinging!

This moment will soon disappear:

Have you swallowed it’s fatty juices?

Rising over each crest,

Every bang whipping us out of our monkey minds,

The bell at the beginning and end.

Soak the dust,

And it becomes mud

& sticks to our bones,

Forms us and breaks our flesh.

I am dieing quicker than this scene.

How wonderful to know

It will be here long after I am gone!

Roots stretched over,

Grains meditating in the wind:

What secrets do they know?

Quit

Quit

I watched your lips, inhale existence

Sighing ecstasy with tongue and stone.

Knowing my own limitations,

To endure love/dripping from the vine,

Dew drops ascending,

Angelic certainty, endless yelp of womb

And prick.

Steal and cotton soaked in language and light

This simplistic song and sense.

I the ignorant child,

Listening to sauce boil,

Along with the burnt offerings of us

21 years latter

Done with birth,

Done with god,

Done with mystic enunciations

Cross and bread/

The milk of mothers tainted & just,

Anxiety:

The godfather of wanton lust.

The city sleeps with me,

The city burns with me,

The city eats me with all

The fine soul of blue notes

And suspended electric organs.

And I’m done with self mutilation

Of ageless aphorisms

Breathing new soil and flowers/

Blades of grass uncountable curls,

First shames breaking through the

Breast of this earth.

Jaw lock stitched hack against the rushed scene.

Gone is your perfection or idealization,

Gone with scent and sighs piling debts and

Cries.