Ave Mary-Juana

2011-05-27T14:13:00.000-07:00

the gifts of the elders never got through the mail
we lost our shoes our hopes our heads
in this silent war

flung into the blue
the owl turned its wing
and self-doubt descended as neurosis to
pulvorize our future

but courage is the nature of our sanity
connection the lunatic heroism of the child

we are the threads the silver cord
to the wisdom of messages thought lost:

the language of the birds
the joy of the beginning

innocent
and incredibly
possible and free

2007-01-24T13:25:00.000-08:00

The world is something
a lot of people can say
they understand.
Because they are not puking.
I am,
but I live under some kind of death
a country of nausea (the constant insult)
fomented by a obscene politicians.

The weather is mild and weird
turning ideas into salt licks.

In the time of armygoinon
bye and bye
two degrees and heaven will melt
with only sketches left over.

==

Regrets are a morbid addition
to mortality’s inevitable scenerio.

Our childhood dreams
our teenage loves?
We buried them
in barren earth.

See the snake?
it does not hide it’s head
it does not self-flagellate
or try to conduct sermons
with it’s tongue.

With a wave of it’s tail
every movement is it’s prayer.

=

I was irritated through and through
so I made a hang-glider
out of my discarded skin fluff
and soared the cosmic waves.

I still worry about langoliers
capitalists and the borg
they’d like to chomp
on my delicious self-body.

Earthly pawns!
As a godlike astronaut
I say: Let us all fly!
(it is better together).

+==

I had a dream I won the biggest lottery and then I woke up as soon as I won it. I felt a brief elation I could breathe. And then reality lifted my eyelids like a practical joke.

My day-dreams save me from these terrors.

Love your cell-phone like your own bone-cells. eradicate the element of surprise and get comfortable inside your luxy prison. exterminate the virus of imagination and reinvent yourself. Your shoes are the platform for your murmuring astonishment that keeps your dreams electric. child-like scrambling to put the mess under the bed.trust no one but your own greed and the stuffed up fearfloggers. That shifty body is the only temple you adore. The bell tolls only for the squinting mass of lesser fringes. Morning, noon, and night is a good time to feed on ethnic blood.

Understand. The nectar of sensuous sentient froth is the ripeness that means anything. nothing but the incongruous raccoon stripes over and across the forehead can vanquish evergrit. as if holy mackerels summersaulted into your lap.

2006-11-25T19:07:00.000-08:00

it is all them crazy gods who decide the righteousness of the show.
who don’t know but revile and establish the bobbing of the head.
the head that cannot hold a single cracker but to eat shit for glories.
not of human palate’s taste. even to die because of the lexicon of who is under threat of Being Alive: other wise: Desire, the angelic ember that began with the friendship of growth and Humanity, not to be eradicated. slogging through the mire for redemption.

I don’t want to gape aloud and leave all good dreams to fling themselves into stinging heat. I want to take them back and spit on the mirage. the price of increased infinities. the hypocritically studied forms of progress. the contrived order of opportunism.

terrible as a lamb looking you sarcastically in the eye.

it is every day business as usual between martini lunches and the dawn of the dead. pinning on of plumage for soirees with the king of shame.
is it ever
in some brains
the old poison
the strange substance
the embalming metastasis.

how deep in the ground have they dug their hole?
will the bones rise when the plasticity of their feats cannot be digested?
will the fake values of correctibility prevail in continuing the soap-opera? mumbling indignant nuances of nonsense?

the sheen of corruption is always rubbed with the oil of law.

the mind formed, body formed by the need to excel by the use of paternal or external, otherwise idealized images of a forcefully bent collar-terral, the casual-teas (blood/substance )
also to feed the war testicles.

miracles wasted on the gigabytes of horror.

***
Exfrexia
glass with no refreshing drink
no elixir of life, of love
no warm sacred bowls
no soft starry nights

the city is a cage
a cage is a prison
a web of suffocating grids

our pillow of stone
our blanket of night
the wind through these streets
offers nothing but death…

a tear fills this chalice
a tear that’s been shed
a hundred-a million times salty/sweet
a shiny marble lost
a kid found it
to be lost and found again:

that kid with no name
that question mark on the pavement
that hope in mid-air.

Far flung sayings from Near by

When shoes are tied on backwards,
the rabbit’s foot brings no good luck.
When many hands eclipse the sun,
the stars are not our friends.

Negotiations are not horny.
More of more makes more space between us.
Planets flirt under their epidermal loneliness.
A tree cannot be challenged to lay down its cards.
Love is a second-hand trumpet.
Peace-keepers wear fake flipper hats that flop in my eyes.
No one purports violence only preemptive ingrown nails.
Don’t burn the skeletal confidence of oceanic memory.
To be a haddock is to know all kinds of hooks.
National flavours stew rapidly in empty pots.
Two hands full of confetti, one dash cynicism, a bolt of fury- pow!
Fatty tissues boil in blocks of sulphuric holograms.
They are bears who weep now.

***

Euskera is an incantation of sturdy fibres and rough vibrations flung further than a ship can sprawl. tiny universes
nourished by song and elementary sparks.

Old wisdom is accommodated by slick powerhouses, (regal instigations), industrial yawhoos who sever the vine roots with a strange unease at savageness.

imagination amputation
guaranteed zombification
vampiric colonization
digital identification
enhanced fortification
of illegal immigration
mercantile coagulation
qhemical anhillation.

Ave Mary-Juana

2006-11-18T21:36:00.000-08:00

Ave Mary-Juana

2006-11-18T21:35:00.000-08:00

Ave Mary-Juana

2006-10-13T23:13:00.000-07:00

strange wings illuminate the
weirdness of frozen fears in a basket
myopic fiends of an age
that still rise like a tide of oligarchs
and yet
the sweet revenge of the puma
loves a violin aria
believes daring to dance
the twining legend
of space
a significant idiot
solid as a molten kiss in the fire
transcendental woos of downy feathers
and elfin whirls
the forgotten lore
of cat skills and evermore===

2006-10-13T23:12:00.000-07:00

Life is a feather,
Life is a plant
delicate, translucent,
edged in silver

Our world is a spine
brittle, splintered,
cracked by the time
of atomic aspirations
to live
is to squirm,
to shudder,
palpitate, dehydrate,
in the convolution
of terrified exploding rage:
the radiation of humans==

2006-10-13T23:09:00.000-07:00

I am a table of food
a maze
I amaze
I peek from the edges
I am a caterpillar in the sun
I am the part in a large curtain
I am the first bird of the morning
Let me expand…
I am the stride of a wolf
The tip of a pen
The top of a full glass
I expand
I do not drift like ashesI am the stone that burns

2006-09-14T21:29:00.000-07:00

it could not be calculated
the storm

erotic as a muse
crashed upon
the dormant seed

teasing, precocious
eccentric and proud

whirls of ancient aromas
unicorn of lunar amber

galloping, swelling
demanding food
for living ecstasy

2006-09-14T21:21:00.000-07:00

the linear gush
of hot profits
swells
pathetic erections

fake philanthropy
is a ploy to forge
new popular
flesh-fests

strategic executions
increase
the appetite
of still rumpled skins

2006-06-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

poetry like there's no tomorrow

poems for when you feel like sneezing

hurling poems

poems to tickle your toes

poetry for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

poems lost in the flood

poems with a touch of vinegar

poems for the weak need

poems to complain about

well-folded poetry

poetry under the rug

blind-deaf-mute poems

poems for kicking yourself

2006-06-11T11:21:00.000-07:00

I plunged into a cascade
of streaming syllables to explore the coded formations
of ancient mandolin songs
from a distance that seemed to emanate
from within my pulsing blood

A spark
of murmuring somethings
swiftly and steadily came to embrace
my tingling fibre

I swam quietly
through the magnetic melee,
knowing I could be there forever
It was a burgeoning symphony!

I became disoriented
and lost my need to escape
My feet were stuck
in tangles
of rhythmic growth
that refused to let go

The sensitized tip of my brain
realized this was it:
the insoluble ocean of everything,
the one sages and delicate magicians
wade through
for the knot of fancy answers

And everything poets search for:
the tulip's orchestral beginning
the irreducible peregrine song
my trembling breath
in melodic wonderness

2006-06-03T21:09:00.000-07:00

The orb is the eyeball
of a giggling visage.
According to the numeni
it extends all the way to forever.
You take two billion curvy turns left
then four at God's elbow;
the passage breaks into three snake-arms.
Slide down the five streams of bouncing wagnuts,
across the grinning meadow,
over the spinning mountains,
around then over the warbling horizon
and you return
to the center of the fun bubble.

2006-06-01T14:37:00.000-07:00

Toxic Emissions In a Night-Time Haze of Ventilators and Inarticulated Desires

within the blackbox of mechanical maliciousness
the gluten and limbs are fermented into a pungent thick fluid
that becomes a skulking river of shiny handbags and radioactive undulations
the gases are a miasma of static electricity
the messages are crushed under the freighters
as the streaks of yellow sharp and red
pulsate in hyper fashion
stinging blades like the hands of God
crack the salamander's intra-uterine dance marathon
slicing spines tectonic scales
while the barnacles scream
to the helicopters chopping flesh
into a mesmerizing martini olive

2006-05-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

starfish emeralds of seaweed
lucid lagoon in a galactic coconut
big blaring showers
of fractal collaborations
spurts of immense fragments
great in our senses
shamare is made up
a biological seance
of iridescent wildness
copper, woodland vibrant
in foreign worlds of yellow
saving neon giants
for mere tomorrows

2006-05-18T20:24:00.000-07:00

Orion:
smithy of chaotic
harmonic fire amulets
and feverish velevet rings
offering a burgundy cosmos
sentinels of atmospheric wonders
and gravitational embraces
glorified links
in a tiara of dreaming ribbons
dusty trails of palomino voyages
through fields of ancient turquoise
enfolding then setting aloft a vibrant oasis
of numinous, loamy fragrances.

2006-05-14T14:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes
after the baby sun of Fall
sets behind the red-brick horizon
of my neighbourhood
and the earthy smell
of the muddy shoes on the floor
fills my nose,
and a dog barks for liberty
from the third floor
I press my nose on the old glass,
focus my eyes past the stained surface

I can almost feel Iam elsewhere.

2006-05-14T14:07:00.000-07:00

The price of life is terrible
as convenient
as a foreign language
or a bag of heartbeats

You will win nothing
There are no returns
No exchanges

2006-05-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life
like a ton of bricks:
is a load like rage to bear
cream of the earth
why are the spumes
of earth sucked dry?
we are made of earth and sea
and all the good things

except patience

polished and wind-worn
aren't we all pebbles?
and then let go?
time will sort it out
our skeletons
show no signs of fear
investigate my soul
you will find
it bears your name