mud from the river-bottom
sieves through my heart
and dries brown tile
upon the sunny corridors
of hope.
shaken by the fist
of my own excitement
I feel my lungs
fill with salt
left by the cataracts
of beautiful plants
breathing.
to hold all of you
for one moment
would be to watch it crumble
and cry like
a waning moon
doused in the ink of the ocean.
little boy,
tiptoe carefully
through the echoes
of the fallen mirror;
the leaves
will put it back together.
the stitch of a sewing machine
manufactures my poetry,
sleep baptizes
my worried face into peace.
the dances of dreams
drum my skin into rest,
slipping me between the teeth
of monsters who plague my visions,
færies who cover my ears with storms
to mask the whispering
of nothing.
I fall without recollection
through cell walls,
shrieking with my senses,
soundlessly touching stars
with the shadows
of my fingertips;
hurtling at frightful speeds,
awed by the size of it all.
broken,
reflecting the trees
at fractured angles
agonizingly compounded,
the spilled eyes of an insect
encrusted with river mud
cracked and dry with age.
Archive for August, 1991
Midion
Posted: August 26, 1991 in PoetryTags: Boy, Cry, Dreams, Echo, Eye, Hope, Mirror, Monster, Moon, Nothing, Salt, Shadow, Sleep, Trees
Come, friend that crawls,
Thing that scuttles from faintest light,
Horrid apparition that hides its face;
Stand with the blackest night,
My skull revealed in awful majesty
Atop my cape of dark childhood fears,
Flowing in a wind of charnel fog.
I summon thee from the torment of years…
I doze off
to wake up
surrounding by stars
floating on a sea
of moth dust
and butterfly wings
with children singing
nursery rhymes
and I can’t move;
there are so many flowers
all bearing fruit
lightning arcs between stars
as I watch the dance
of their rotation
then doze off
and wake up
here.
Butt’s Up
Posted: August 15, 1991 in PoetryTags: Computer, Dark, Friend, Glasses, Hope, Laughter, Princess, Wizardry
oh yeah.
I wasn’t even
allowed to compete
in the darkie circle
where you were allowed hope.
my identity
was my glasses
and the computer
that was my entertainer.
all the people
I called friends
would have sacrificed each other
in a moment
for a turquoise ray of hope
at possibly being cool.
I wish I could honestly say
that I listened to the Cure
in my dark room
and was depressed,
but I was too busy
pushing away your laughter
by being the first
to solve Wizardry,
gaining some sort of recognition,
some sort of self-respect.
no I was less than cool
to identify with
the solemn cries of Robert Smith
or the wail of Siouxie
– it was beyond me
and my AM radio.
I couldn’t fathom
the courage it took
to compete for coolness
so important to the young
in the early hours
only the text of my
computer games
told me what was real
and how important I could be.
a graphics princess
couldn’t know how sad
her hero truly was.
butt’s up.
alley flower
Posted: August 14, 1991 in PoetryTags: Flowers, Green. Purple, Mirror, Night, Sleep, Universe
fiery stamen and
splay-topped tendrils;
multicolored electric octopus,
singing, gesturing in Indian splendor
inside a spherical universe of glass;
mysterious flower
writhing to the silence of the void;
infinipodal walker,
reaching and grasping at a terrible mirror,
constantly searching the circumference;
hot green stalks sadly follow
my curious fingertip
across the sky
as I trace patterns on the clear cage;
pink and purple fans dreaming
support the slim emerald-waisted dancers
teasing the fluorescent pollen
on the central stem;
flickering tirelessly,
chanting throughout the night
as I sleep.
I build more friends
to aid me when you’re gone.
I build songs to pass the time;
the melancholy ones
sound the best.
I build whole worlds to think about
that never get explored.
I build schemes to make you happy
and giggle and cry and love me more.
I build creatures mute and motionless
to breathe into at a later time
so they might jump to dance.
I build stories to tell myself
as I wait your return.
I am Mister Gnarly in my corridors of bones,
chewing gristle from burrowed skulls,
populating my empty rooms
with ivory treasures;
fragile sculptures of vertebrae;
bones licked clean of graveyard dust;
balanced and braced
in my honeycombed ways.
filthy I throne upon a cowhead,
rotting with my dessicated flesh,
searching for people that I knew,
to hold their skulls in my paws
and telling their bleached eyes
that I am Mister Gnarly to you.
will you spend your time
translating to a poor monkey
everything?
tell me everything.
I want all of you:
beautiful hideous wonderful embarrassing…
I want you.
banana.
I will bend to your every whim.
anything – ask.
I trust you want me for me
not because of a potential for change.
I return the complement
please accept my simple gift;
love and friendship.
o I am so happy!
talk; remember to talk
or else you will walk
remember oh I hope
I remember like soap
relationships are
and I can say so far
this is the One oh
one slip, she’ll go
remember to communicate
it’s never too late
to tell her what’s real:
how I feel.
watching the clouds
beautiful
playing graceful in the sky’s meadows.
I lift my arms,
ask for storms to pour their fruit
on me
with no words,
fervent kisses winked like hope
thrown as confetti
stolen by a monkey wind
to go where the lost helium balloons
go.
Death I smelled tonight
As I homeward rode my bike:
PEZ candy. Pedalling with the speed
Of a frightened child,
This one thought of horrifying familiarity;
That Death smelled exactly
Like PEZ candy.
Hills rose to belabor my lungs
And plunged to struggle my brakes
As I smelled that candy,
Dashing from lake to lake
Of streetlight glow.
I will not eat
PEZ candy.
running around
on your plains
stark naked
– I am fun.
I see windows
to look through
at your artwork
I stand on tiptoes!
I have no money
to pay to get in.
I smile that I love you
wink beyond the flashbulbs
for ME!
and (maybe) I will go away.
I am your artwork
you
painted
me.
now I go away.
come with me?
let me try to paint you!
bitten by the little Monster
I bought at the Swap Meet,
I chased it down
the alleyway aisles,
caught it, spanked it
by the neon pants
and the cheap stereo outlet.
it is difficult
to look into your eyes
for too long
from the weight
of the compliment
of the love you return me.
if only I could
say it a little differently
every day.
fears of boredom,
of loss, of lightning
chatter my teeth,
bind my tongue
when I struggle
to just love you.
uncomplicated
happiness is the key
to joy: J-O-Y
three letters, infinite fun
simple as speedy wood grain
easy as a bean burrito
when you are hungry;
a present or a surprise
for yourself like a flower
or a video game,
twenty-five cent drug trip
life death and reality are
just that simple
free your mind and…
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