You betta recognize!
a Buddha
held his halo
over his belly,
pressed it in,
and smiled.
I was struck
in the eye
by the sound
of a violin,
drawn sinew,
smoking resin,
sliding down,
arpeggiated
from my CD.
we know this much:
you are ugly;
we have the gods’
word for it; they too
would be ugly if ugly
was a good thing.
I untie my belt
hoping to see you ream a sheep,
but still you don’t come
and I go on longing.
you are invincible!
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.
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.
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.
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…
I listen to Psychic TV
as I go to sleep
subconscious acid-house
to keep me through the next day
sway hypnotized gorilla
your job: attract opposite gender
item to evaluate, correct?
no.lies.thieves.hypocrites:
ministry tells me so.
exhausted by effort of truth
examination of self
through drug treatment
I quote findings:
“vermin…spread”
“it’s lovely!”
a man
dropped the egg
he was carrying
on the sidewalk,
and it broke.
the yolk was green.
he knelt down
to look closer at it,
and it ate him.
“Ha ha ha!” it lurked
back into its
broken shell.
big fat monkeys
in pajamas
eating cereal and watching
the dinosaurs run around
on television.
it is Saturday morning.
I grin behind my pen.
I, ape, eat mushrooms
in a forest of multicolored furniture
all from the room of a girl
I knew.
the carpety grass is foaming upwards.
shoes play hide and seek when I
sneak around in the closet.
they shut it always behind them.
find them cavorting and wagging their tongues.
I live in the closet.
I read old travel books and sigh.
funny little bugs comb my hair for me.
the shoes galumph like tiny dragons.
my rat escaped.
I, ape, drink cappuccino
alone under the pillars of marbled ice cream,
whittling leaves to stick to their sides with thumbtacks.
sorry.
I sit quietly under a quilt made
of Stars by Mom long long ago that is too small.
it’s fun to push around
on the tiled floors
on my butt, pretending to have no legs.
the leaves turn purple with the sunset paintset.
everything is quiet and
you can see your reflection in everything.
I, ape, peer through the closet door slats
but can only see the carpet that changes color.
sometimes I can’t fly my kite for the roof.
then,
I move the stuffed animals
and make them nod and wave.
there was a lake, big and pretty and I was scared
to throw rocks into it.
there’s a story behind all these shelves.
I wish I had some pudding.
just to sit and eat pudding;
lick the back of the spoon
in this forest
of chairs.
I, ape, wear a green felt hat for no reason,
puzzled by the paintings in the empty museum.
I search all the video games for quarters.
nobody’s home.
dusting the lampshades is fun;
it makes me sneeze and then I dance in the mucous-mist.
I sing myself to sleep in the queer half-light
of the green stone moon
poking my head in holes in the ground.
I play a silly flute
on the sand left by the retreating tide,
sometimes dragging a stick for miles,
then falling asleep
on the carpet.
I, ape, remember all this,
dreamed before I was built of gristle
and hair, wound with a turnkey and set on the linoleum
to live.
my nest in the rocks was burnt
when I returned with some candy I’d found,
so I ate it in the wet soot.
I’ve smoke in my eyes.
I’ve loved you for so long;
now I can fly
and I leave all this hair and skin
and my shoes
behind.
bless me
little red blanket,
my precious birth-toy.
cherished,
worn by love
cape, warmth, friend,
comfort, guard
shoulder.
bless me,
I love you
little red blanket.
I have nothing to do so I do nothing.
I have nothing to say so I say nothing.
My day was cold and rosy like a wax museum.
Mistakes seem to multiply my shadow
Into monsters clutching broken shards of mirrors.
Weeds grow about the architecture of my projects.
I say nothing I do nothing I say or do…
The beatings are screaming dully now
Through the calluses thick and faraway;
Sounds I slowly turn my head past,
Rotating through the jelly halls
Of pedestalled imagination snowy with sleep.
Somewhere in my closet there is a chest
That I have lost and a little boy with no mouth
Is quietly picking up all the shiny pieces
That the shadows bring to him and putting them away.
Button-eyed animals have gathered
From smoky trash heaps to watch him
As they always have with their own bright faith,
Chrysalises for creatures clearer than I.
The alarm is reverberating somewhere, muffled
By the furs and pelts of sacrifices to unworthy idols.
Beautiful skins of fantastic creatures.
Tears fall from eyes which have not flinched for years;
Ever since I was a little boy with no mouth.
happy happy ape
swing around
dance for you
lopey long arms flail
the air his home
hairy long arms
dance dance
happy ape.
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