Last night I was orbiting Betelgeuse
As time flashed-out
With worlds blacked-out
And the backstreets of your heaven
Orion hovering in the opposite sky
Waiting for the kill order.
Last night Betelgeuse
Sang and throbbed
Just like me.
Tonight, a low, ochre
Crescent moon sliver dully
Pointed horns up
In night’s concave simulacrum of the soul,
As the vicious headache pounded
In my sick veins
And the Hollywood dream
Vibrated alternative futures
Beyond the Gates of Babylon
On an ancient stage…
A mean feeling crawls through my hallways,
But starlight might just fill my fey cathedral
And light all my candles in this witching hour.
Trivia masquerades as importance in the dry
Harbors of practiced obsolescence, and
This sun-freeze, sun-freeze see-saw shades
My own vacillations, where doubt’s archipelago trembles.
I will scratch my poems on ancient maps and burnish
My shroud with their afterimages.
New York or L.A. – which circus louder calls me?
Pig glamour or Gotterdammerung angst-riot trials?
Addled breath fills spongy bronchial trees with a
Soft, tidal sound that haunts my future self with bizarre scenes.
Sepulcher of an accordioned blood-engine at end
Of dark streets where Arctic apexes coronate,
And the pale, ghostly face with grey eyes adorns
The spectral tome absorbed with phantom alacrity.
Hail, satiety! Kitchens of forgotten love cook on
By themselves, and frozen seas shrug.
I feel tonight like my mother probably felt
In her own sleepless hours
With nothing to chew on but time –
The heart beating endlessly in the void.
We night owls stick together, even beyond
Death’s veils, giving birth to each other,
Touching through time,
Where the great mysteries unsolved fly.
And I can hear my mother chewing ennui
To the bone in the late kitchens of doubt,
Where sleep is a lost ideal
And the world has forgotten itself.
Tonight, I am chewing entropy to the quick:
Sunflower seed symphony,
Ginger cookie overdose,
And satiety snaps her fingers
As I do the witching hour waltz
With the sneering wolf at the door.
Bright deserts asleep
Cry for truth but drown in lies
Where they might drown in beauty (but those stars died).
The empty-hearted wait at the tyrant-light…
Is this really my life?
The aging eye wanders into dark seas of pride –
The young man lingers in a scherzo of autonomic
Certitude & shared horrors dine
Where the menu is as unlikely a collage as
The millionth monkey’s newest lines!
The bowsprits ache for new swells,
Then curse them, habituated by seamen
Of fantastic frills and abandon,
Who gave their wings to the sea.
Where bright deviance strives
In the brutal heart of night
To re-trace love, but one returns
To the primal urge that conceived our life.
The bougainvillea have died, along with right sense,
Joined in the graveyard of ancient symphonies
With heroes spun in spectral magic,
But this bright deviance bids
Sere galactors call the song,
As the noble crotch of earth
Flash-freezes promised love.
Born From a Passage by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
For the image of the pitiful child,
Now this world, novel, blows in –
For the strafing of the friable mind,
Archives of a mothballed life –
Each heart expecting
Each decade of the laughing eyes
Grows with longing, sailing time;
Ocean full of fish eyes
Pooled, outsized. No regret
For YOUR slippery future.
The brave bird 4.16.13
Oh so brave stood his branch
And the devil came
He liked his song so much
He showed up and showed off
And how bright the path she lay
Where the old man is fishin’
And those who have the gold make the rules
(but you can break them)
And they also make the wars
(But you can unmake them.)
Oh brave bird, stand your ground!
Hold fast that Spring thread to your breast
For she comes like a secret swan now
Burns like the most elegant star
And I want to love her as completely
As a man can.
I’m lost – forever flowering
In the romantic fantasy,
In the windy reverie –
Where even now she fills me,
This coup de grace
The wine of ancient dreams
Poured into our loving cup.
And we have only started
On this dark stage –
We have sung songs and traded
Looks and desires, wholly conspired
To be the first hearts joined
On the galactic promenade
Of a new race.
My Cleopatra of the Grapevine
My Helen of the sung line
My Aphrodite sweet unspoiled…
Another brave bird your prim face smiles
On neck of unparalleled grace…
How I long to see you in the night
And feel the bright star smile on all our mornings!
I’m a curio in the sun 4.22.13
On porches of this garden whimsy:
“what will I be?”
a floating out beyond everyday misery,
only life bandied and flown,
when too much time
has cracked the yards of stability
when what we were
or have accepted as the world
has vanished into Mouth-of-Chaos
there will be only the divine impulse
in the animal garden
for your feathers of fire to dance in.
Hung like a horseman of the apocalypse.
The war in heaven
spits its casualties onto NY pavement
& the brothels of the world
& the brightest temples
where forked tongues
speak soothing words
& the dust betrays us
& confused children dream
& she looks for the man
whose loins are the burning bush
of late prophecy:
the libido of Ezekiel,
the Brahman of Moses,
where Gabriel descends across
a scar of somedays all lit up
and she disappears into an
and the whore of time carries any
who want to ride this beast
who hangs like a bat
a fat rat in the Bowery
and clouds one’s happy wasted afternoons
with an apostrophe of vengeance.