Friday, October 24, 2014

LIRIOPE

If the story's not finished it's
because you didn't write
it

Fragile goddess of infinite pain
you can write it with your
pleasure seeking

(that you wear as a loose garment
masking the innocence you refuse to
surrender

that corrupts you to the core, )

I understand your pain and fear of
exposure,
shocked into the distance one day so
long ago

The child you lost that day,
the one you forever cling to forgetting
the world is your
only real friend
I.
He started out
ridin' greasy motor bikes
not givin' a fuck

his only salute was the
middle finger

(some say he had a heart a
gold, )

High school drop out smoked
his brains out and took a thousand
Trips (again, some say)
he had a silver lining to his mind

and that he used to lay in the woods
and speak with trees

(just a figurin' how to grow
his wings)

II.

So sorry painful soldier
with the music so loud
your ears are bleeding

and your just crashin cars
like they was candy
(she asked him once
why you so angry)

Takin vengeance on everything
around you
(sorry soldier that she smashed your
heart like a piece of ice with the
cosmic/karmic sledgehammer)

He built sheds to protect his machines
fragile american iron of black and chrome
dangerous spitting animal of violent
combustion

III.

So the soldier returns to
the roots of his maternal
ancestors (brooklyn, flatbush and
such)

Arms himself with scholarly dignity
reads the masters and Chaucer and
Derrida, and Foucault and all them
wizards

So he's partially covered in tattoos
now with the whiskey smile of a hundred
goddesses swirling in his aura
(an aura polluted with Asia and western
poison)

IV.

bathed in the purity of a doorway
out of the past
(slip between the clouds when she's not
looking
whisper goodbye in the twilight morning
in between the worlds)

Thursday, October 23, 2014

We had so much
power in those nights

vibe-high on the
molecules we shared
breath of angels

burned by the light
we shed during some
kind of karmic
fission

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

I'd like to unlock
the mystery between 
us 

whatever the universe 
has hidden inside each 
other 
for us
I think if
Jesus were here
today he'd probably
ride a club style Dyna,

All blacked out
custom fab'd straight pipes
smoked windscreen

Some trick engine
mods he wouldn't tell
anybody
about
Do we all run
find something to hide behind
Mountains of lives
tumbling endlessly

Music reciprocating
mellifluously through
space-time
I think I've been
in exile for some
time now,

Wandering my way,
(weaving my way)
Home to you