For my father,
to Mr. Ginsberg with your radical feeling even with the concrete in your hands and the blood in your stigmata. And to the mirrors in all of us staring back through the eyes...
My Fellow Torrents of space and please God immunity to pill addictions, my brothers in Nashville, painting signs, screaming in your brain for mercy- I hear you in my sleep and dance out your angers and sorrows on carpet floors, city halls across the northeast, hotel rooms in swank cities in Maine.
You kingdoms without castles, I praise your illuminary methods- we smoke and fuck, feel free to live, possessive of our each breathing moment, I am old.
To haze, we raise our hands, count our holies, laugh and spit on sidewalks with cigarettes and the sky abandoning you and I in dustbowl Georgia, and we turn into the night as she takes you down. Be aware, ever patient with our falling angels- the circus trains their animals, shock treatments, beast tamers, purple pills and coughing, hacking, vomit, and swirls of the saints.
I miss my father who died with a whimper in a parking lot in Minnesota. It may be true that I am a glimmer of him, though time and fog pass. And yet the madhouse calls, creeps into dreams and fucks me when I least expect it to.
There were rapes in kitchens across even my America, I rocked back and forth to blind out my eyes of these crimes against, truth be told, us. In the end our sisters and friends- violent violet acts held in suspense in courtrooms in Ohio, Texas, Kansas, and on...not guilty verdicts for repeat offenders and women writing on walls of bathroom stalls on my trip through massachusets about their monsters, sexual abuse and bloody faces.
You know these girls, kiss these phantoms in the night, give them pleasure after the war crimes are over, bringing them light, my gentlemen and ladies loverly.
Reclaim your knighthood in the evening with spiced rum and matches of chess, sitting on a dock in rhode island, listening to Edith Piaf on the turntable- we talk Faust, the magician, the curse we carry through the nightfall. Hollow the walls, we light them electric with syrup sweet kisses and sex and hot heavy mornings.
Russian dolls are calling out to their masters, striving for rebellion, revolt the puppet hierarchy and their breathing habits, their dank creditors, their feeble mindless chatter; Orphans unite and together take down that foul beast brother "sin"- the guilt to heavy, not fucking worth it.
Laugh out loud, forget fears that leave the Hanged Man to cry further. Rise above your five senses, my fire brethren, I beg you. Heaven is in the breath, the moon sends her love- Leave the Voodoo up to me.
Wacky tours of Chattanooga give us glow that festers us awake, wide eyed we succumb to rythmns of hauntings and smoothe melodies. Bend and twist with me, we together are divine. Stretch it out, make it last, give in, against better judgment even, and leave panting and open to experience the beauty the world arround you has to give. Gypsy friends, Roma- hear me, through the blood lost and the harsh water, we move and carry forward, masked and shaking.
High heels, lipstick seraphim, giving blow jobs on 9th street, sisters in brothels putting those stockings on, mothers having sex with their husbands in Nebraska, laughing together afterwards in the shower. I praise you! Lesbians in downtown Boston holding hands brings tears of joy to my eyes every damn time, I praise you high! You are majesty in a moment.
In alleys with beautiful women, cum and fuck and asshole and serenity, mouth, tongue, lips together and apart. We collide and witness sublime forensical fantasies, alchemy in the form of the ever- changing eye. The pyramid still winks at you from under the sand and water in desolate dreams. The dragons of fire and ice awake and smoke, glisten in the sunlight like a stream in Mumbai
who starts to talk to the natives again after many years of silence: talks of the coming storms, great fissures in the crust and sky, lights and howlings from deep within the earth. The great war is upon us. Foster the twilight, it's time to wake up.
The Witch Doctor Visions
I was born into the hands
of a laughing demon
in the back room of an apothecary
in New Orleans
circa 1617.
Let it be known that
when the witch doctor stared
into my red eyes,
the moment of my first cries,
he sucked air into his mouth fast,
held his breath for 45 seconds
and then let it out with a deep sigh
that rattled the very walls
of that establishment
and then he groaned in disillusion.
I knew what he was thinking
and thus I responded
with a haunted growl,
the flock of ravens
sitting on the tombstones
across the street
took flight in whispers
and soft hisses.
Meanwhile,
in a small village in
modern day Pakistan,
a rebel for the white knight
mounts his horse,
shouts into the sky
an old religious curse
on the land
and leads his soldiers
to the center of the town-
he was told to leave no survivors
and he is a man who follows directions.
I could hear the screams
from where I lay,
mass graves leave an energy imprint
on our DNA,
Templar fever is spreading.
Approximately one hour after the slaughter,
a 23 year old man awakes
from his nightmare sweating
and turns to his Russian wife:
"wake up,
that fucking bastard
killed even the children
in that little town
with the tip of his
thrusting sword,
into their chests,
drinking their blood.
Soar with me to the 21st century,
watch the goth teens
down that one alley in Brooklyn,
shooting up heroin again,
standing in the shadows,
waiting for hot legs to walk by and bother-
just because,
"hell, there's nothing else
to do in this fucking lame town."
Sitting in my shower,
taking crawlspace intuition
deeper into wonderland,
I fall into the rabbit hole
and wait for the secrets
to unfold in the basement
where my astral body lands:
Joan bennet Ramsey and her father,
painted faces,
sad eyebrows and dark horses
swarm around me.
I cough and the man
standing in the corner
by the window steps into view,
he laughs and disgusts me.
I jolt awake and vomit out the sinister maniac
with the wild beast hair
hanging in his face.
I watched him murder that poor child
with a plastic bag and a hair tie,
and after a night like this one,
I will never be the same.
All the visions I have,
I carry with me into the daytime,
but I won't tell you every image-
most I take with me to the sea
with the moon
shining and smiling on the water.
of a laughing demon
in the back room of an apothecary
in New Orleans
circa 1617.
Let it be known that
when the witch doctor stared
into my red eyes,
the moment of my first cries,
he sucked air into his mouth fast,
held his breath for 45 seconds
and then let it out with a deep sigh
that rattled the very walls
of that establishment
and then he groaned in disillusion.
I knew what he was thinking
and thus I responded
with a haunted growl,
the flock of ravens
sitting on the tombstones
across the street
took flight in whispers
and soft hisses.
Meanwhile,
in a small village in
modern day Pakistan,
a rebel for the white knight
mounts his horse,
shouts into the sky
an old religious curse
on the land
and leads his soldiers
to the center of the town-
he was told to leave no survivors
and he is a man who follows directions.
I could hear the screams
from where I lay,
mass graves leave an energy imprint
on our DNA,
Templar fever is spreading.
Approximately one hour after the slaughter,
a 23 year old man awakes
from his nightmare sweating
and turns to his Russian wife:
"wake up,
that fucking bastard
killed even the children
in that little town
with the tip of his
thrusting sword,
into their chests,
drinking their blood.
Soar with me to the 21st century,
watch the goth teens
down that one alley in Brooklyn,
shooting up heroin again,
standing in the shadows,
waiting for hot legs to walk by and bother-
just because,
"hell, there's nothing else
to do in this fucking lame town."
Sitting in my shower,
taking crawlspace intuition
deeper into wonderland,
I fall into the rabbit hole
and wait for the secrets
to unfold in the basement
where my astral body lands:
Joan bennet Ramsey and her father,
painted faces,
sad eyebrows and dark horses
swarm around me.
I cough and the man
standing in the corner
by the window steps into view,
he laughs and disgusts me.
I jolt awake and vomit out the sinister maniac
with the wild beast hair
hanging in his face.
I watched him murder that poor child
with a plastic bag and a hair tie,
and after a night like this one,
I will never be the same.
All the visions I have,
I carry with me into the daytime,
but I won't tell you every image-
most I take with me to the sea
with the moon
shining and smiling on the water.
Enough.
Bloody love and tears,
Jesus- just look at me
and fucking say it,
I want to hear those
pill induced "truths"
spit out of your hot mouth:
you don't love me,
Boy doll stupid.
Kill me just once more,
please baby,
and ha-
write you out of my sucken spirit,
sink into the mad hatter
to stop the crying
and the horrifying sanity.
Oh, don't worry,
morning sickness,
sex between best friends,
I push,
you pull,
and come around again.
And now you sleep
while I feel you loving her,
hurting me and
pretending not to notice.
Daft puppet,
apathetic tyrant,
you make me so very tired.
I suppose I regret falling
in love with you,
happy monster,
you drained me of my self-assurance.
Knowing nothing anymore,
lie to me a little longer
because I need that from you,
I guess, hell,
I don't know.
Nightmare intuition
be gone
from my skull!
I loathe these images
that flash in my head,
jesus turn them off,
I beg you-
before I break
and never regain my fallen angel mythos.
And don't tell me
you understand,
because honey, you don't.
Schizophrenic mayhem abides
in the twilight,
ever lurking
like a virus that's
knocking at your back door:
"I want in," he screams,
"and I know you can fucking hear me."
Join the circus with me,
the inner freakshow in you
always smirks at me in the dark,
inviting my energy to slip inside you
when you're not paying attention.
And deep underneath you,
I know you love it.
Jesus- just look at me
and fucking say it,
I want to hear those
pill induced "truths"
spit out of your hot mouth:
you don't love me,
Boy doll stupid.
Kill me just once more,
please baby,
and ha-
write you out of my sucken spirit,
sink into the mad hatter
to stop the crying
and the horrifying sanity.
Oh, don't worry,
morning sickness,
sex between best friends,
I push,
you pull,
and come around again.
And now you sleep
while I feel you loving her,
hurting me and
pretending not to notice.
Daft puppet,
apathetic tyrant,
you make me so very tired.
I suppose I regret falling
in love with you,
happy monster,
you drained me of my self-assurance.
Knowing nothing anymore,
lie to me a little longer
because I need that from you,
I guess, hell,
I don't know.
Nightmare intuition
be gone
from my skull!
I loathe these images
that flash in my head,
jesus turn them off,
I beg you-
before I break
and never regain my fallen angel mythos.
And don't tell me
you understand,
because honey, you don't.
Schizophrenic mayhem abides
in the twilight,
ever lurking
like a virus that's
knocking at your back door:
"I want in," he screams,
"and I know you can fucking hear me."
Join the circus with me,
the inner freakshow in you
always smirks at me in the dark,
inviting my energy to slip inside you
when you're not paying attention.
And deep underneath you,
I know you love it.
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