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.
Showing posts with label Astral War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Astral War. Show all posts
The Truth about Mary
War times and magic,
the albatross suffers
from the working will
of a wanting world.
Dance me out of your spirit,
if you can honey,
with the rythmn moving
you ever closer though
to my open stomach.
Gothic aphrodisiacs,
blue amphetamines
with the red stripe
down the middle,
hot lesbians on the subway,
tearful goodbyes in airports,
dial 9 to phone a number outside
this hospital room,
tortured minds stumbling down alleyways, and
still many nations bleed
on the cement of our
white collared bellies.
Swear words in German
like fuck and cunt etched
into the wall of the bathroom stall
I sat in for three hours
while he decided whether to take
me prisoner as his hanged man:
crypts of dead pharisees
and godly hallucinations.
Creep through you,
slither in and out,
vertigo prophecy
and cheap liquor.
Goddamn you,
send me a white lie sign
because the Devil in me
is taking over,
and you like that,
don't you?
Anarchy and sex drives
just make me want to hide
in my closet sometimes,
close the door and breathe
so very heavily in the dark,
which I do offen
when you upset me.
Hide and seek,
theatre erections and perfume
that reminds me of winter and cum.
Wet bodies,
a tattoo of Ishtar,
the goddess of war and sex,
on the back of your neck:
fucking in the bed of a pick-up truck,
in the grass behind your house,
on the concrete in your driveway,
even when I didn't want it,
you never heard me anyway
so I just shut up after awhile.
True in my memory,
as if time wore suspenders
and spoke with a cockney accent,
though in my experience she keeps
her mouth shut to spare you of her pain,
a deep red trench of grief and impotence,
and this I understand,
because her eyes give away
many of her secrets.
She was raped in that small red room
as a trumpet
sat on it's stand
and the ceiling fan whined about the view.
And yet,
she crawled out of the void
and re-entered the earth's atmosphere,
awakened magic through volcanic rebirth,
as I suppose her father had instructed her to do,
before he died
and was under the ground
somewhere in Michigan.
the albatross suffers
from the working will
of a wanting world.
Dance me out of your spirit,
if you can honey,
with the rythmn moving
you ever closer though
to my open stomach.
Gothic aphrodisiacs,
blue amphetamines
with the red stripe
down the middle,
hot lesbians on the subway,
tearful goodbyes in airports,
dial 9 to phone a number outside
this hospital room,
tortured minds stumbling down alleyways, and
still many nations bleed
on the cement of our
white collared bellies.
Swear words in German
like fuck and cunt etched
into the wall of the bathroom stall
I sat in for three hours
while he decided whether to take
me prisoner as his hanged man:
crypts of dead pharisees
and godly hallucinations.
Creep through you,
slither in and out,
vertigo prophecy
and cheap liquor.
Goddamn you,
send me a white lie sign
because the Devil in me
is taking over,
and you like that,
don't you?
Anarchy and sex drives
just make me want to hide
in my closet sometimes,
close the door and breathe
so very heavily in the dark,
which I do offen
when you upset me.
Hide and seek,
theatre erections and perfume
that reminds me of winter and cum.
Wet bodies,
a tattoo of Ishtar,
the goddess of war and sex,
on the back of your neck:
fucking in the bed of a pick-up truck,
in the grass behind your house,
on the concrete in your driveway,
even when I didn't want it,
you never heard me anyway
so I just shut up after awhile.
True in my memory,
as if time wore suspenders
and spoke with a cockney accent,
though in my experience she keeps
her mouth shut to spare you of her pain,
a deep red trench of grief and impotence,
and this I understand,
because her eyes give away
many of her secrets.
She was raped in that small red room
as a trumpet
sat on it's stand
and the ceiling fan whined about the view.
And yet,
she crawled out of the void
and re-entered the earth's atmosphere,
awakened magic through volcanic rebirth,
as I suppose her father had instructed her to do,
before he died
and was under the ground
somewhere in Michigan.
Traveling Circus
Lilith's vengeance
on my breath,
I storm through
your body,
awake chakras,
open up
the dark and light places,
now to enter the unknown.
Under the ground
of the circus
is where we begin.
The caterpillar responds
in smoke:
Who are you?
Cloudbursts frame the sky,
we are dying
and you are shaking
your fists,
yet still our bodies
crumble like the
sacred mockingbird and bee
in their cages,
collecting dust and anger.
You smother me,
I regain consciousness
and you stare,
waiting for a fucking
thank you,
Judas lies again.
I woke up,
felt a doll pulled by puppet strings,
and knew something
was wrong,
stirring in my stomach.
My head is spinning
from the visions
that haunt me
through the swamp,
and that desperate fog,
ice on my brain.
We continue,
up the mountain,
our paths
creating beauty
in a hazy world.
on my breath,
I storm through
your body,
awake chakras,
open up
the dark and light places,
now to enter the unknown.
Under the ground
of the circus
is where we begin.
The caterpillar responds
in smoke:
Who are you?
Cloudbursts frame the sky,
we are dying
and you are shaking
your fists,
yet still our bodies
crumble like the
sacred mockingbird and bee
in their cages,
collecting dust and anger.
You smother me,
I regain consciousness
and you stare,
waiting for a fucking
thank you,
Judas lies again.
I woke up,
felt a doll pulled by puppet strings,
and knew something
was wrong,
stirring in my stomach.
My head is spinning
from the visions
that haunt me
through the swamp,
and that desperate fog,
ice on my brain.
We continue,
up the mountain,
our paths
creating beauty
in a hazy world.
War paint
New skeletons are marching
against the rythmn of the angels.
Teeth grinding,
sweat dripping,
bones crunch together
to break the staggering sunlight.
Knock, knock,
the doctor enters
to fix my fits of spirit.
You starve me
into silence.
Warpaint glistens,
footprints remark on the weather
and the whisper of anarchy.
The traffic light
is turning green.
Time is ticking,
muses are awakening.
against the rythmn of the angels.
Teeth grinding,
sweat dripping,
bones crunch together
to break the staggering sunlight.
Knock, knock,
the doctor enters
to fix my fits of spirit.
You starve me
into silence.
Warpaint glistens,
footprints remark on the weather
and the whisper of anarchy.
The traffic light
is turning green.
Time is ticking,
muses are awakening.
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