Elements and Breathing Habits

Oh Muse,

why so harsh and

swiftly away

again

as of late,

taking tea with bloodbath hands

and fake memories

implanted in the

dusty head of

suicide trees,

the winking moon,

poor Dante and his

fall of man,

and Jesus did weep,

in the end,

that was more

a beginning,

when you think about it.

I choked down tears,

talks with the

sandstorms
stirring outside my window frame,

drainpipes fucked up on toxins,

fornication governments
all of which lead
straight for the

dear wild wisdom oceans

that tossed and turned me

into my nightmare reveries
ever to awake my spirit with

gnashing lusty teeth
inside my own head,
following me to 

the star-lighted

sky

who groans for no man,

just fire-breathers

to mix with her

ferocious flames,

purge her icy waters,

be underneath her in the earth.

Fortune telling

came so natural to me,

like the urge

to ride your face,

it was instinct,

not something that

I even,

necessarily,

asked for,

ugh,

I hated my visions

most of the time,

damned me forever

to loneliness, and

spirits were the only

ones who seemed to care

anymore,

on this weary plane

of egos and

alcoholics,

cancer treatments,

and misery,

always seemed to find me,

on that yellow bricked

road

to nasty and

divinity.

And I tried so hard

to howl loud enough

so you could hear my thoughts,

staining the walls of your bedroom,

understand and move

with me,

my wasting away

into death thoughts

and love,

perhaps,

in the light,

that took me,

thank god,

away from here. 

Blood Bridges over Baghdad

Dreaming in the meantime,

she coughs and listens to the radio

that plays in her head.

Lifelines and muses come and go,

and in the television show,

bodies on display for bedtime companions.

I got a phone call from the reaper

wanting business advice.

Spurning the darkness,

I run into the forests and moors

of my homeland,

crickets and faeries

chirping in the distance

as we sing the songs of the whispering trees

at midday on a Thursday in june and july.

Though I heard the church chorus sing

from the bathroom,

I didn’t expect Jesus

to be sitting in the stall

next to mine,

smoking a cigarette,

and weeping for the beauty

that wafts through the vents-

unarmed verses of harmony,

into our veins it plummets,

changing our history.

Yet still, our blood bridges over Baghdad,

sniper eyes in the skies,

rockets raining down on civilians,

for the American dreams and beauty queens.

Walking in Between the Air

Walking in Between the Air

I wish I could stop the screaming.
I want freedom from the tyranny of the astral world,
the spiritual world has been taken over
and its leaders seem cramped and claustrophobic,
all crumbled up in the closet.
I will not inject strychnine,
nor morphine or heroines.
I have had enough of this blasphemy.

Let’s re-script and re-inscribe
with new Jesus walks.
Empathy had it’s place,
in every moment of my life,
a good lesson to learn,
and patience for things to come.

I want to burn the barn down,
start over with new stages and pages,
a different play to perform,
this one is a bit too close to home,
hurts the skin to see it so.

I can’t stay in the basement any longer,
it is time to see the sun again.
I am ready.
If I came up,
through the ashes,
the burnings and scars,
the ice water, hot water,
vapors that choke thin the breath,
air squeezed through a tube.

There just seems to be blood everywhere I look,
in dreams,
in movies,
in life.
There is just too much death
and talk of sin.
Let us be people:
complicated in chaos theory,
redefining our frames, funnels,
chessboards.
Keep your head looking up.

new poem: forget/ Rated R

Do you ever feel like you’ve seen things so horrible,

that you will do almost anything to forget these things.

I just want to forget,

I don’t care the cost,

the dollar,

the alcohol,

the girls and boys,

the styles and schemes,

the songs,

all is worth

the ability to forget.

There were spills and perfumes,

I don’t know,

I can’t remember,

dreams are so real,

like you could reach out

and touch them, you, me.

I suffer when you don’t hear me,

I can’t get that beat out of my head,

so much lost for the price of getting

one person’s attention.

Commit to asylums if you must,

but there must be a better way

out of this mess.

I just can’t seem to remember

the way out of here,

this hole, this tunnel,

this rock and roll hideaway.

I call to the gods of the west,

the hierophants of our remembrance,

the fathers of ghosts and shadows,

must stand and rise and dance into the light,

another time to help us,

once again.

I know I write so much lately,

instead of saying the words out loud,

to you,

but I have become shy and loyal

to the older version of yourself,

that faint glimmer in the mirror,

of a past life,

of brilliance.

Call to the goddesses of the North,

High East,

You are needed to calm the waters,

give us our patience and our strength,

Mary with her Jesus,

watching him give in again.

I sprang awake,

at the thought of war,

oh lord, it is too soon,

we are tired,

Great God,

but God insists to keep on,

though we are weary.

Call to the gods and goddesses

of the Southern plane,

Our native brethren,

call to our energies,

together bring out,

the New Age,

Aquarius is the leader now,

support will be needed for prophets,

changers and shakers,

bring us some ark angels to guide our

strange and weary way.

Prepare say Elijah,

it is the time of legends foretold,

We are coming,

these beacons of the light,

these demonized originals,

we shall rain,

in some hoards and dark nights are ahead.

It is the Mark of the Beast

that growls in the dark unknown,

let us light fire to his dungeons,

and raise him up to see in his eye,

We are here for only a little longer,

maybe.

I am being told from all corners,

we are out of time and fantasy

still distracts us from our

ultimate task.

I call out in the night,

Sanctuary, Sanctuary!

Hollow hallow be the able

to look our savior in the eye,

we will join together,

see through the fog and reach

the labyrinth,

the journey ends and begins

and ends and begins again.

I call to the moon,

we are here,

spirits in red and velvet purple,

we are colors

of the rainbow,

delight and delicate,

each of us to the other,

we are all together mourning

and celebrating a new sun to rise.

Horrible things to see,

to experience,

I hurt,

like screams from inside,

I am taped up,

trapped and sunk,

eyes to dark to see anymore.

I was “other-ed” to seek out,

some med or new style.

Cathedrals are bloody

and hallucinate

bleeding Maries,

Jesus hanged on his cross,

and welcoming in a new era.

Even to write this,

to print these words to the page,

I hear my demons scream

from inside the closet,

they are hungry,

and want out to play.

I am weak

from remembering so much,

so many events,

circus like acts,

man-made icons,

all Hollywood stars

and contracts with

the government.

Let us pray for safety,

for ourbrains,

our beating hearts

fluttering in the breezes of Neptune.

We swam in dank,

dark waters.

Covered bat,

sleeping pills,

skipping around in time,

haunted by visions,

afraid of the dark

and of being all alone in the world.

We are not as such.

We are fierce

Viking-horned

women that face

the trials of hegemony

head on.

Ice cream hostages,

painted and starving patrons of the arts.

In winter time

we are ahh yes,

just the players

in the game of chess.

End of the War - 2012

She had been fractured into just pieces of light, now, in this place of dark creepings and screams from the underworld. God give her grace in the ways that she can’t even ask for or that she even knows how to, what to say. You are not alone. I bleed and twitch in the brain just as you do. Do not laugh because there is nothing funny going on in the world that I can see. I had slipped through the cracks in the sidewalk that I skipped down when I was much younger, generations younger. In a time when there was still space to breathe, even in the dirty streets of Chicago. Please don’t distract me from the inevitable weeping and tearing of clothes. I bled ashes from the days when Christ walked the earth, so she told me.

Poor Mary to be swept up in the tempest that Shakespeare struggles with in later times. I can’t stand to see him gripping the sides of his pain and his bed. Teacups crashed to the floor on a regular basis in my family. I wanted more than anything to dance the nerves and the red energy out of the toxicity of my bones but no moves came, not even old ones that I knew by heart, walking and grinning from ear to Cheshire ear. Lies were so much easier, I love you.

Don’t bother staying around cause I was the asteroid to hit the world in the year 2012.