Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Strangers in Paradise

Another old piece, but a favorite of mine.

Strangers in Paradise



Your heart shimmers under perfect suns,

it's godly gold, I'm godly under you.

Through steps over scattered minds,

navigate my sun, navigate my son.

Skip rope with heartstrings, under big shadowy chocolate factories.

Intoxicate my sun, intoxicate my son.

Big checkerboard time-tables, heartless hometowns.

Michigan.

Lake Michigan.

Open fields forever, stained green with education ending at seven, dreams wrecked with reckless abandon. Endless tomorrows filled with quiet recognition and empty hallways.

No-ones coming to class, but the bells keep on ringing.

Graduation happens as a whole, class not kindred, whole, not hole, whole. Class of '79, Class of '80, class of '81, classic rock stations showing their age- badly. Classical music composed by dead presidents and Saint Bernards, showing their age. Badly. Honest constructs smitten with their own deaths, in love with an idea, the idea of an end. Something you and I still haven't gotten right, but we're still sophomores, we have two theoretical years to argue the rhetoric before fuck gets his way. Before fuck fucks us. Badly.

I've been sitting shotty my whole life brothers and sisters, and lovers, and teachers, I've been along for the ride, and I've been watching, observing, listening. Loving on it all. Loving on every bit of humanism indulging on hedonism, my inspiration-

Comes from pornography.

Faint hearts take shelter, no room for the married past this point, the poems done, serious, don’t worry about it, close the book, turn the page, whatever you got to do, cause it's done and you aint missin' nothin'.

Okay, you gone?

PORN.

FUCKING FUCKING, that's it, self-indulgent art under fire, under-siege, under churches, and politicians, and spokesmen, and lobbyist, taboo, hold your tongue young man, or you'll be choking on soap and tied up in dental floss. Clean, clean kids, no exceptions, sex ed, the devil, drugs, the devil, the homeless, the devil, doing as I do and not as I say, the devil, the golden rule, HUMAN nature brothers and sisters and lovers and teachers.

HUMAN

What makes us up - up above the heads and the fiends and the addicts and the animals.

Holding each other close on camera.

Strangers in paradise.

Pressed up against your lenses as you indulge in the un-indulgable. The forbidden. The sick. The dirty, dirty boys and girls, who fuck like Christ so you can indulge in their sins.

Not your own.

Your clean, mama made it that way.

She's a good woman, but boy did she fuck you up.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Firewood

Semi-old piece now, but a favorite for performance. Check it.

Will you ever let it go?
It's funny, cause when I look at you like this, you dont seem so far away.
You don't seem so gone.
I dont know if I'll ever be the same,
and I don't know if your'e the one who did this to me,
but time is short, and our lives are unpredictable, so what is life to you?
Do we really play with a full deck of where-tos and meant-to-bes?
Do we really play with a full deck at all, or at this point-
is it wishful thinking?
Life unfolds around you, for you, not because of you.
We unravel our own sweaters, and roll out our own golden carpet.
We spark the little changes, we dance the little lights in and out of play.
Behind every life.
State your subject matter, make it small.
It has to fit in the palm of my hand, only so many characters.
Fill your body with black ink and soul,
empty your every force on me,
slip it into the mail, seal it with a thank you to a god you dont believe in,
and trust me to still be in the same house next week.
It's a lot of faith for the faithless to have.
Something bigger is at play, but we cant get over ourselves long enough to really look at it.
We make a god in our image, without recognizing the true play on our stage.
You are not an actor.
Without you, there is no understudy, no stand-in.
The kissing scene just wouldnt be the same.
The scene where you walk away, blow a farewell forget-me-not and flap your wings.
Spell it out.
If we were so weak that you really needed me, how many poems would I forget to write?
We grow tall under the sun, we lite up like fireflies.
We lean on other branches, we discard what we dont need.
We never forget.
IN this forest of lost thoughts and transient continuum,
we collect dead flowers between the pages of unwritten books.
Books full of words and heartbroken authors.
We will never cease to see the sunlight,
no matter how much time gos by.
No matter how much moss grows upon my face.
We will always face a life, holding hands touched by the sun and moon.
Kissed by my goddess.
Press onward in the face of enlightenment.
The distance is never as great, time never as all consuming.
I will seek comfort and reason only after my body has failed me,
so that you may use me as firewood.

Monday, September 6, 2010

And Break

Break.
Consider this common sense.
Past tense literature.
Competitive science breast feeding art.
Deconstruction, abolition,
lost children of free form thought.
Taking grace.
Sweet drown hollow,
big city girl,
big pill to swallow.
Common sense.
Digress.
Decompress the living.
Exhalted and disemboweled,
the elderly lying open on cardboard cutouts of classrooms.
Scenic science.
Silence underlying, tight pieces of Flood.
Take truth.
Take honor.
Take heart and gold.
Take mother.
Take daughter.
Take the killer car crash, triple constructed, divine comedy.
Take onlookers and bystanders, all the hopes, all the dreams.
Every reality over-ruling your life-
Your liley hood.
Every most important thing held in higher heart.
Put your life on the line.
And Break.