August 12, 2015

does it matter that I like to mix my metaphors heavy-handedly...

Dorothea Tanning, 'The Guest Room' (1950-1952) ©

does it matter that I like to mix my metaphors heavy-handedly 

this poem is abstractly about:
sex in a church 
without the pretenses 
that dreams undermined 
with booze usually work

and whether you're into 
helping souls weather 
the new or old world 
from which they 
had come from, you are
temporarily stuck here 
a stanza in the beginning...


to me 
in fear 
and snidely high ...
life is a veneer  
a piece-meal city 
a town, village or small camp
churning social factory and style
flatware and table manners  
for all ages...


(robots are going to make food 
eventually from humans, so we might as well 
be both battery and seed)

(overlapping overheard 
poem walking my mind's eyes 
driving home)

don't be colored 
old, young, sick 
or poor in America 
the new Jerusalem 
is hungry 
for your defiance 

under imperial eyes
Christendom has come 
from the rafters 
to steal the rain 
and poison the wells

don't tell us 
we are a racist nation...
we know this implicitly 
with or without lane changes 
we pull ourselves over 
and along with
morphing hope into signs, 
we've painted confinements 
into our read lines 
and monthly payments 
passing buck and blame, 
imaginary or not 
we play the games... 
crumbs and stones 
go find yourself in 
forests and homes 
hone your survival 
within the grand chaos 
of progress as life 
as musical chairs

your name is insignificant 
your power rests 
in how much pain 
you drink your humanity with


(automobilia pimp and cunt, wait...are the red lights here, 
a district or song) 

pinching grace 
can be an art 

we transit 
sky calling 
to palms down dirty 
sacred houses 
and hallowed grounds 
we transit 
fruiting our labor 
more and more 
for those who guard 
oligarchical hierarchy 
stored two dimensions 
the bent shuns 
and little bits 
of light let in

open door entrances 
coupled to subtle exits 

hear ye we 
invite thee
to all great halls 
to forge and forgive 
all your sin 
no matter 
intent, content 
or size therein
most prayers are made 
to serve yourself 
a coffin-ized 
we just plan 
to take advantage 
of your need 
and situation

sing with me 
the riddle of the sphinx 
as a scent of nefertiti 

cradle to little bed 
then trundle king cottage 
and spoon fed again 

<fade to black 
darkened room 
open window 
your eyes adjusted 
thin curtain billowing>

sing with me
                           you whisper 
sing with me
                           I am 

leaving most things 
open to interpretation 
guide your own measures 
control or surrender 
life as a willful purpose 
is a no-brainer, a never-ender 


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