|photo by Debra and Dave Vanderlaan ©|
(fucking with my personalized anarchy
asking myself are the keys wooden with iron teeth)
yes I will always want to get high every day
but not to feel but rather to not feel
numb is my dumb-ing down crusade
as pervasive as getting laid
to stave off reality one orgasm at a time
are we humans always going to be
an un-welcomed interloping species
brought aboard a cargo vessel
coming up rivers from oceans
of sway discovery and currents
do I pay you or the after life
and how much is the deferment
of my reality going to cost me
in happy times before I die
of being not so comfortable
with the choices I have made so far ...
oh the poem doesn't mean hope is dead
but rather it is secreted away
somewhere dust will gather
and settle upon it ...
a waiting discovery of poems
and metaphors for bodily fluids
an old typewriter sits
and you the goddess of poem-land
my wide hipped maternal
to infernal pixie whipped watching
do you too wonder what I'll do
will I love them/you/her too
and rarely be myself enough
to pass the test
of blessed imbalances
of being here
of today finding
there might be yet
to stay alive ...
it is Spring in the Hudson Valley
and that is the best kind of purpose
to witness ...
time to fly a kite for awakening underworlds ...
let's go fishing for demons who know that angels
are sometimes wolves in sheep's clothing ...
why we humans would
worship anything but ourselves
is beyond my comprehension ...
did I mention dogma is an am god saying things
we already know in our hearts, minds and souls
churches are holes whole crutch therapy
and no different than the crack I've smoked
put that in your bibles, below the belts and bras ...
administer to me why ... we are made of animal and spirit
this seems an in-completion or rather
a bad day at the office
for one god syndrome-automatic-a
can we get a re-boot
or a chimney sweep
to clean the hearth
give me witches and wizards
ghosts and goblins
harpies and changelings
for I know
they keep beauty
hidden for a reason
and with every season
a shorter and shorter
a more disposable
brand of humanity ...
are we ridden
like a Trojan horse
of course we are
that's why I keep my
honey in the dark