July 19, 2016

i've hope for you yet, another beaten beat poem ...

Hymnal 69-OU812 
(the rumored vonnegut to hunter s routine melody 
was chaos vanguard squeeze lemon tree divinity 
while watching being watched)

Okay Poem America, 
 it is after midnight 
on the East coast 
cricket seduce 
yourself, a quiet and 
repeat after me ...

"I will be taking 
an extraordinarily
large dose of LSD, first..."

I want wont 
coal glow face 
because I knew 
know porter intent 
was a Broadway 
Hudson piano man 
a lent scent 
cat's cradle too ...

can you pull the trigger with my back turned walking away 
from the fight in which you learned my spirit cannot be broken 
(y) your lack of humanity is a race car 
a race war a raw rack and stretch 
it is the truth stretched out 
over the hot coals of mesmerification 
amidst our cultural adhesions 
slow burn-drip-collection 
agencies of the fat of the land ... 

the anunnaki gold mining 
operations in south africa unleashed 
ancient gauntlet-ized mandela effects  
a shooting gallery 
when and where memory 
was and is supposed to be
fish bones or souls ...

chasing march hares 
is dive variant flight patterns 
you repeat to yourself 
falling is flying when buying 
the island you see 
nothing but yourself 
until death does its part ...

the wars were misinformative sloggeries by now no news but 
inform the nation of massive shifts of consciousness by little 
drippy bits of truth at a time slathered in ointment and jellies 
with just a remnant touch of former life-doms fiefdoms 
ease the pain 

"... discovering you are dna fodder 
for advanced civilizations 
that have been coming to earth 
for millennia to fuel and re-fuel 
themselves while giving us illusions 
of folding and folded in on 
ourselves trying to bind ourselves 
to the idea of a singularity when 
none has been known to exist 
outside of the phone booths 
we slide into 
to go to places 
we've painted 
with scented memory 
signposts of our familiar ..."

from a piece written because today happens to be in the way of tomorrow ...  
accidental incendiary 
mauling manuals 
and martyrdom  
the radio plays both kinds 
country and western 

  " ... i am caught in your forest pretense and i am terribly sorry your world at large is burning, but while i do have a heavy gasoline smell on my hands and bad intentions where my heart and eyes used to be ... i was too tired to strike a match tonight but even as tomorrow never knows, and no, i do not mind at all, watching the ash climb and scream former thee, with my face and skin aglow with what you used to be, this part of the poem, a brightly alive, a once again for a moment or two, burning to attend to you ... though, i will admit i wanted to be the one who set fire to your life as it lies but i cannot lay claim this sweet accidental spoil i have happened upon on my way to dreamland, tonight ..."

a rote submission :
love demands, prayer too 
ten fingers clasped, church and pew 
but there is no pen to paper 'round 
that can hear you tell time your stories 
nose open, eyes closed no poem or sound 
you promise to wake and spy 
the glories 
and hallelujahs 
of when the world 
of words takes leave 
for home ...

i went about playing river side wet clay diorama god torture to 
titillation appeals the processes were strip mining to subtle 
fabric culls thread pulls tags out and you knew to avoid certain \
fates when needing language of escape i had a pocket of coins 
different faces different places to ride off to when we start to 
believe in disbelief as the ultimate truth soothing sayer ... 

dream sequence my body given to growths natural and cured 
with artifice and the imaginative circuses of the human mind 
allowed to wander freely without dimension-ality strapped to a 
rein-less saddle grab hold manes kid for in this ride you might 
just give your eyes to smell yourself again ...

war soul paint job everyone wants the new tattoo symbolism 
did you get it ... music cannot be stopped ... topped with 
physical at tempts at erogenous precipiced near perfection with 
anticipation tied down and voila ...

we are permanently crossroaded 
and indecision will plague 
the simian brain structure 
with a logic based paradigm 
of sacred scared scarred ... 

the ghost aint
tables that are able 
to guide the wise 
but only through care 
to notice do fools 
surrender to initiations 
which run the gamut 
from degradation 
to soul gifting bottle 
and dry goods store fronts 
places where wear can 
a spirit be 
or sold 
on its terms 
or infinity's ... 

liberation armies all fight 
in god's name 
women fight god 
the goddess laughs 
directs the rain 
her water remembers 

she knows this 
we know this 
bliss knows this 
the sage in the mountains 
knew to lock away guns 
she knew never to say 
they were coming 
to enlist and enslave 
conclavity depravity 
and sewing circles 
keep your hounds 
nearby ...

in the barn 
on the rafters 
we've hung things to dry ...

winter the seeker 
is coming nigh 
autumn the color whore 
says why must I 
give up my party dress 
to bless the womb 
you cover hole 
hold anyway ...


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