Who Am I?
“Doubt is the origin of wisdom” – Descartes
Straight blond hair, bright blue eyes, exuberance
netting a white moth and glints of sun
Long Island ‘70s suburbia…
Metamorphosis stirs my silence
into identity through promise
and daily dying for too much beauty,
alone but sharing its blessings
I see how religion rests upon doubt
and how faith in it comes out of fear,
ultimately to live the omnipotence of now
What I think happens
is a self-projection lost in diversions,
is fear in the form of mercy and temptation
is death blowing through space
My prayer will be my pilgrimage
Part 1. The Photojournal
The Spirited Drummer
I approach out of obedience
The universe stirs a pulse
I channel the pattern that comes
Overlays, nuance, power
meter out and perform for you
interpret the Earth new for you
channel Lord Shiva
as if this were the last round of time
recalling how his hands repeatedly touched
Rave me in a gust for heaven
I feel worthy in its cavalcade…
Part 2. Homoerotica
or,
I swear I won’t tell anyone you read this
The Vampire’s Draw
Majestic, this flow, the muse of my heat
prowling forward sleeplessly,
indifferently, hungrily, through me, with me
Young men with effeminacy blush and
drop in rapture, lapping my forgiveness
clutching the jagged crucifix
Oh to know only this goodness,
where sway ghosts on blank walls
savoring their heaven until I withdraw
my fangs sufficed at dawn
And your recurring dreams I taste,
you adrift over houses and pine trees
in dark and fresh magic
Open your eyes inside mine
See us melt in the bliss of satisfaction,
the love I need in yours
My soul burns with the fuel of the
death of my chosen ones,
inferior and mortal
Where their memories are stored
I infiltrate and inhale
Blasphemous Desires
Sweet and earthy spices
along the Silk Road
His iron filaments thistle my spine
as a desert flash
The veneer of humanity is torn
Apostolic centaurs corralled, over-zealous
The scent and muscles intoxicate me
ravage me
They join in prayer circle
forming their strength
with gravitational pull,
making a ring of void
Fermented in yeast and musk
partake of the body
left alone in the dusk
Hammers go head-to-head
generating sparks,
whiplash along heaven’s arc
From cup to flood
fill my mouth with blood
sinking on my back
“Rancid Goddess”
(to be performed in a drag cabaret)
She stares as if the sun may rise somewhat oddly
as her remorse eats its own gravity
Her arousal over blasphemy haunts her state of eternal joy
A bag of mushroom buttons blooms her bottom up,
inside out turning her while obeying the twitch her limbs
her nervous system’s rancid nebulae strings
Then poof! She’s a pontiff aflame,
hand raised before the zealots below her cave,
a home whose inner colors venerate her rancid soul,
whose walls possess hand shadows caught in the rigors of prayer,
clutching scripture, petrified, pleading with “assholes”
who voted her into smallness
She wants only a crumb of God in a world
we hold unnecessarily low
An Old Broadway Diva Murders Her Younger Self
(to be performed in a drag cabaret)
--My life in this mirror, Here!--
--out in the open! petrified!--
(oh, once more for the world!)
--the directions, the stopped hiding--
--Once I graced the boulevard--
--I glamorized Broadway--
--for all, in the shadows and the fringe--
--I’m a show on what I did for you--
--on how I play you--
--how I'm a woman for you--
--and suddenly you come--
--to take me out--
--but the role is reversed--
--and ! ! dual bullets--
--she sees the script, she lets herself go--
--?oh do I drown hither?--
The Brotherhood of Bears in the Catskills
I stand with my big-bellied brothers,
like-minded men around a firepit of stones
roaring, passing pipe and herb
The jester of us souses hot coals with rude piss
The philosopher contemplates the “wrath of God”
as a projection
We acknowledge each other’s love for sex
masked behind firelight-tinged eyes, tilted shadows
We’re the withdrawing type who go deep, alone,
honoring each other’s personal mythologies,
flowing the power from below
when one plate of land undertakes another,
idling our lower-self which grounds our higher-self,
and with mountain spirit, we bond
Dvija
In a swirl of suns
among their permutations
her fan spreads open
presenting forty-seven horizons
before his eyes
and she asks
which one he fancies
Tonight I will solo in
exotic realms,
my masquerade fantasy
will come to fruition
She blows an offering of chemicals
that synthesize him
a vivid awareness
in what he hears in his twin earrings
whirring upward in pilot flames,
in flutes of blue sunrises
The Summation of the Hummingbird
The hummingbird shimmers as a religious icon
in the way it floats
whisking pre-experiential, pre-existential I AM
into peaks
The paradise trinity, The ultimate trinity, The absolute trinity
Always a Sunday of Advent,
it unfurls a confession
“of man’s first disobedience”
from the desire to disobey again
It gathers outer space in patterns of infinity
and hums above its wisdom
knowing deism will stir you up
to let yourself go
Part 3. World Peace
Pray with Me
The stillness within is the stillness
that is beyond the universe
There’s never nothing,
beliefs always come and
make a home out of somewhere
In my mind I was never heartless,
I was just an aspect of ego
seeing and convincing itself,
a sleepwalking reincarnate
who denies the one who stands in
the light of Christ
holding thousands and thousands of
crowns without centers
for the blind and singing homeless
Part 4. I Did It My Way
or,
An Interpretation of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War
I. Making Plans
My semblance mirrors your wonder
observing my arms and their
embrace of disempowerment,
my grin’s veracity,
my form’s dissuasion.
Swing your sword,
I am a breath
foiling your life
II. Waging War
I deceive your followers
into traveling through valleys
where clouds of ink
pen these torrents of guilt
that make them crumple their faith
Someone screams backward
his rage with its gravity
that he could have killed me already
III. Attack by Stratagem
Who am I, standing in
this column of smoke?
Do you remember
where you were?
My clairvoyance stirs
what no one witnesses:
Look at yourself
stuck in your shit,
unknown and friendless,
thinking how to escape
while sinking in dread
IV. Tactical Disposition
I ended your slave trade
so you’d resent me and,
after introspection,
hate yourself
We always wanted to
murder each other
but without my hands
you’d drop down
our endless chasm
Measurement owes its existence to Earth…
V. Energy
Seasons unroll,
landscapes alter,
planets in the sun’s pull
twinkle in the night;
the three dimensions form their
tales and stories:
nothing’s stopping Earth
from swinging away
but my will
Part 5. Myths, Legends, and Fairytales
Among the Standing Stones, Outside of Town
Let’s coddle as we wait for the shooting starstonight
They should be astounding over this stone circle
Our need for time is their medium, which they
scorch with their scoped omniscience
Let’s hail some down and tell them our wishes
before our backs get slowly stoned in the grass
I’ll count down for us to spring wildly-high,
and hopefully pocket a few so we can share
with others their mystical-magical properties
My sweetheart, please, keep loving me after dawn
when I lie down and become a stone for others,
for when I age into sand that lets others
walk on the water over me,
for when I’m the footnote
that lets others understand,
and in so doing, I’ll understand, too
Einstein’s Violin Solo
The arco veers across slanted water
He rosined a heaven-drawn path
along which mystical frequencies
are found, blending binaural sounds
into our minds via imagination
You are taken beyond angels and demons
strewn in parabolas, finding your way
out of labyrinthine errors,
dreaming up new theories with a
blazing climax, and you feel how you should
play my heart when you listen to it
Light is needed to relearn,
which to the muse is slow and
daydreamy, but beautiful
It carries astral reminiscence
into what your soul wants
and flashes denial blind
like nothing happened,
like you didn’t hear the wind
You turn dark before the absolute,
you a silver story of what’s possible,
who distilled the chords of
human readiness and gave
All that comes through is your faith
Coastal Mutants
Wet clay slab-like faces buckled under misuse,
eyes so homeless, sockets folded, broken-arm reach,
porn obsession in their view and why they preach
They lick voltage out of moist walls in self-abuse
over and in a psychological regression
that molds love in pathological depression,
and cowered back from glory they’re all depraved
into ever dire beings, disgraced
They’ll stick their fingers in you and taste
the chemicals that cause your rave
Part 6. Stoner’s Lounge
Totem faces sway their tongues
in the ocean spray,
lost in the holy tempest
My nerves are preparing for
what will be my world as I look at you
We walk the sea floors
in search of future mountain tops to ride
Perception in blending wheel’s dizzy
blend the past’s future with future’s past
coalescing imaginations
to one day know black hole perception
light-years-long my imagination
will take in the deepest perception
blended into shallow sensation
like this respiration as the last
Part 7. The Inferior Shakespearian Fringe Festival
What Would Polonius Do?
(Staring into a mirror, switching between comedy and tragedy masks)
Comedy: Fear no more the illusion of terror
for they are parachutes into grace
I’m drifting your mind away from error
helping you smile your tragedy face
Tragedy: Let’s rediscover what the ancients knew
preparing us for the next dimension
We’ll learn from a crisis what next to do
and how to reach the goal of ascension
Comedy: You said that to your own self you’d be true
from this day forward perform as you say
Drop old intentions and ask what to do
so that from this purpose you will not to stray
Tragedy: I know I’m heaven as well as mirror
as was and ever shall be a new face
with prophecies repeated clearer,
as Adam and Eve restarting their race
Elizabethan Sonnet
Your lower-self hides from your higher one,
whenever it’s called it’ll disappear,
bathing in the haze of the midnight sun
it lives an outline of prodigal fear
with hunger, begging for a stranger’s hand
So I send elation with crying eyes
out of love for what you don’t understand,
for Gaia who bears your birth and demise,
into whose wilds you scavenge for love
feeling yourself going out of your mind
and resurrect the roar, the beast, the slave
when led down paths of the primitive kind
But when you come back and look in my face,
find your sanity that fell out of place