His walk is like a song
not just any old song
but the kinda song
that Nina Simone
want to take on
put it on me, baby
his voice demands respect
the kind that you get
when you learn to
spell it from a song
r-e-s-p-e-c-t sister man
asking this of me
put it on me, baby
his smile a hidden clown
the joy bring kind
cause he's brave enough
to pull the hairs
from his chest
the kind that
asks in a 70s
kinda way
didn't I blow your mind
this time, didn't I
put it on me, baby
his feminine is strong
he bares it on
his shoulders
like his bravery he do
it is as beautiful as
embroider silk
and strong as kente cloth
he is the ancestral drums
that moves our hips
of who we be
put it on me, baby
his lovin' is like
my ace boon coon
the kind that people
seldom sing of
the kind that
poets breathe
their breath to
catch a whips of
put-it-on-me, baby
his touch touches
my lust it dispel
my fragile hurts
he tongue my embrace
I assure his gender
when he put it on me.
-
05-23-2011
Boys are more concern
with their muscles
they can not resist the run
it's all just boyish fun
boys kills more
creatures then girls
they tear off the
light of firefly
and wear it as a ring
boys are not mean
they are inquisitive about
creep crowing things
they are allowed
to get dirty
boys will play
with toy dolls and
toy guns just for fun
they love the
new electronic gadgets
boys learn to
hold their tears
to bite down
on their pain
they think girls
are wearied
in a girlish
kind of a way
boys like to
go fast to
give it all they got
on the swing
from which they jump
in mid air
and sand box
pouring sand into their hair
boys collect
natural things
like sea shells
and rocks
and stamps from overseas
boy takes the time
to closely examine things
boys are impatient
they have energy to spend
boys loves to throw
the farest the best
and boys like to bet
boys aren't afraid
of bad words
you will hear them
on their lips
boys can be cruel
to cats but hold
dogs with respect
boys look more
closely at dead things
and ask you why
the hark got
a pigeon in his mouth
boys like to play
will splashes in puddles
of dead rain
boys like to
explore far
and near
boys must be taught
to pull back and wash
the foreskin
boys will walk
the tight rope
of what it means
to be a boy
and they will
shadow box
and wrestler
with their friends
boys will pick a fight
to see how
far they can push
and pull the hair
of little girls
to say I like you
boys will shoot birds
with their bb guns
and break windows
with their balls
all in all
boys are made by
and boys are taught
that man knows best
without a doubt.
-
5-27-2011
I rolled down
my tongue so that
he could take
a strode and
my nameless owning
the carders of my ears
bullets was
shot from my
nostrils they
ripped the image
of the fair skinned Christ
who offed me
a stagger of tabernacles
the lines in my face
was tasks that
I never got around to
offer me water to
shade my love of youngsters
offer me me relief
from the fire
of your touch
when grief
stalks me pass a
nameless rolls of Negroes
digging out
the eyes of
white soldiers
who killed the
last meaning
of being free.
-
all my stones
are praying amen
to the lost winds
that never played together
the tears of the fire hydrant
spit at the red light
and the yellow caution
me against my go-go
this spring the flowers
are over dressed
and some little boy
is waving a flag of toad stools
catch me if I got
it wrong
the birds are using discarded
plastic to build their homes
wild grass is growing from
the squirrel's under belly
and when I have the time
I will be picking at the
of my black skin
digging a hole to let you in
blow the nose of my pet pea
my pet butterfly named
Charlie then go home
from this poem.
-
O night O day
O once again
O stay I am
the sucker thief
I steal fore skins
to ware as a ring
O rawdog queer
my tears are prayers
against your nightmares
O desperation of breathing
my home breath
O spent cares of my comfort
that rest on my warm breast
O evicted love
O landlord of men cum
I holler I scream
and the two-bit whores
came to save me.
-
05-28-2011
The window is sitting
on a ledge dreaming
of the junkies who
ware stocking on their knuckles
the man with blue blood
is made up of grief
and his eyes are
the color of homicide
his tongue is an entrapment
his blood is drunk
on male love and
his smile searches
the sour needles
struck in the veins
of a hanging hung
on his flashbacks
memories are never
as innocent as graveyards
or the drug of sweet cum
that some men drink
like booze.
To soon he will monkey up
to his neglect and his
declared space on the corner
that he keeps beside all of
his indifference
the ice of his eyes
sees the lost regret
wallowing down the
let down of the streets
his ceaseless drugs
declare that spiting out
the blood from its sucker
punch will be practicing
color in the dark
there is a lump of the
real dream in his heart
there is a stolen bed
in his ways when
the night is as cheat
as lost prayers used
to introduce him to his God
who is pissing out
salvation that bruise
the skin of a dark corner
in paradise.
-
Superiority is
disposable as
discarded nights
and tragic order
return my understandings
to me I am frustrated
in a convenient kinda way
I am no nigger in a hat
no entertainment for whites
me no bugged eyes
and wide grin
scratching my head
each time I lie
I am not your
black hung dido
or cum on Kleenex
no non-entity no
desires in the palm of your hands
my anguish is important
my beauty denied
my eyes will not cry
or out my ways I am
not a forgotten chair
used as a commode
disposable integration
disposable race as
some young blacks
would have me be
return my music to me
return Africa to me
return Jesus to me
return the lost poets
I will give them a home
in my heart where there
is always room
return to me my scars
made by the whip
my back is stiff
return my blackness
to me I know
you stole it when I
was in chains
you have held it too long
and it misses my soul
I am many bold
old into eternity
-
Many are my thoughts
dark my days and nights
I am not right
in the head
all said I brood
caution not to cry in public
I sink into my body
eyes agleam awakening
into this love
that rushes fluids
into me
I as window
as poet that you
can look though
I am many meanings
of blackness seen
on the bus sunk
down on the city's
street I the greener grass
on this side of town
I dark drown
hugging all darkness
all skin color
echoing nigh
I conspire to
win your heart
only if it is
willingly given
I am not right
in the head
I think that blacks
can save man
-
St. Louis can kill you faster then Denver
St. Louis can kill you
Faster then Denver.
St. Louis is beautiful
This red brick city of lime stone.
In St. Louis high art sits
On a hill in Forest Park
While at its feet
The caged animals
At the zoo are on display.
St. Louis is the hippy hill
Of my childhood
Playing bongo with strangers
In holey jeans and long hair
My introduction to white flesh.
St. Louis is the mosaic
Cathedral with Tennessee Williams
In his coffin beneath the dome.
St. Louis is Ike turner to me
The first black to have his own T V
Show in my home city town.
St. Louis is W.C. Handy
and his St. Louis woman
St, Louis is Walt Whitman
Visiting his brother who
Designed the water tower.
St. Louis is TS Eliot playing in the back yard
And William Burroughs dreaming
In the Central West End
And Eugene Field at the dinner table.
St. Louis is Sara Teasdale seeking
Out the fog in the low land
Of Forest Park.
St. Louis is Josephine Baker
Jumping rope on a
Humid summer evening.
St. Louis is Maya Angelou sucking at the breast
And Fontella Bass rescuing me from the streets.
St Louis is Chuck Berry to me
And Linda Blair and Daniel Boone.
St. Louis is Miles Davis and Phyllis Dillard
And Katherine Dunhenn dancing
Africa across the stage.
St. Louis is Redd Fox ready
With a joke on his dark lips
And Dick Gregory and
Moses Gun and Al Hirschfield.
St. Louis is Scott Joplin to me.
St. Louis is Marianne Moore watching
Vincent Price playing Eager Allen Poe
And Joseph Pulitzer writing in his study.
St. Louis is Michael Spinks to me
When he won the title he treadled
His friend to Kentucky Fried Chicken
And Maxine Water and Arthur Ash.
St. Louis is York who escaped into history
Known by a single name, Lewis and Clark.
St. Louis is my home town to me
Where the tress have felt the strength
Of my youngest muscles
Where her ice storms leave
You with a sense of wonder.
06-08-2011
fantasizing at 58
for Patrick Valentine
I love to fantasize
always did
as a kid it kept
me warm within
a man on facebook
asked me when
will I come to NYC
I said I
did not know
He asked again
I fantasized that that
he wanted to have
sex with me or
set up a reading in NYC
is it to be
Patrick asked
what are your needs
to get your next
book published
I fantasized that
he would secure for me
a grant of the
financial kind
a juice one to
also but a new
computer much needed
so to smooth myself
why not fantasize on the thing.
in my unconsciousness
it always began
my unconscious tacks
in a line and appropriate
image as it sees fit
if my consciousness knew
it it would make no sense
it nail on random thoughts
pin in rhythm and rhyme
and pass it on to
this much awake
consciousness of mine
to unfold from
the tip of my pen
some will say
that I'm to old
to keep to
my childish ways
but the poet in me
knows that it is
this ability still
with me at an advance age
that to fantasize this way
is the birth of
all my poems
and plays for what
are artists doing
but fantasizing out loud
and calling it art with a smile
from they know
from which it came.
06-23-2011
we soldiers
I once was fitted
by what I wore
my booths shinning
my rank two fingers deep
I met my lover in the Army
where all enlisted are
brothers in the cause
don't ask don't tell
a secret we could not
afford I would
have given my life
if it came to that
for the American way
for you right to parade
against this war
I had my orders
shipped from Ft Leonard Wood
where I was trained to
take a life without
regret to numb myself
and pull the trigger
to hit my marksmen mark
in AIT and morning PT
in mess halls and platoons breast to backs
they got mines and I their
your left right your left right
Johnny got your gal and gone
sand my hair sand in my booths
the sweaty helmet I ware, the gas
mask the deadly air
the fallen brothers
the cross on the grave markers
the tiny flags
we report for duty
we clean our M-16s
we shower together
as men, we smoke
our grass and pop our pills
then we sleep as not to kill
I have known killers been one myself
for we are soldiers
come to rescuer men
POW the black flag wave
we liberate
our brothers pinned down
we try not to be caught
in the cross fire but shit happens
we save our dicks that stands
at attention fore calmer days
we sleep in villages whenever we can
I got me an over-nighter
i hunt reconnaissance
from door to door
I seek the American's foe
who will do me harm
the medic is by my side
the generals far away behind the lines
we are the chess pieces
that they play the board is the killing fields
down the way
the gunners, the armor division
the leather necks and the grunts gun ho God given
grace bold forgiven
and when I have served my time
when I am a short timer
put my helmet over my booths
and let them stand in line
for rotation of being recalled to duty
I have but one regret
and this is it that
only the soldiers knows the toll, the cost paid
to blow a trumpet before the grave
a flag on our coffin
can not wave
the gun salute
only shoots holes into the sky
we brave soldiers we who
served and we die
we legless, we with sightless eyes
we who because of what
we see in war must fight
against out own minds
we brave who answered the call
we stand tall, we stand tall
for you all.
-
AIDs 30 Years on
30 year it have been
since the first one
marked on the head
of his dick a St. Louis teenager
died in 1969
30 years I carry
a touch whose flame
fought the winds
whose light flickers
to light my way
whose light dims
at the close of day
30 years packed tight
with black men like
some stinking cargo hold
of rotting flesh
I weep not for
them gone for they
have gone home
but for my young brothers
who because of their
sexual needs reject
the rubber for naked skin
and allow Aids in
brothers safe guard
yourselves it ain’t all that
protect yourselves against
the treat that will eat
away all your flesh
I will not leave you along
to sex with only yourself
30 years of death
and nature is not to blame
all things have a right
to life all things even
this disease that takes away life
it is you who must protect
your sexual lovers in the night.
-
I keep many things
names of men
the list is long
of them now gone
I keep my hurts
my overgrown scars to
smooth the stones
these gray grave markers
standing strong when their
bares are now bones
the marker of graves
of black men this disease took them
they did not want to go
the feeble attempt of names
sawed into quits
that covers no one
I have no needles
I have no threads
only patch works now
memories of them now dead.
-
Doorways leads
if you are led
southern crosses
tattooed on the
fore head
crystal charms
and combat booths
residue of lust
cicatrix and crucifix
which holds you in bondage
sexual choices of
a proud black man
flaunting his lust
for affections
crescent moon follow
him home dangling
dreams of those now gone
the path way is pitted with rocks
with negativity that
will ware you down
and pawn your crown
of thorns, life is
worth more then
a pair of sneakers
with someones else brand name
life is worth the price
of a condom to keep you sane
thee war of Kuwaiti is
the whites man's game
and blacks the same
the endless dunes is
a re frame
let me smooth yours
snappy pubic hairs
I use no lye, let me
unbounded your desires
I go down on my knees
it tents and cities
and feed you reserve-unit
rations when we choke
because of the smoke
bellowing from lit
to light oil wells
soldiers are leaders
soldiers are led
soldiers bed the desert
and other soldier men.
-\\
09-09-2011
Three trillion dollars
on the war on terror
all borrowed not since
we borrow from France
to finance the revolutionary war
trillion paid to contractors
to cook to guard to drive
us around Bush's wars
have brought us down
but politicians blame
entitlement like
social security blame
labor unions and worker's benefits
and the American people fall for it
no politician serve without
being elected
there is but one political
party the incumbent party
why Are Americans
so gullible or dumb?
Why are we so easily
misled by patriotism
and talk of God?
Three trillion and
the count mounts
the military grave yards
are filling up with young bodies
we contract out our wars
to Halliburton at 5.3 billions
and L-3 Communication
we borrow to kill
under the fault pretense
of weapons of mass destruction
the soldiers are not to blame
when politicians wave
the flag in their faces
what right have the patriot act
taken away?
The name itself is suspect
if you do not support then
they will label you unpatriotic
the deficit is cause
by these war along
but all the politicians
are already brought
the treason est C E Os
willingly and willfully
gave away our jobs
and now they hold on tight
to their money and rake more in
three trillion dollars
now in whose hands?
Not the soldier
not the people they serve
the politicians have
gotten their share
why is it that
most politicians are richer
then we are?
Why is it that
most of them are lawyers?
Why is it that
our country was founded
by business men?
Why is it that
the people do not complain?
Three trillion dollars
stolen from our pockets
three trillion taken away
from the education
of our children
why are Americans
so gullible or
ill inform or
is it to be a patriotic American
is to be blind and dumb
-
11-19-2011
Stranglers in the Cemetery
I will ayuga your skin
my connotation of prostitution
as b-boy bubble butt
getting fucked
B/D top but your
baguette a baby Crockett....
his soul
yes that part
of him his
pains burns
to let me in
his truth
yes that part
ambitious and
much an able
snatched dexterity
naught his hands
at my wast
my long deep breath
impertinent with sweat
his prolonged prologue
his tears laments
in a dizzy state
with rivulets
of rain and
blood and drops
of pre cum his waves
just because the
revolution of our love
was forestalled in the wait
that on me my
ancestors laid
his cleaving marrow
yes this is confusing
it is what he does to me
when he do me done.
-
The Surrounding center
The years of years
10-06-2011
Something touched me
on the back of the shoulder
I looked none here
but the hand of air
and the warmth
and light of the sun
my god as gods goes.
Then something slapped
on the back of the head
I turned and saw only a long
curly strand
of my hair hanging
lightly on the tail
wind of a fading wind
Somethings are
shooting into and
out and through me
it is the cosmos breathing
it is this God or
uncontrollable
dream of some God
complete with nightmares
of children hungry
in their beds
and bullets holes
in the school house walls.
These things leave
no holes but they
hold me fast
like a water of fire
and creativity's
cultivated prayers
falls from my eyes.
Yes I have water
made within me
and word filled
breath of winds
and sun heated skin
as well as heart within
its warmth warms
the way I walk through
what through in and
out of me.
God is my Mother
my Nurse Maid
and Mid Wife wedded
to darkness and light.
This mom ménage à trois rules
my life. All that is
is by pleasure of
darkness and light
and the cosmos
raise and falls
and dark hole
themselves to death
and life is born.
-
11-09-2011
His soul
yes that part
of him his pains burns
to let me in his truth
yes that part
ambitious and
much an able
snatched\
dexterity
haughty his hands
at the waste
my long deep breath
impertinent
with sweat
his prologue
his tears laments
in a dizzy state
with rivulets
of rain and blood
and drops of dos
his wave just
of pre cum
because the
revolution
of our love
was forestalled
his cleaving marrow
yes this is confessing
it is what he do to me
when he do me done.
-
The Surrounding Center
the years of years
the circumstances
remembered
the so many feelings
surrounding our love
just because the just
is right to sex
the dark people's night
and dispel his sorrows
out of so many men
I walk where the years
have created my fears
this house did doubt
this neighborhoods
within me this
which I have lost
my main man
to his dreams.
-
light the dim candle
dim the light
appropriate kindlier
our room is in
love tonight
this vision revery
immersed entirely
the shadows are
suggestions of
what we can do
disrobe the candle
of it's low light
appropriate thoughts
are not allowed tonight
legal sex has a right\
the age is clear
the meat to touch
the shadow flesh
of the fuck
is cast into the light
come come
you kindlier of love
you crackle dark
you vision of
the poet';s thoughts.
-
old man
actor brought
to entertain
the young
with your wisdom
elder of the
drawing room
never come
too soon
you mingled
with crinolines
and Africa
you who love
the perfume
of middle aged
men
recite your love
with a sexual tune
shall I forbearance
your skin with
my musk?
My garden flower to pluck
growing in the dark
the darkness of your skin
the epigrams
euphoria is dead
of love in his bed
the stressing is
not necessary
the sacred valor
of hidden love letters
in a shoe box
in the dark
perhaps not
fanatic shouts
lies like leaping love
the quatrain pleases me
the phrases betray
that Prometheus
is a tragedy waiting
to happen and he
who is brilliantly with age roll
the boulder up hill
is a reminder of all my fears
it was seven
against Thebes
it was Datis and
his ranks of soldiers
who demanded
that time be
put on trial
too many poets
are cowardice
with their quatrains
and rimes stressed the stressing
a dead language
famous for being dead
when it is the spirited
letters that are
the living language
that are forming
within the head
to many old men
become stale with
well wishing phrases
also done down and dead
I expect to grow old
like Cassandra bold
remarkable in my skin
but now the hour is not near.
-
What misfortune
verse the dead
what christian mourning
stalks the vestibule
what is kept from the truth
when strange pleasure
of verses to the adored
speaks in low voices
full of the night's dark
the last day of the Christ
is constantly on our lips
and supplications of Mary
combs the rooms
where the middle
age man\come too soon
and immodest boys
tugs at their tools
and the perfect sense
of rhythm is gold
to my silver to
what I hold
Mithridates tops
the hill with his man
and powerful cities
made of sand
dissolve in the rain
the bitten path
leaves you to
the soothsayer
who dwells in the future
when power is born
and the secret place
in my heart offers
no clarity of opinions
send in the offers
of my heart
send in the
sufficient of poetic art
understand the distinguished one
who shadowy run
expose the perils
of poetry and let
the ancestors be
content to lie in
their graves and
wait the wait of
man's coming downfall
King Mithridates
salutary as on
spears my fortune
with the pen
unexpected to be let in
let the noble companion
remembered the traces
of time as if only
time is divine
the vestibule wept
it's reunion out of joint
and excursions
plumb the perils
that wait the wait.
-
here my love
the day breaks open
just because
it has been
done before.
-
And never remember
to tell why
the poet Phenazis
interrupted his epic poem
dumbfounded the catastrophe
hails eupator who loved
Dionysus as to occupy
the unjust war of imagine
it is I who trouble
the agitation persistently
it is we who in drunkenness
probable with arrogance
sure poetic the idea
of legions lost or hidden
by some mighty God of the cloth
never forget to measure yourself
or not to find amid
the grandeur of water
compose the vanity
of low lost sentiments
where the servants of Rome
built in their frontier
say of the Greeks
draw near to my poem
the packer makes
the horrible enemies
\of security of delay
is fresh in the grave
unturned and unlaced
when Amisus
fortified the gates
and get the best
of the stone city
where glorious poets
cross over the River Styx
hail sympathetic
middle aged men
hail the indifference
of Julian the
priest of Glatio
excess Augustus
and Antiochus
is lost in time
as if lost in space
danger will roger
communitarian is
in the wait and the
provident governor
is none to honorable
in his courageous
worth nurture
in his performance
honorable in his grace
courageous and
benevolent to be
color glass of
wretchedness
the new church
of ridiculous is lost
in excess and conception
the past is enveloped
the future unread
the skin of the moon
is long since dead.
-
flippant Byzantine
flippant serious matter
diligently I cuss
the God that did
not give me head
be you familiar with
your God in a sexual way
be you lustful before
the grave
the Synodical canons
written in blood
and the insis
of scriptures
the talk of the
father and son
is dreadfully malevolent
as the suffering of Doukaina
who was a bore
composed in sextettes
and octets and
sonnets to amuse
the mythological
Peloponnese
and Constantinople's men
Alexander balas
is dead by the pen
have you heard the words”?
The fine night wine of Antioch
is glorified as a wrong
as such a young rose
as weak as Balas as
strong as the one
I do adore
tomorrow is a contest prize
and the crippled weakness
will not die
lovely young men
are running out of time
and foolish
victory of the
wheel of the chariot
is rotting on the vine
Antioch is lost
but still glorified
as if some adored
tomorrow never died
to death a second time
ordeal your secrets
order your prize
the Flatterers
are still divine
and dreadful
churches matters
are diligently
declined as
something not
brought as art
something indistinct
as faded memories
in the hands
of time fashions
wares out your
round the clock
combine your
doubts and successions
leave no impressions
imperceptible.
-
most diligent
is my love
most scripture
is his needs
most difficult
is his doubts
that he will
no longer love me.
-
Sit here my love
and meditate
on the art of poetry
desire your feelings
as merciful things
unfulfilled is his reply
this figure of
middle aged love
beauty lives in his eyes
as fashionable things
I 'm perceptible round
the hours impressions
carved into my bones
combine the days
with the years
always none gone
I comb the hair
of my lover
indistinct as my lost
the lines in his face
are lames of memories
and time for all
it's forward movement
can not catch up
with itself
he leaves me fed
as a new beginning
he fulfills my
sexual needs
and our bed is soft
as plucked roses
hurrying toward
their birth
the rose's hips
are furtive
the bed is sensual
with delight
the separate love
and furtive and
holds no doubts
in a little while
the bed will fall
out of it's betrayal
the artiest in me
is a muse's slave
because I will not betray
the truth that I
have learned by the way
with vigorous verses
composed of the beginnings
I am a soothsayer
I am a love of bores
I am all of your beginnings
to ask what's the cause
I walk on somewhere
as if it's fires of coals
uneasily I go leaving
prints of poems in the snow
my fulfillment is what I gave
my mattress is a rose
for the imprint pg his
form that it holds
rose to the bee that blows
it's nose hurriedly the hour pass
speaking in a holy tongue
the words are able artiest
uttered as sensual love
tomorrow is no beginning
today never comes
vigorous my verse
will split your tongue
I am speaks with forks
of love time deviate
sensual delight
like my love
dark as night
as not to be seen
without light by the whites
separately the mattress cry
house in love with it's foundation
the bricks of which
I am composed
have holes, bubbles of air
that furtively wares away the dawn
the uneasy streets
betrays the streetlights
fads as fadding day
dress yourself separately
dress yourself as
some Demaratus
unbound, roll the
hill up the Boulder Colorado
of crouse I speak
rhetorically
none-the-less
or less-the-none
king Xerxes lost his son
and none, yes none
will be vindicated
as God’s lost son
the army of citizens
insults the public way
and the graves are
lonely both night and day
humble yourself
bride the Gods
shamelessly Aristotle
is no enemies nor
long lust intending
as some airborne
conversation over
heard by Porphyry
here is the great injustice
that man was ever born
shamelessly
the deprived darn dart
is the Sunday of the cause
bloody Sunday
bloody Monday
count all private
citizens as one
publicly the feast
with great zeal
Xerxes will not
kill the dawn
in the public square
the Christians getter
to conquer your soul
but be fore warned
of their boredom
they have no
moments of joy
without a thought
of their God.
-
What of the character
of Demaratus?
Where do Porphyry
lies in his grave
who is the young Sophist
passing his days
humiliated by the moon
leotychides is an intriguer
and Greece did not
conquer their slaves
O lovey man of wine
the purest silver
is a gleam in your eyes
the priest have
the gift of gab
but I listen
no more
for the nails
are rusting in
the cross and
Jason's melancholy
is a hideous knife
that cuts me to the core
the art of poetry
is my savor
the unaware wounds
is my drug
I took a joint
and blunt my breath
as if the wine marker
is also a bore
plug me into the water
Baptiste me in wine
amorous Heracles
is naked and I
have trusted the excellent
tears of his eyes
prevail the brook and
thyme O lovely ,am
as handsome as a prayer
elegant as passed time
I too will die
the soldiers fell
the flowers drinks
the amorous rain
and many say
with mistrusts of truth
on their breath
that I am insane
O memory o leg of lamb
O succulent center
of my wounds
I am I as a lovely tune
I attempt to numb your
sorrows of suffering
I attempt to two the same
the hideous drug of
awareness is but
a little something
longer then my refuge
you renowned philosophers
Saccus of handsome faces
destination is a joke
played on the poor
who endure the laudable
Sophists
I am the politic
of high rememnering
I am the tradition
of soundings traditions
the Epochal is my idiot
and the Christian church
is ostentatiously pagan
as all religions before
debauchery is my customer
and handsome faces my divine delight
I endure the mean times
of all of my rights
philosopher
Padam is in Athen
he is owned by Circe
what of a father
allows his only
daughter to own
rag doll on the bed
that dear Kay made.
-
A mosquito
fat with my blood
turns my skin
into a graveyard.-
I had a heart
felt talk will
an elder gent
or woman
I do not know
he if not the she
told me his say hers
name was Oak
muscular in it's stand
I told the bi so
trees are funny
that a way
I like your
grains the tight
beauty holds
but eager to
sand them that
fellow Walnut
now pine
is soft of skin
my grand
once worked
as a young
stripper he
\at 14 stripped
pines of their bark
in the piney woods
of Mississippi
and at night
mused as they
floated the
dead trees
down river
old grampus
in his last age
told me so
before he had
to go
on to meet Jesus
that somewhat
quarrel man
who died at 33
some say he lives yet
some say he is all that
but a ghost which-s-way
it be I ain’t sure
I know it so
what foolish creature
man and his woman
folks to booth
the problem is you got
mobility and
it gets you in the soul
never quite running
across your Jesus
too damn busy sticking
your nose into
every god filled hole
you have lost
your sense of smell
you perfume yourself
as not to tell
that you in flesh smells
like an animal.
Where forth are
the sweet
now I see here
fellow them
some fighting words
sure we men
wish to control
we be creatures bold
we be cave strong
and lit like
sparks in the dark
now you see here
without me
your exorbitance
ends in the rot
if not for
the Chippendale church
but you attempts
to seat me astray
here is why
I am here
strangle the new year
that your leaves
of lewdness holds
their holds
tho sap cease
it's reaching flow
how come is
this so?
Ahh god is
warming her
hissing sould
shit! Global warming
did man my man
have a hanging
hand in this
bit by bit
it was to be
poses switching
for all that
we have done
is the coming
of the sun
he foretold
to bring the
done undone
have he no marcy
no merriment of man
say of me his flesh
to understand
O tree O elder
O he or she
O grains of wood
and individuality
what will thee
what be the
lust cuss to with
secret salts to see
I am man
it was not me
I declared that
what will be
will what the end of me.
-
in the name of the merciful
the praise of his
name divine
Allah of the world
sovereign of the day
of the recompense
this path that you
strengthen
this guide upon the path
is bestowed
favors evoked by your
holy ghost
and anger set astray.
-
You who follow the
feet of hate
because you
think you own
all that is
Allah's along
astray is led
your religious reason
Alifi lam meem
where lies your
conscious of Allah
the established
is new upon my tongue
believe the unseen
that establishes
a pray in your heart
this book this guidance
is just that
no test no
promise of
an afterlife
if read this tongue
of words
from the lord
he who succeed
to believe in you
he revealed
as lord under
the mask of god
o son Muhammad
in flesh the heard
is revealed
as in your heart
and the land\of sand that
sustains you
let me take
your guidance
by the hand of faith
indeed he who disbelieve
is warned
before they approach
the gate head
us yours
are now warned
the sand is counted
each grain accounted for
believe while it is still warm.
-
you will know the holy hour
when the veil will be coasted
over your vision to believe
over your hearing to hear
the seal is set locked
into your heart
and the great Muhammad
in the garden walks
lore this paper flower
that touches our hands
this certain faith
forever stand
I give
the path through
the thorn forest
is timed by the
lord's guidance.
-
bedrock preachers
honey colored black cherubic
untouched by the
common hand
tongues like wolves
riches planters
of hell's fire revenge
such men who speaks
to black women
about black bastards
that do not fit in the night
intervals specialists
in the socialist of
the lingering ghost
of the glow
hit it a Tap
that ass and
on ragging
rig a mos roll
men of Miguel
with the spilled tongue
that hanged the bastard
that broke the Lord's word
the blacks are aces
in the sight of God
with ragged individualism
unanimity is the American way
will the crying of the day
the regular syphilis
of the sexual night
drips away
mega men black
as the day is long
fuck behind the puppet your sons
black choppers of
the common fuck
common blacks
chop opportunist
of the blood of Christ
police pf morals
to the washer woman's hands
mulatto tattoo
artiest of the flesh
lingers by America
my tenant God
my landlord of my soul
in cold water flats
of thin holes
conterminous of
staving to death
planters of commissaries and
commodities of overseers
of God the unpublicized
philanderer of the
public way
the impoverished tide of water
seeks down into the grave
and all is said
all is washed away
none lives forever
none is allowed to stay.
-
the broad sunrise
is a laborer is
a leasing agent
for the rough trad of angels
for plants of shot gun houses
the cat hustles the mouse
the throttle is caught
in the throat
the gaping suck is
racked with rats and
the butterflies rigs
the broken snow
as a worker broken I go
I am used up down
to my thin soul
I am tin pretending to be gold
throttle my made up lover
made in America my
soul is no land owned
no St. Louis bricks
to call my own
the socialists
paints fresh canvases
of their asking afraid
and portrait the
sunlight as made in America
summer comes to an end
with 60 degree of sunlight
warmth the greedy
air hovers
and never taunts
the vultures of the
nebulous that
is hasted
the throaty dawn
and life continual on
the laughter that
sings is colored
with water
and songs sweet
is the passionate wait
yes the wait is full of
wonders and
the angels stands along.
-
the woman who is a man's man
the sand that pin pricks my soul
I the bold boy
of long ago the the
bully boy of men soul
the haunted day
upon earth the rose
growing before the door
and will not let me in to pass
the outer lynching
of my suspense
I the judgment of death
the hours that comes
for you is already spent
my tortured body
tortured by spring
is vengeance
hideously full of holes
I have spent my life
on the point of a pin
and still the Gods that be
will not let their blood in
I the judgment of life
have spent my life
on the shore
where the shroud of the
harvested water is a poison
and it brands the damaged
with the middle passage
for years I have decreed
that vanity is sought and borrowed
the flashing sails
of the fleshes winds
is wild with weapons and
cocked favors high
my dying, dying, dying
my whole life thought
the shore of life is my voyage
in dead April
my black rebellious nature
of uneasy linguist
who is the morning of all my morning
come to soon
leaps a crazy laughter
of the stagnant water
of black seed America.
-
I am the son of jesus
the savior father
of tempestuous needs
o thou grant me
a chastening of sorrows
O grant me 8 bells
of sleep and
peace like eases of
exorcisms scalding
the sea I am a
ophthalmic bluntness
a sickness terrifying
as sleep when the
moon weeps out it's
scratchings and the
lost animal crazy with dead
laughter sentential as leaving.
-
The waves retreats
the can not sleep is calm
as found misfortunes
and tutelary Gods
who walked the Gakilee
who cleaned Guinea’s coast
of it's black backs
the odd owning of men
and barracudas the coast
of Mississippi
these mad Gods of man's thirst
these suckers of human blood
these Guinea roses
cut and cast
into the entangled
flames suffers no more
o my dear black men
by the hundred score the
Negress shrieks in the
factories of the soul
where vanquished Mandingo
Robbed in gold drinks
scars the shores
drink from a velvet cup
that holds the juice
of the skull
and king Anthracite
beneath an African
impudent parasol
glistening with voyage
to the New York shores
can not honor his dead
children because
they have been read
into death the dead demand
now I go, go, go
talking in drums
to wake the sleeping villages
where the sick factories snores
they these factories of the soul
will kill the traveler
that I am and trader's deed
the deal
in dark skin and the
harvest is full of wind
and the wealth is all spent
and the melting dawn of bones
is history sent
ironical is my God
that looms and ships
his thrashing floor with
murderous names sewn into a quite
all of this in the new world's game
effluvium the Charmaine
interlock the excrement
in the bowels and
festering fetuses rottening
away their yield and
fear of testicles that will
be born again as men.
-
the end is never ended
the claw stalks
the dawn
the limitlessness of time
never, never comes.
-
Look there is flung the
barriers of the storm
the two fisted nun
in moonless calm
and marlin spike
machete the dawn
look exhausted
walk, walk the land
and went murderously to it's rest
into Africa in such of
Cinquex of la Havana
the brute that bites
and once bit your
sudden movement
is fallen like rigor
rain and only
loyalty urges the
insane my unspeakable
Lord my good sir
my American paradoxical
of wreath John Q. Adam
august and grand
is a vessel of prisoners shopping
for a man
to hop the brown
and hack Havana
with Roman rhetoric.
-
I am like my words
and like my words
I fear no one, no son of God
nor God of remembrance
no prepared fall from grace
one grace into the fall
no Asitad Sēnores or
none flung rigging
of puma's lips O no
not I the Quadroon
the black tight angel
who ware his pant
half down his butt
I am the one who
you love to love
in dark secrets of my
dark meat sex with me
with your tongue and run
your dick head that helmet
of cum down my
metronome tar tarnished
tongue a musical run
a primaeval image
unfolding it's fold
between my legs
I am the shadowing of the
Zulu king dangling
priest like nacre
and ormolu and
rejections of the Gods
any holy sock of the soul
remember me in the
hollowness of your hearing
each poem is a
metaphorical dance
of wind's breath
and words spoken
through a glory hole
and words of hysteria of rhythm
a decor of rimes
each poem is a
cocaine remembrance
a ballad of troubled
generosity and a
grand design like cuss words
through teeth of gold
and old shoes leathery
wind wind swept toes
each poem is a token from
the soul a coonskin
Daedalas in love
with a juju man named
conjo juba jump jingle
go like a poem with
your weariness in toll
fly like drifting through
the Malinda wind
spread your arms
like legs made of
wings and sing, sing, sing your poems.
-
I live within the hollowness
of my soul I bold
death-headed rose
as violent as violent
as a winter rose ironic
and real and bestowal
of blessings of growing old
I once remembered me
gray as a queen of the fuck
each poem is a schizoid subterranean
a jubilee of banjos
and drums a weaving of
threads of time and
mazurka dolls with human eyes
each poem is a presence
you to hoo doo
that dance and rants the
real way of the flesh
of how to recognize
your ways of feeling
as one human and yet
divine as a thing
of God's own design
fly. Fly, fly like a kite
made of skin
catch the weary wind
waddle yourself in
rub your bones
against the tombstone
sharpen them to a point
and write the poem that
you was meant to write
as if it is the food of life
d it within your heart's end
thought your emotions
and win the key to the
coffin's gate lay like
licks of love any gardening will do
because of ways that you pray
old on and within
Sunday shouts hallelujah
to forgotten folks as sweet
as stale bullets and the
gun smoke is a diva
a planted poem to raise
in the comfort of your arms
plant the horses children
sharp as thorns
each poem is a recall
of shattered words
that escapes like
black birds from
the hollow of your head
each poem is bold each long since old
each poem is a bear back ride
of sexual possessions
a broker of spring
of growing broken things
green as money and
muscleman mosaic eyes
that cries god speed you
to your grave to meet
the maker of everything
god speed by and by
each poem sees like florist
the vivid children who circus our lives
and turn the super markets
into a zoo
go sue the dark side
with wrecked moments
and Mendelian and sweet
talk poems that can hush
and hustle the heart
warble your fancies
you who would
pillow the dawn with poems
the unrelenting sunflower
is like each poem like
quarrels between the thumbs
and clipped nails each
a crescent moon
the whipping struggle
is alive in our time
the unchristened racism
do not winter's it
Sunday in the church
christian Christ in a sob
i am for sure the son of gods
i am a thing that
knee grip man and i can
write the breath of God into a poem
knee grip man blows their
hate into children
who sucks on it as some sweet candy
charm is tinted by racism's labor
against the children of the child God
each poem wakes
the slanting angel
chronic in their lust
with their polished
austere poems writ
from Frederick of the Douglass liberty
beautiful one the
systole stolen from
and silver given to the poor
each poem is like brain matter
from which they come
great as dead blood
and dead rain and dead tears
and joys of dead fears
each poem is a vision
of the Gods speaking
in tongues
writ in bronze
runaround darkness lit by a last
lust lost in the lingerings
of the lustful suck
each poem stumbles pursing your heart
and your lost needs
each east by northeast
the younger shapes of thing to be
shapes of shackles at the feet
of that green lady who lights the sea
shackles gleams
in the sun lady bronze
your shadow blocks
the yearling ones
here for generations
long since born
freedom is no bonanza
but golden ring
welled in place is
the true nature of the thing
to you who are my subscribers
beware the tainted corn
by Monsanto the maze
is a whirlpool that seeks into
your genetic to enslave.
-
hide the full moon
within the bright places
of your paediatrics’s
parry roller 's heart hush the
hustle of dead
folks like they are
watching tv of
which Whitman
never wrote
the stealer of your
Moses are stolen
like slaves shipped
down river dead or
alive is Ezekiel to
be paid and John
Brown's body is laced
with deliver me Jehovah
the leaves are scariest
still on the trees
in November
their dead toned voices
Malik the hood with hoots
calling of the dead to wake
in Mexico
and smuggle themselves north
over to freedom
as a blaze of grass
or strand of pubic hair
between the cheeks
of the ass
eternity never returns
repeatedly or otherwise
only epiphanies borrows
the sleep tossed
into their dreams by
tv still awake in the darkness
all of your undiscovered energies
are still an armor
half-roses half-knocking in rimes
it's angels never recognize the heat
spent in the dance of sex
it's truly OK the leukemic pistols
are only killing their own
Ms. Tucuman’s skin
jaybird its jungle of coins
last month the ghosts
was in town looking
like children with
mouths full of candy.
-
let me sit in the
sunlight not just
lit shadows let
me see clearly what
is this think skin
is water proof
as goes flesh
in its many tones
some flood lit with
yellow others
eloquence in their
dark drunkenness
or Yakub's white and rose
cheeked redeemed
with youngish
there is a false thought that
skin color can tell the Allah
of the man himself
adulterated thoughts
that skin have no odor
no anger for vengeance
and treachery of blood
brother x'ed out of life
let me sit in the sunlight
not the lit darkness of an
lit candle
reformed from the waste
because I lit both ends
to see by double light of sight
twin darkness
with electric eyes
and cast shadows
of my angel who hide there
like some thief of dreams
with sparkling eyes
who grin with perverse delight.
-\
11-13-2001
Antiochus the Epiphanes
the beloved of the loved
the struggle of his heart
in the place of the
elegant place
set him apart
in Pygna the king
falls just for a moment
and all calls the
beating of the pulses
of Macedonians hopes
the lion horse is dead
the Tyrian coral lead
the brief moment
remembered what
was not said
Ammonius Saccas
is in the church
of curiosity
and the barbarous face
made of wretch glass
cracks its baptized ass
debauchery is something
that will always last
and the generous allowance
is falling fast
stop the ostentatious dawn
stop the selling of the sun
the dived gift
is the love of the piss
in ten beauty handsome faces
endowed with Sophist
and grace and perhaps
nevertheless the destiny
is broken on the bow
strung from cloud yo cloud
endowed just so
I appropriate your love tool
I school the fool
I laudably woo
the high-sounding remembrance
of who is who
o return my friend
to beauty and sane
endowed to play the cock game
I am the customer of my breath
I am the pagan at rest
I call on the best
idiot to my politic.
-
valiant Achean league
fear no deed indeed
Daos and Critolaos
wept for thee
marvelous praise
sways the day
into night's glory
Ptolem of Lathyrus
our nation shows
that there is writ
in banished gold
the seventh year foretold
in an old book
of the lost souls
of utter sensual love
fitting for sex
without the glove
this is an artist’s evident
easily understood
this is the chestnut eyes
deep in colors of wine
offer your beloved body
to the shameless man of the moon
with moon eyes
he comes like youth
ideal lips licks and suck
limbs for bed
and the ready fuck
morally I have no shame
painting him with words
was destined to raise
the cock sky high
with wet praise
he fresh from
the funeral of our friend
he King of Commagene
epitaph told with
weeping voice
sojourned the journey
of the soul
disconsolate as if
the scholarly Antiochus
was laid to rest
in a coffin of gold
venerable in his young age
taken by A I Ds
no worthy glory there
humanity's lost
courageous laid to rest
such a nobly quality
to his death.
-
Gladly I approach
with praises on
my tongue of he
the loved one
benevolent in body
suggested in his walk
Callistratus reborn
I have not a doubt
mild and meek
descended from the Greeks
hospitality in his talk
the sway of provident
in the sway of his hips
the quality of his lips
to kiss and suck
no Julian's indifference
in the pounding of his fuck
a high priest of manly love
exhorting and gushing
and positive spin
he is fond of his
love of men
consider this
his nurtured friend
a conception of
performance in his love
nothing excess nothing lost
women of Greek
did talk when he
left my bedroom
still smelling of his
body's perfume
I was always able
to please him sweet
and toward the grave
maim of God did
we seek last I seen
he organized his cloths
and rose to meet
religion for he be bold.
-
Esteemed citizens
dark-clad of skin
verse of pleasure
of love of men
I compose this for you
agreeable handsomeness
like some childhood tune
I hear the bells of birds
chattering sweetly
I measure the pleasure
of his meat and
lay my head down
to sleep my sleep.
-
beloved, completely
do I adore
the embrace
of yielding to
your given love
lips like other
are stigmatized
against mine
and I have no
shame in my desires
of imagination
divine completely
given is what I give
sensual delight
to mount the coming years.
-
Fulfill my deviate delights
sensual as is so right
hurriedly speak of love
uneasy the furtive lust
linger long and
gains its vigorous
as we sleep away
the peace of being suspect
artists compose
the mattress as a rose
the thing is still
the thing by any other name
meditate on what is brought
what distinct mommies
have taught combine
our passions into one
perceptibly we
round the night
fashion half seen
our feeling into desires
let me not be unfulfilled
sometimes it hurt
to say I am yours
you are mine
remember the lines
of my face there
is a map of memories there.
-
completely in despair
I spare my lips
the hurt of your kiss
embrace my wanted desires
there is still time
time's sensual delight
is stigmatized in the light
this is the Wednesday
morning that I give to you
what have you got to loose
but deletions of flying away
my imagination is your to have
for I seek your lips
and tune your kiss
seeking not to miss
completely the risk
of what love can do.
-
beloved man
yes I can
loose my lost
sensual delight
sing with me
come onto the stage
in the theater where
our love plays
out the acts
of chattering morality
handsomeness is as
handsome men do
do you find me
agreeable of my
tongue's language
do you see beyond
my skin of verses
of my pleasures
daring be mine
like some candy heart
at valentine time
I am a choice
cut of meat
a citizen of loving men
I agreeable as is the sea
that birth me
within my mother's womb
to me you are esteemed
as one who I should love
just because your
beauty moves my loins
I touch you and I catch fire
I ride like riding the waves
upon which is played
no rebuses of rejections
I and Pink Floyd are
wishing that you was here
to strawberries my letter 22
and do me pleasure
clandestinely I sought
you out of your hole
you holding on tight
as white on rice
as black on walnut
as if Eric Clapton
is the forever man
you esteemed man of my heart
how many times
must I say I love you
when the stage is played
in the theater of the grave
the theater of Sidon
400 A. D. three and three
you to me want you
be my all over man
rebel man rebel man
shall I all over you
with love with
leading love like
God's in the house of sex
or lord's going down
on the crown head
little Feat got nothing
on me I am innocent
of being a Dixie chicken
this is so true of
both me and you here
in dark-town St. Louis
here completely undone
embrace the cold
of the setting sun
once I was lost in time
now with you
divinely at my side
sick sensual desires
are slick as ice
of love's have not
drip and rip to drop
there is an antiquity
in the miracles of your eyes
and I a sensual pagan
of desires
the temple is ready
for worship the
enthusiasms of the crowded
theories of Maximus
someday will fall
over heard frequent
conversations falls
from the wall the
manifested greatness
is none to clever at all
here is my uneasy
result, here is mine
church of Nicoinedeia
reverence is forsaken
and the piety of
Christians are never
admired without pity
the corn hog is rooting
in the wise soil
of the soul and uneasy
I go by Scriptures
never before told
who ride upon the back
of the church, who
in uproar reeds
who the pagan praise
the Greeks and still
have no God to meet.
-
Love's certainty
lives in a distant place
circumstances separate
the wen from the wane
grieve deeply if you can
desires circumstances
considerable as a man
perhaps destiny
is but a dance
that fads forever
into a certain happenstance
perhaps attraction
is obliged to beckon
you in and win for you a mate.
-
I have a rhetorical tongue
I vindicate the young
I oracle of none
deprive the sun
of submittable love
I love no boy and
want none, I am
shameless just because
you decided to love me
shall I woo you
with my suggested hands?
Shall you bride my
tongue for a poem?
Shall we love as men
content to lay lazily
all undone and
as humble as a pillow
with its dent of your head?
Our enemies are
at last dead of their
private publicity
and publicly we
walk hand in hand
resignation has no
meaning when all
is said we humiliate
none and none Persian
the rug, we are intriguers
of love's last stand
we are men in love with men
the anxiety that hides the night
fright the child but
I act upon the conquer
and give the finger to the moon
explaining that no true
lover who is true will
come too soon
there is a child of chills in the wind
as it should be in mid November
and the wind swept leaves
are auguring in the streets
a kind-a dance rhetorically.
-
A great injustice
rules the land
it is the injustice
leveled against
my brothers who
love men, my enemies
are many and
mighty with their weapons
of crosses
their tanks
of pews and pubic
these deprived oracles
of the cloth, these
hateful men who
woo and call
themselves bosses.
-
For the feel of joy
the peaks of it to reach
the victorious love
of the faces that we meet
in dim bars and
hidden back rooms
and manicured parks
the plain faces of boys
who calls to joy
here is my love
here is my life
here is the right to love
and the right to fight
no shame touches us
no suggested conversations
unheard
to many cares
of the many words
moments of words
is mine to give
give what you feel
is our only right
in an army of men
at the humble feast
the table is set
for men to meet.
-
If Heracles
is an elegant taste
if memories plays
at taking its place
if age guide young men
toward an ancient grace
out the center is the
center of the place
the amorous water rung
the handsome face
the noble face
the purest is always
difficult to take
the plain is on
an elegant taste
the man I love is full of grace
I love a mighty prayer
and I plunge my hands
where the silver lay
and mighty my face
as best as I can
O hear the silver bells
calling all to grace
the set is set at
the table of our race
this elegant flower
of a man, this
excellent that waits
on the closing hour
where love is made.
-
I beg to differ
that age is a wound
no such hideous knife
can cut so deep
the art of poetry
is no such drug
to dull and numb
the suffering of the
imagination and words
fetch all that you are
unaware of growing old
with grace
as if rightly should be
pine not for spent youth
do not dig into the wounds
the edge is sharp this is true
endurance is not for youth
my refuge is clear
my gray hairs are here
my growing old
is a step forward.
-
is the Eparch an idiot?
Is Saccas in his grave?
Do politicians abandon or save?
Such block-head folks
of solemn-face made
the wretch barbarous
are at the door and gates
none can enter just because
political debauchery is the call
of the day, so gorp
as not to be swayed.
-
Ostentatiously
the Christians
are baptized
in the grave
the holy water
can not wash away
the stains of the minds
the wretchedness
of their abandoned God
generous will the sins
of his lords
O such a horrible thing
the customers are
generous with their
allowance is a corrupter
house without and within
these word I give
by the poet's tongue
none is the parent
and none regards
the traditions of things
to come high-sounding
is my tune higher
then me and spiritual peace
is no similar thing to teach
remember my words
and this matter strong
some will say
that I do Christians wrong
the divine gift
will not lead you wrong
when the house of the church
is some secret den
wherein boys
are molested by men
then God have fallen
from his high place
and the wretches guards the gate
idiots of the sinful church
barbarous is your hate
baptize none with your
debaucheries Christians
where is your once
handsome face?
Why regard you rarely
the whole human race?
My life endures the
slings and arrows
and bullets to booth
of your traditional
philosophers who
in the name of our God
yes yours and mine
the saving of all souls
is ostentatiously declined.
-
But nonetheless
he said when he spoke
your God is but a ghost
a secret host
and as such so it be
the sorry wretches
comes of hats
and suits and ties
their ears still
ringing with the holy lie
ten years now since
last my beauty fled
and with it it took
all of my curiosities
no longer am I
a customer of the truth
for it have forsaken me
when last fled my youth
for a body still fit
full of youth
regard this as my last stand
as no plead to relive
the life given me
for I was baptized
in poetry and can
no longer see through
the rose colored lens
of my parents the Christians
meantime my mind
was already gone
toward the divine gift
of a handsome face
and the horrible lies
of the Christian race
when the dance is
more generous
then your God
when so much
sinning you are allowed
when nonetheless will not stand
and beauty is a philosopher
in the banker's hands
and the church is
but a secret den
and the official baptize
is done in blood
man will sin just because.
-
I saw him in the dark
walking in the shadows
of the shadows of tress
his shadow looked like
a lap dog the kind
that I have never seen.
-
11-22-2011
What misfortune
verse the dead
what Christian mourning
stalks the vestibule
what is kept from the truth
when strangle pleasure
of verses to the adored
speaks in low voices
full of the night's darkness
the last day of Christ
is constantly on my lips
and supplications of Marry
combs the room
where the middle aged man
comes too soon
and immodest boys
tags at their tools
and the perfect sense
of rhythm is golden
to my silver to
what I hold
Mithridates tops
the hill with his man
and powerful cities
made of sand
devolve in the rain
and resolve the beaten path
leads you to the soothsayers
who dwells in the future
when power is born
and the secret place
in my heart offers
no clarity of opinion
send in the offers
of my heart
send in the sufficient
of poetic art
understand the
distinguished one
who shadowy runs
expose the perils
of poetry and let
the ancestors be
content to lie in
their graves and
wait the wait of
man';s coming down fall
King Mithridates
salutary as on
the pin of a pricking
spear my fortune
with the pen unexpected
to be let in
let the noble companion
remember the traces
of time as if only
time is divine
the vestibule weeps
its remains of reunion
out of joint and excursions
pumps the perils
that waits the wait.
-
Here my love
the day breaks open
just because
it has done
it before.
-
And never remember
to tell why
the poet Phenazis
interrupted his epic poem
dumbfounded the catastrophe
hail euphoria emperor who loved
Dionysus as to occupy
the unjust war of
her imaged imagine eyes
it is I who trouble
the agitation persistently
it is we who in drunkenness
probable with arrogance
sure poetic the ideal
of legions lost or hidden
by some mighty God
of the cloth
never forget to measure yourself
or not to find amid
the grandeur of water
compos the vanity
of low lost sentiments
where the servants of Rome
built in their frontier
estuary of the Greeks
draw near to my poem
the horrible enemies
of the security of delay
is freshly in the grave
unturned and unlaid
when Amisus
fortified the city
and sets the best
of the stone gate
where glorious poets
cross over the Rive Styx
hail sympathetic
middle ages men
hail the indifference
of Julian the
priest of Galatio
excess Augustus
and Antiochus
are lost in time
as if lost in space
danger Will Roger
Commagerians is
in wait and the
provident governor
is none to honorable
in his courageous
worth nurture
in his performance
honorable in his grace
courageous and
benevolent to the
color of glass of
wretchedness
the new church
of ridiculous is lost
in excess and conceptions
the past is benevolent
the future unread
the skin of the moon
is long since dead
Flippant Byzantine
flippant serious matter
diligently I cuss
the God that did
not give me head
be you familiar with
your God in a sexual way
be you lustful
before the grave
the Syhvaliant Achaean League
fear no deed indeed
Daos and Critolaos
weep for thee
marvelous praise
sways the day
into night's glory
Ptolem of Lathyrus
out nation shows
that there is writ
in banish gold
the seventh year foretold
in an old book of poetry
of utter sensual love
fitting for sex
without the glove
this is my artsiest evident
theses poems
easily understood
this is the chestnut eyes
deep in colors of wine
offer your beloved body
to the shameless man
of the moon
will moon eye you
he comes like youth
ideal lips licks and suck
limbs foreboded
and ready to fuck
morally I have no shame
painting him with words
was destined to raise
the cock shy high
with wet praises
he fresh from the farm
from the funeral of corn
our lost friend
he King of Commagene
epitaph told with weeping voice
sojourned the journey
of the soul
disconsolate as if
the scholarly, Antiochus
was laid to rest
venerable in his growing
young age
taken by Aids
no worthily glory there
humanity's lost
courageous laid to rest
such a noble guilty
to his death.
-
Gladly I approach
with praises on
my tongue of he
the loved one
benevolent body
suggested in his walk
Callistratus reborn
I have not a doubt
mild and meek
descended from the Greeks
hospitality in his talk
the sway pf provident
in his hips
the quality of his lips
to kiss and suck
no Julian's indifference
in his gracious fuck
a hijack priest
of manly love
exhorting and guiding
and positive spin
he is found of his
love of men consider this
his nurtured friends
a conception of performance
in his love
nothing excess nothing lost
O how the old women
of Greece did talk from their windows
of the passing day where
from building to building
across the street is laundries strung
they talk when he leaves my bedroom
it still smelling of his
body's perfume
I was always able
to please him sweet
and toward the grave
mien of God did
we seek last I seen
he organized his clothes
and rose to meet
religion for he be bold.
-
Esteemed citizens
dark-clad of skin
verse of pleasure
of love of men
I compose
this for you
agreeable handsomeness
like some childhood tune
I hear the birds
chattering sweet
I measure the pleasure
of his meat and
lay my head down
to sleep my sleep.
-
Beloved, completely
do I adore
the embrace
of yielding to
your given love
kips of others
are stigmatized
against mine
and I have no
shame of imagination
divine completely
given is what I give
sensual delight
as light as light to mount
the years.
-
Fulfill my deviate delight
sensual as is so night
hurriedly speak of my love
uneasy the furtive last
lingers long and
gains its vigorous
as we sleep away
the peace of suspect
artiest compose
the mattress as a rose
the thing is still
the thing by any other name
meditate on what is brought
what distinct memories
gave taught, combine
our passion into one
perceptible we
round the night
fashion half seen
as a feeling seed of our love
seed our feelings into desires
let me not be unfulfilled
sometimes it hurts
to say I am yours
you are mine
remember the lines
of my face there
is a map of memories there.
-
completely in despair
I spare my lips
the hurt of your kiss
embrace my wanted desires
there is still time
time's sensual delight
is stigmatized in light
this is the Wednesday
morning that I give to you
what have you got to loose
but delusions of flying away
my imagination is your to have
for I seek your kiss
seeking not to miss
seeking is mine says the lord
not to completely miss the risk
of what love can do to me and you.
-
Beloved man
yes I can
loose my lost
sensual delight
sing with me
come onto the stage
in the theater where
our love plays
out the acts
of chattering morality
handsomeness is as
handsome men do
do you find me
agreeable of my tongue's language
do you see beyond
my skin and the verses
of my pleasure
darling be mine
like some candy heart
at Valentine
I am a choose
cut of meat
a citizen of loving men
I agreeable as is the sea
that birthed me
within my mother's womb
to me are esteemed
as one who I should love
just because your
beauty moves my loin
I touch you and catch fire
I ride like riding the wave
upon which is played
no refutes of rejections
I and Pink Floyd are
wishing that you was here
to strawberry letter 22
and do me pleasure
clandestinely I sought
you out of your hole
you holding on tight
as white on rice
as black as walnuts
as if Eric Clapton
is the forever men
you finessing man
of my hearty heart
how many times
must I say I love you
when the stage is played
in the theater of Sidon
400 A D three to three
you to me want you
be my all over man
rebel man rebel man
shall I all over you
with love with
leading love like
Gods in the house of sex
or lords going down
on the crown head
little Feat got nothing
on me I am innocent
of being a Dixie chicken
this is so true of
both me and you here
in dark town St. Louis
here completely undone
embrace the cold
of the setting sun
once I was lost in time
now with you
divinely at my side
sick sensual designers
are slick as ice of
love's have not
drip and drip to drop
there is an antiquity
in the miracles of your eyes
and I am a sensual pagan
of full flesh designer
the temple is ready
for the worship the
enthusiasms of the crowd
the theories of Maximus
someday will fall
overheard frequent
conversations falls
from the wall the
manifested greatness
is none to clever at all
here is my uneasy
result, here mine
church of Nicóimedeia
reverence is forsaken
and the piety of
Christians are never
admired without pity
the corn hog is rooting
in the wise soil
of the soul and uneasy
I go by scriptures
never before told
who rides upon the back
of the church, who
in uproar reeds
who the pagan please
the greeks and still
have no God to meet.
-
11-22-2011 b
be valiant who fought
full not for glory
blameless is the cost
of all things holy
boast your might
and our nation strives
piss eyed into the wind
when you cry
turn, turn your back
on the holy lie
and catch the tears
that I cry
valiant, marvelous as one
who loves the fuck
of brother's cum
it is writ in water
that such men as I
turn tail not to victory
when the victorious is done
hear my words and hark my deeds
the grave at last is at peace
Daos and Critolaos
fear not the weak
and weak no lost love
to keep their peace
the fall of leaves
is windy as spring
and Achaean is dressed
for Lathyrus to meet
the meat of love
is roasting on the spit
the seventh year
is dying still
turn your fought
into the wind
and hear the fall
of glory falling still
valiant men who
loves the men
they will say of you
that your love sin
but boast against
all their lies
and be a man
willing to die.
-
In despair
I cast the
leaves from myself
like years dying
without a cure
lost forever
I wanted to save
the night from
the approach of day
the summer from
the delusion of spring
the stigma stigmatized
sounds of the storms
that rings the globe
completely am I a son
seeking lips' fold of gold
completely wanted
by only the no ones
sensual delight is
fading fast
only time has
time to last.
-
Dig deep into my heart
seek you the folds of my lips
never be and never be
the wanting saving of me
love lost linger and lost love
sways night's sweet darkness
into the bilker’s day
the die is cast
the cold unfolds
the leaves dead in color
are growing on still
on the tree still they holds
such is me such foretold
the wind is lost
in the cities now
the doubt is the cost
of the shame you save
the ring around the rosy
has no end it spiral where it lay
where it begins and ends.
-
The wind blows
the dust of my skin
from me within
a wild wind
I am caught.
-
The skin of my
life's journey
will be forgot
by me first
and you last
time sucks
the sand
from the glass
time is a crank
of tiny villages
no suburbs true
only the finest
olive oil smooths
time scent
the leaves of the trees
with rusty colors
too real as not
to be believe
time leaves
but leave nothing
undone, time
has a son called God
the crowd jostles
to be let into heaven
and set at the feet
of the victorious palace
where God ace
his ace-boo-coo
and knock about
the angels until
they are befuddle
they love it that-a way
they hurls
gigantic madness
in between the inbreeding
of the night and the day
the streets are crying
for fresh soil of concrete
the parade amble
down the sleeping street
the music of medley
is rolling on the tree
pull me into you
let me slip in
give me shatter
I have frankincense
and gum stolen
from the manger
of a new born son
of the later day shopping
center the clouds are
sawing at the sky
and chicken little
refuse to die
little boy blue
sings the blues
with a red slay
he scent his hair
with the scent
of Antony of Greece
who ware a village
in his lapel.
-
The fields
are poisoned
with genetic corn
the baby is born
with Satan's horn
the soil is prostituted
it laid prostrated
wasting away under
the chimaerical chemical
of the day
all the Gods sees this
but can do nothing
because man
is now in control and
will be so until
kingdom come to
a camp meeting
the furniture is fucking
the wooden floor
with tarnished prick
once silverware
once made of gold
Cantacuzenas pity’s
the man made dawn
and at 3 a m
the sewers are full
of dying spears
the egg seekers
and the protestors
swimming slow
Jesus where is your Christ!
Where is your paternal father
the baby's milk is full
of growth hormones
and the winter wheat
never sleeps sleeps no more
the costly clothes
are designer made and
cost an arm and an eye
of your soul so that
you may see only
a half life of who you be
this is what we
have made of the world
this is what we pray to in our
times of need and
never against the turning
will the people turn to poetry
the sparrow's nest
cry's its dead home
woven from the hair
if nature and man is afraid
that in the universe he is along
dig up all the graves and find
that your forefathers
are the ancestor of the black slaves
dig up all the graves there is where
heaven lays prepare yourself
to be absorb
the armies will give you your word
the Gods prostitute themselves
that the armies will
prostitute them fair
but lo, lo the word is cast
earth shall turn on us at last
it was God himself
who gave me the word
to school you as if
you have never heard
that you are the pig
unfit to eat, the laden fruit
of all your weakness
little by little will man
waste away and become
but dead furniture
on nature's plate.
-
Sir Raleigh's head
roll down the
streets of London
the stolen land
the wooden beads
of Manhattan
the smoking pipe
$35,000 dollars
the land minuet
the thieving hands
the witches burned
the pledge the
red mark on the door
the crops in the street
the fire consume
the ships of war
killing whorl
the sea the apple of Newton
and Adam nuts too
drop the gravity of our youth
the coming down the falling apple
the climb down or is it up into age?
The tea tax the stained sea
is it blood that is fit to drink?
Paul's ride against teary but
slaves held in chains
all founding fathers save John Adam
was insane with money and power
they came not fleeing
spiritual persecution
but with the fever of owning land
and they made a
corporation and called it
America and the babies there drinks
hormones and are fed
on the tainted corn such is the states
united to take our lives
for the sake of profit
we die the roasting man
on the spit with a pitch fork
the range of terror
the heads roll
the war of men
goes on and on
and Napoleon
is now king
short of growth
and round in bed
while Josephine
gives him head
the Euro was
Napoleon’s dream
the emperor is crowned
bare of clothes
and low the freedom of the seas
is sinking fast circle the wagons
the nation defends
the taking of native's land
by the hand of the
white man
the land grab
the fever of found gold
the wrestler roll
the gully wash roars
the alive war
Abraham Lincoln
spoke with a fork tongue
he wished to ship
all Black American
to central America
away from our shores
But over brain Mr bell
speaking into his new phone
and Thomas Edison
stole from Tesla
the iron horse
the kitty hawk
was put to good use
in world war one
the muster gas
the jass of the blacks
and young Adolf
drawing beneath as tree
the grab of new land
to men wars
there is no end
just because it be
well within the
cannon of being human
babies goes to war
with cries and symphony
animals goes to war
for food and treats
the atom bomb
the dog fights cause
the race to space
for more lands
and answer the question
is there not
more life like man?
The race to own the sky
of heaven and hell of which
no other life form
knows of such a place
as if man can
step outside of nature
and leave his
body behind
the only thing
of himself that he can see
he denies
when heaven is
a gated community
in the surrealistic suburb of the sky
man will kill to watch
other men die
the new baby man
sits in his high chair
in high heaven
what shall become
yes what indeed
shall he gun down
the dawn red with black blood
or white the night
with a gun shot flash of light
seeing stars when I die
I the man full of dead fields
shall he go down dead
or old the earth with the dust
of his skull and head?
Old man Snitch is a rat
he gives bibles to children as a way
of molesting their spirits
when will somebody
give a bible to God
who have forgotten
how to read the words of man
who forgot how to plead
forgotten how to please
on his knees
that all in
heaven and earth
finds the holy place that we
keep within our hearts
like a red st. Louis brick
in the foundation
of who we are
man is not noble
man is not special
man is not the highest form of life
he have forgotten how
to live out side
the noble place
is in your faith
in the house that your body
not in ordered churches
in need of a rape\both man and woman
and l;and shall draw
the shortest strew
of his many fates.
-
the fields weeps
fruit laden cattle
of children led
to the slaughtering house
built of candy.
-
The fields weeps
fruit laden cattle
the little beyond
is no paternal home
the silverware of furniture
is like costly clothes
waiting for Jesus
to would Kytr Andronicus
who is absurd as a
drunken bird's fall from grace
Satan the light bringer
Satan old nick
Satan cold as a witch’s tit
Satan fall from flight
takes to the flight
the loved against
the love one
God has a favorite
and his name is greater
then Jesus because Jesus
could not know sexual love
so he the one holy
incomplete without
a stiff hard on in
the desert of his sins
only man can top
Satan's love for man
is born of both
God and Satan in one
he bleeds and he bless
with wordy goods
which we can not take
beyond the bounteous of our skin
he cry and prays try-away
he hurt and talk his way
out of the person
that he along is apart of
the preposterous
dawn is annihilated
as some threatened priest
burning out of priestly sins
impressiveness and
it is so that only the poets
knows the imbecilities
that promise to be done
when the moon weds the sun.
-
The mob is my journey
and the 99% apology
no occupy the medleys of their
breath the crowd
takes to the streets the tear gas of
chimerical warfare is played
when justice and greed meets
then goes to their grand cold water flats
while we walk the street
party in the park where the homeless sleeps
I smell frankincense
and sweet gums burning
on the wind one with it like
religion and sin there under their arms
are the men of sweat and it lick my lust
and man my little man until I stand as one
with the cause of he who will throw the first blow
seldom do revolutions not hurt
seldom to power conceive something
seldom do politicians stops the police
sill thereby Ronny Kings
it was the camcorder
not the carefree at the intersection
that catches the absorber of
the powers that be tape recorder took
down Nixon wire taps on the rise
the patriot act took our rights and gave us
the terror's fear as their lies
the winds are knocking
against the traders
of slavery they slick
and shineing their skin
with the finest olive oil
to glisten their teeth
such it is as it be
jostling in the streets
befuddled and perfectly
victorious as some
lost then and went
and closed to the
suburbs wives
who cooked the steed
horse gus pie cooling
on the window sill
some rosy cheek kid
is just waiting to steal
for dinner to their
sons of a gun
the true thing to be with
freedom to bare arms
is the killing teeth
and the boding can not afford
it this protecting we
in the business streets
cooked the mare
and the baby chicks
chick and pea stew
sons who prostate them,selves
in the halls of Harvard
beneath the benches
of the football sex and sport
and beers to booth
men together in sport suites
munchies and dips
and chips and beer
kegs in dorm rooms and
students out
fighting the fight
in St. Louis games at Penn State
who anal fuck the streets
who streets the fuck
who march in line
and keep no time against
the coming winter
we stay we lay our
sleeping bag down
and Justin Beavers can not
pull us away this is
what they gave pop candy
eye candy in youth's skin
what is new of his music
other then the same old
white washed face of some tan
ttighent kid the ten year old
the stolen youth
the soap or the olive oil
the evil that men of power do
who turned his head
to father then coach
turn as not to have
the luck to see
why me, why me?
The pedophiles roams the streets
it never was the gay
save what repressed
sex will willingly do
man to man men do
ill and evil things
for money, for lust
for mobs that takes
a stand in Madison or New York
in Missouri they kidnaps boys
on the way home or to school
in Missouri when the
white man sleeps
involved in the sexual level
with Kyria Irene
the armies rounds
the streets with pepper spray
while we kneed in line
such is the America's way of control
whites and blacks and in between
my brown friends
when the armies rounds
the streets of humanity
is styll asleep in
the bed will weep
like behavior
dripping lust and
so it be so it is
so all children
should fear the
stiff pricks of
why is it so as it be
that some treat children
with disdain and belt
woop them at 13
the kids are in the streets
where I be in St. Louis
the children will see
the baby boomers go out
with a whimper.
-
I am lenient
I am annihilated
as one of the who
who hold the pen
I am Constantinople
of the triumph men
esteemed with words
I beg you to let in
my preparations absurd
yes this is true
but those around you
are up and at it
to no good good
hear me writing
the clicks of my keys
is a rhythm of the beat
of the dance of my finger
hear me writing the truth
as it is seldom seen of
goat hair wine-wasp and
bony thin branches of wings
the mind fly come
roll with me
then gigantic and the feet a toe
are sweet in stew
and rein lock in your youth
to little we poets we
do not let words
set you free
the gab-hogs and hog-get-tot-ree
are swimming in the poo pad
of all our use to bes
hear me say
I love you u da u b
I drop of l all the yous and your
of your wordy souls is
still unwritten but some day
will be set not in stone
if you do not poem
your way through the trees
where little
mart Riot if Window lane
is cooking up a mess of
snot noise in brine and pee
frank are my words
on the tip of my tongue
bill are my thoughts
of the day to come
only idiots live
within the poem
skinny things with lost birth
save for day maybe hour
once born they lay like
frozen flowers
waiting for you to break
them in a thousand
and that Shaky baby
or shakeabilly will
his rimes is the dying words
of always dying time
the poet are reeling
in the sun with the
moon as a fish line
and all are dying
just because there
is nothing else to do
let the poets woo
let them take and give
let them feel the feel
of you coming in
do not let the priest ride
beyond a little tune
played on the tree bark
do not give them
a perfect pitch
do not give them
you only soulful heart
for they in their ways
are all up to no good
at lease not something
as high as heaven
smooth me with ink
from my pen let the
symbols in within
let the Jon of DE Arc
free the slaves
who are chained
still chained to the graves
as if heaven is in the doorway
to wherein the kin
of men are hustlers
waiting to be paid
Jesus Christ, Christ!
me true and take away
the last perhaps of my youth
i am as old as man made sin
i am bold as prostration
before the bleeding heart
I am torn apart by my pen
that turns on me
and make me speak things
that have set heaven and all its host
against me with mocking words
within me the angels
are having a party
within the because
of what i do do i sleep
like living off of your youth
O hear the bells that tells
the time in sounds round and clear
as falling rime in the ear
I am Lazaro come from the dead
I whisper into the ear of Satan
because God told me to do
I slit open youth to find the young
I am my own happy moment
of no one
promises and imbecilities
are still good waiting
to be spent on man's misfortune
and nobble men are knocking on the door
at the last moment the bishop succeeds
to write on the bible with his dick
or a prayer in piss
and sucks the sucking
of the choir boy boy's prick
hear my words hear them clear
as bells of balls and tall
talk of they have
not the power to
clean the sinful lips.
-
Jesus Christ
pray for me
let my slaves
be set free
but not by me let the Lord
wept the lie
that shut the throats
of dying time
Christ Jesus
hear my rime
for me pray
just once more time
slave my sins
and on them
let me dine
spending a nickle
of your time
and chew away
all my lies.
-
once upon a time
in the land of reading
and night of school
that place that educates
the thought of fool
he be cool
in his skin grand
yet not known as such
by any man
such am I
your poet here
willing to take
from the muse
a picture of your sins
and give
it back to you
like a
concrete cake
with white icing.
-
The shear flesh
was still breading its bleed
and the afternoon
is running red
pass my lips
is beauty's shame
I took a leak into
every ideal flesh
hark the heal
hurled into my pocket
the angels sings
glory to the new born thing
that man can make
of his reality
little shared save for zoos
they there we here
little survive he in mine
rats and racoons
possum and homeless cats
sleeping crows and black birds
sparrow and barn owls
bees and all nature's matter
of things that be
in and of earth the mother
strong that will
do man some powerfully wrongs
killing and a killing
kicking the can
clean kill is the
marksmanship of man
the poet is 58 last
he touched the keys
the derisive dawn
has a heavenly ring
and I piss on
my sheer love of man
he come and he came again
the afternoon is
a historian of sins
he laid and laid the rot
he tired the night
into twenty-none knots
the sofa sits by the window
dreaming that someday
she will be a couch
queen Ann fine legs
east lake clutter of trim
fit for a black man
and who this
black be who is he
hark the Harlan angels sing
God of birthed
by the black man's king
I can barely forget to forget
something that itches me
I have passed on love
like giving head in bed
of lit candles
glow of flesh and mercy mild
God had birth
the black man's child
poets slip things in
into tight holes
and cramp corners of rats
like that what I pass
with this poem
is time not a clock
no such artificial as all that
I ware no watch
to measure the passing
of my life
need none other then
the sun the stars in
monotonous colored’s dark sky
in St. Louis the night is gray
the darkness is all gone
miles away man made
children grow
with no wonder of seeing
all the stars no field trip to
but open a Mall
and the yellow buses are there
where is the last Lord
where the birth in the shopping cart
in the park do the
babe be this lost and unwanted
he or she this brother or sister
to hasty how now the blue cow can cane the come
and lay me down
my golden crown for I
am Ricky McGee so say me
poets openly say of me
he was a poet as
Greyhark said
worthy to ware the black betray
read in the eminent
and you will be set free
the ideal Flesh of Jesus
shoulder a tree or river
as muddied ad the Mississippi
Jesus is as handsome as figure
tied in a beauty knot
of we being unable
to live in the past
and we who willfully by
blind fate follow to the grave
the entire devotion of who we be
is long lost to even me
the ideal hour
approaches fast
even time
forgets to last
sheer earth
have no conscious
and without it
consciousness birth no son
the afternoon is undone
lived out to it's last imminent
the lips plays the fiddle
it the passing of the wine
times for a blunt to rest
this poetry driving mind
the passing of the wine
is split from the vine
time is a most percussionist
killer yet none
can kill time.
-
When men was colored
in the extremity of the
detail of their skin
Blachermae grew
green with artificial gems of glee
and I picked the tiny pieces
like policing for roaches
beneath the barrack's windows
in South Korea
unseemly the glass of colors
humiliating the sacred dawn
sorrowful protest never comes
wretchedness is my only son
coronations are proper to come
hear me as if you heard
the whisper of the holy word
certainly the day will come
with symbols
in its wretches arms
I give you this lie
what is real is real as long
as a man thinks it so but
no this truth is not true
only he who can
step outside of nature
can know to tell
the truth of this lie
I give you this lie
to smooth the crowds
and dawn their doubts
with a golden crow
the poverty of the soul
is your ship of state
the contrary
is the key to the holy gates
protect against yourself
riot within your skin
let your heart-faith tears
fight it out with your piss
nothing is sacred, nothing
that I know
nothing is only no thing
which is something that
we shall never know
nothing more
Jesus barred the artificial door
with the skin of St. peter
with the lock made of St. Micheal’s hair
and a flack of his eye will let you in
hear what I say as if I said
the precious stones
are green or blue
and a humiliating hue
of looked upon contrary
blind you look supper doper
unseemly is the fish
of tiny villages
unseemly the hours leaks away
contrary the stage is set
for the extreme unseemly
play within is played
for all to see
that it was Jesus
who troubled the sea
who ran backward just
the show off how holy
was jis lack of doubt
and Bodacious Bojangles took the change
and danced Shirley down the stairs
Goldilocks Shirley and
my Mae West the
first drag queen I ever seen
but never met ms. west
o woman of women
they say your shortness
was short on beauty
Maimonides can read not
the verses are within
only to please you the poet said.
-
Rick James
was the first
black-white man
I ever heard of
or was it Shy Stone
of Billy Preston
pressing the Beatles into
the grove
never in the flesh I
ever knew but once
had a talk with
Jim Brown buying
disposable shaving razors
in a Denver Woolworth
once talked with
Baldwin at a book signing
and Walter Cronkite
at a church father and son
dinner my dad never there
big mama’s brother
uncle locust took me
Rick James had the funk in him
he was freaky
in many ways
free basing his needle name maybe
my main man, my might
free basting the grayness
of a city's night
the clouds assiduous assault the sky
the power lines are running
out of time, crows gather
and struck their stuff
and shits into the river
of our rushing
lust lusty in me
as Whitman in St. Louis
to visit his brother
who lives down the way
and the son of the adding
machines writes here
in the dirt with a tree stick
trunk rules my rotting tongue
just to say here lies Dave the don king
the freaky labor
of all his days.
-
Temethos of Antioch
ancient epoch of the odd Gods
poem of proper names
a word gfame a greek
inspired conspearity
expression of rhyme merely Cesarian
intimate the contentment
Temethos the naive
Antiocheans are at the gates
Emonkdes waits by the brook
when slaves are cooked
for the feast add this poem
as shoes for your feet
the coals are red hot
the spit is turned
and roasting souls
will not burn it is
only the flesh
the eyes of Satan
you have earned
so go got the golden ring
the circle is in town
and it is rounding all of us down
this the last movement of spring
the skylark sings
the bees bump their rings
the bole and time
an old friends of mine
knows well for whom
Hemingway is full of holes
bell, bell, bells
calls your name the ardent
ancient sings in grace
and wait the wait
and walk the talk
and love the lust
of the wordy mouth.
-
in Rhodes
Apollonius
of Tyana
entered the tremble
and built a
sand castle
of monotonous
villages and a wall
of generals stones
the amused no one
the activity took
beautiful years
and his flesh
descriptive to live within.
-
Man is made
of the stuff
of the vulgar clay
and mud
God said so
women are not
of Adam's rib
but knavish good
like a statue
of pure conduct
luxurious lust
of ivory and gold
man is silver
so I am told
the God of Jesus Christ
speaks to me often
the angels want
to translate
but my soul
fully understands
he told me of late
that man is damned
and I asked him why
the cause
he then tried to
hire me but the angels
was pushing me against the wall
as not to hot consider the answer
God, if I can call you that
words that rings the hollow
as a two dollar nickle
man with his growth hormones
hands and genetic engraved heart
is right to tear the world apart
he seeks to out do God
so watch your back cause he
will be poking his prick
into that if he gets a change
O I know his pricking ways
so Dave if'n I can call you that
what do you say?
Well, what's the friend benefits
like I asked
a sand castle in heaven
no die I mush like clay
and bricks of moldy old shit
and men of hay to suck
my wishes away
that they have a healthy day.
-
Youth is ablaze
with being young
its amusement into
the name of creamy cum
into its activity
what is won, the birth
of a daughter
or son, ask me
who is he
this vulgar construct
of watery day
detestable in his needs
to deceive the deceiver
the day is in training
to be your own tomorrow
the statue is ivory and
gold the tumble of the tremble
are full of holy holes
and propel conduct is no more
little however it be so
the talking tongue
are salts of sores
the knavish lad
bend forward his back
in loving motion the
prick attacks
it is not enough
the poet's word
to run around the words that run
already the day is baked in clay
already the young waits
on another slacken but of fun
that desires the flesh of the young
love torn my lorn ablaze the night
and beautiful black men
fills all me sight limited
by the city's grayness of night
the city waits for
the amusements of night
and darkness flings itself
into the business end of day
the general employee
have not been paid
mankind can not do without
his slaves, sexual or of the soul
he dash his wreckage of words
he dash his work of words
into every hole
such a sin have it always been
never one to sin no more
the moon is still gray
monotonous and some did
will fall but not tonight
as you bed your dreams
for the desires of the flesh
isn't always clean
voluptuousness I find
in your name
figure your lust with
my sexual guns
possesses is the last
lustful way that beautiful
blacks men knows hot to play.
-
I have seen him
regularly in the tavern
slipping his run and coke
entirely unknown
to who I be slowly
I do approach
manly figure is he
suspicious is his
manly needs
I understood precisely
he that gave no change
to any black man such as me
and still I approach on
to his side where
on the bar he rest his arm
a steel gray a pleasing smile
that pleasure my ends
dark curry hair
as wild as I desire it
I ask, is it lust
that slick your mind
is it union that I desire
naturally I am
not of your kind
and you insignificance
is plainly known
that black man
have the oldest soul?
I suffer no flesh
no persistent desires
to touch me is to
set yourself afire
I am the first Adam
to an Adam born
I am the union
between the moon and the sun
I betray no God and then
I am still only a man
entrance into my world
is but an understood thing
before you sat your denial
sit and enter me
as if you wish
to entertain the ideal
that I will not go about
exposing your disastrous
scandals that you keep
just below the something
of your dreams
three weeks did I woo
and not a kiss did he spare
still I suffer not
his own weariness
until the time I last saw him
I did not look to see
if he was still sick
with lust and longing
for a black man to fuck
beware of he who quickly
expose his indifference
by way of the entrance
made by words
still comes the night
of bar fights
and dark drunk men
made by the poetic word
that I woo to get in
the night regularly without a fight.
-
there is a trembling illness
cupped in my hands
of excellent upbringing
of our fair land
there is a fever of grief and time
worn fear that the critically
year is now near
the servants of age
is raising my child
the terrible anxiety
is about to fall
and idols crumple to dusk
when I draw near
here is the illustrious
coming of age
here within is the play
the Christians are
storming the gates
they seek to laid waste
to what is wasted
secretly the Gods
have no beginnings
middles or ends
and the idiots
are my only friends
daemons dear
and mercy mild
molest the child
and Christian is no cure
but tunes out the cries
the terrible cries
the pain that will not be denied
exhausted are all my poems
companion is my nearest friend
tremble moments
twitching on the clock
for a lad the decimated
year is gnawing near
the love of him
is always a deal
as deer in the headlights
the stage light reflex off his glasses
I desires to have no more
young sexual servants
to raise your child
desire not to catch the rain
in a land where
such a thing is forbidden
what falls is free to fall
all the accountable seconds
of your years
are shaved heads idiots
preaching fear
come here you Christians
and account for yourselves
whit is it that
you fight among yourselves?
Come and chant my game
come here all you
turn cloth of the
Christians named
the holy pancake
is rising fast
the flip time is near
butter it with your lies
soaked in holy wine
I hop hops your rein
and Kleitos morally
is exhausted
stretched on the fuck
but God got his back
the fever of the sun
is fear indeed
the moon is steady light
not its own
the stars are but
pin pricked worlds
nearly out of sight
the speed of it
fastly dead and gone
to starling dusk of our
dead breath still ;lives on
the stars are young actors
in the night and compassion
was sued out of sight
of all its rights
morally I am bankrupted
because I am smart
to me God have
no meanings God
is non-sympathetic
the broke dick God
can not relive my life
or wind it back to
the days of yore
the dogs are rearing
up for a fight with the fishes
that shits in the pond
honey and spoiled wine
spoiled tears and spoiled time
spoiled years are still divine
critically the paternal God
of trembles and decimated ease
sits by the spit and
speck out the butt ends
of all his days
and this year Amex
and Ria found him
idioticing his way
on the top of a walk
walking to his grave anxiety waits
the flip of the pancake
the sounds of the grille
and honey dew dawns like a prayer.
-
I am sitting beneath
a sycamore in
Forest Park
Kennedy forest
where I grow my weed just
behind the art museum
where Monet's water lilies
are handing I smoke a blunt
that I had just learned to roll
when this mixed guy
with high yellow skin
of flesh and wild
wavy hair dark as I like it
do you want a hit;;;;
-
Syria distinguished
work of Sophist
Mebes' young given
to him by his father
whole handsomest Antioch
Greek learning
is Padma critically
upbringing is Circe
exhausted beauty
is my friend's child
servant of companion
father to daughter
the rag doll chants
the middle line is real
young actors are we
sympathetic to a T.
-
The Actium
unexpectedly
the most polyclinic
political enterprise
itself on the outcome
of the new battle
truth vs lie
in living print
the names changed
to protect the behalf
with airy chatter
and rewound speech
still round on the tongue
the tongue is on and playing
a wordy tune and
none renounce that
nothing is a think
known as true
tiresome take
and prudery of glee
feeds the first of
who we be
boys under certain theaters and
KAPPA's hundreds
the Chi they say
in a hammer city
a wall of pity
a change of explanations
a letter with Christian ignition
J C who is he set us free
be immoral possibilities
the known gravity
the bull;s end of the butt
elegant as magnificent
preferred to be
certainly Mr. Rude
Time kills Julian
and the people of Antioch they
the great procession
of priests that
bite down with layman’s teeth
on the young dick there to be saved
instead his seeds are
taken way from kin
the first time stolen by men
handsome uplift\
the pagan's score
holy cross is
holy no more
the procession talk
and celebrated lot
of locks of hair
timid in a hustler's way
hands uplifted to open
and pray diffident
and dented is the cross?
This pagan idol of what was lost
man on a cross like some
kind of a theft who hangs
like dying leaves in the wind
the blood soaked flower
tells that the son of God
is now dead but he rose as a rose I
am told in the disbelief of my head
what was lost man on a cross
what color was the blood
on the backside of where he hanged
not of noose but long on pain
nails they say but how could
they sustain such weight of a full grown
sexually matured man as was
our Jesus what rust color noodle
of the rain thread its way
down the Mississippi
plates under horses
the horse apple tree
where I useta swing
the Christian festival
detestable brilliantly
concede by the wicked
mid region of weir
the rein that rides
the skies that cries
out its laughter as thunder and
throughout lies
through the street
the pimpled portals
And french squares where
the wind watch the slaves being sold
the wind to let in
finally I deliver
this most porous point
that neighborhood of piety lies
is a worship best spent
in the dress whites event of being
one with the one
who are all our many
the rightly so when
right is wrong long into it
like a lead pipe for children
arrogant people can not
truly celebrate the pagan
impressive in their stand
as penance for being alive
life is a penetration where
we do time that is but one excavate
and that is to die
so Padma the lotus flower float
Nelumbo nucifera ancient polyvalent
and Vishnu and Brahma sits along
Colfax and shot the breezes
full of holes padmadrug and Julian
fort Kosa shivaji my aquatic
range or the smugglers spies
fresh from Padmaloka
none the less it's a safety growth to know.
-
A night at
the serapeum
a good old man is he
he christ his days
at dawn's fuck sway
and prays
and pray
and pray
the church he
built is a
match box shoe
and pill hat box
and precepts
he knew that
Jesus ate the stew
O thee old man
o daily effort
to live on till
kingdom come once
upon a time it was so
O daily effort of risk
the Jesus himself in the house
and dead Elvis is no longer here
O single thought
bewilder my wild ways
and father wild all the
live short of his days
me no more
I am Jesus'
whorl his church
I shun the laments
and horror away
the accursed priest
who waits in the
shadow of the cross
my good people
my efforts there
on the concrete table
where cement dares
to travel
and sings where others cough
render for me
this deed this thing of
thuggish things
and talk of talk
like licked list of things
found some round that
it could fit into as earth's
usta be.
-
Royal edict
I pop pop
I Daivian david
I 50s issued
I brilliance bare of butt
homage to Settian's men
laudatory my praise
and so praise the
you our nobility
of the Jews
is knocked round
the edict of pen and riots
on my skin convey me
be it so as so as a thing
as the holy It.
-
The slightest doubt
the everything of
nothing of it all
it never one blessing
given or getting in good
with I inquire much
to much I
investigate
the investigations
radical form of fair
I of a performance
of a man
reformer of his kins
of the recent late
just for the hell of it.
-
perhaps the time
has not had not it's
time to come
no arrives yet
must hast it's run
ourselves to blame
premeditated and tame
repentance is dream
feasting on world faeries
the short coming of the
colonies is everything
anything there was
but human pray
to everything
even the unfortunate
wretch who begs
by the bar for
drops of beer
as yellow as piss
taken in measures
infertile as gods
look, look forward
look at your distrait
the sure rush hour
is a rush of love and lust
arrive on the mark
of the march of time
dine with me
let us feast on
puss and find within
the top-hardly human fuck
look, look and measure
your task of the take
and talk tall tales
to all after all
all this is just a poem
imperfection is a gift
ourselves to give.
-
The amateur
is still true
the finished painting
done by a youth
his details is loose
he wares a wet lie
of lives his open collar
a gate =way to
the forest of his bare chest
the temple of his beauty
his hair mannered
completely wild
with waves
study the lines
of my face
right temple dent
the face like dimples
of the strongest race
his lips like lanes
leading to yesterday
paint him in gray
rose color his face
his chest invites
his shirt ironed
his neck like a
thumb of a still
living tree
entirely the perfect
years fall's leaves
itself away
the picture is done
and his heart sways away.
-
Retort my religion lust
concerning my beliefs
that god is a she
understand the
empty-headed Julian of Greece
clever man that will not
condemn the ludicrous man
who in his religious way
will not wait
till kingdom come
such men have won
the understood
condemnation of any son
go I yes go
annihilate the sun
that is the weight of
the motion of all that
you have won the booties
of wars the friend's benefit
of the kill you read into it
as a under-christian
like under-cover brothers
in fro and dashiki
and ludicrous love
sent from above
mined from below
the annihilation is cold
as day old gold
now concerning you
religion beliefs or your God
or Hermeteles or me
sleep a short while
notice often the swell
and ideal love is
grief-grief-stricken
with lust receive
the epitaph
your cousin in love
the last days are
spited into my color
and we grow together
we deeply grieve
we resentment of
all that is weak
of souls entirely
I have stolen
from Mary Lou
that Mary of God
Aristodemes is cold
as a satiated snow
the end is near
and during our last days
of the first that waits within
a poet once told me with
his red weepings of green and yellow
buying the market place
on a dine of doing time
as a man within his skin
and I O yes I
the bully bull of a boy
did drop my draw and let it in
he told me with hoe dead eyes
that destine is a traitor
and teller of lies
he told me that
I world rise down round the west end
and find my south just north
of the border and that I
will cover with words
the sky and that my
friend the painter
Steve will paint
satisfying as I feigning of spites
and perhaps under weed my love of him
and all men of human's's make
Cimon my cousin kin
grief-stricken to his
soul's gate waits
by the grave stone no bigger
then a apple skipped a
cross the river of graves
he waits the return of sensitive
resentment grow, yes grow
together deeply grow with
all images between thee
grow like sorrow close
to the end grow, yes grow
into an imagined man
see now the taken
henceforth malnourished
and excuse and wild
hair never the same
receive me receive
this poem as if it is
all through one.
-
Wanted
a Cimon
a handsome man
a sensitive longing
a king Clemenes
in Spartan
a demurred man
me single Settian man
6'2 170#
willing to try
all but crime
against the soul
will the store
and to before
my time die
you Egypt
guarantee of
being black
strong of thighs
and upper back
with your mouth
full of rumors
and hands full
of doubts
you laughed at
but certainty
and able to
indifferent
the Spartan;s pride
all that I request
is that you be
who you are with your skin
illustrious as a
Spartan king.
-
Did I not know
the agreement
of the Gods that
guaranteed nothing
humiliating the dawn
lust as demurred
as rain insane
in it's falling
always faltered
always unseemly
as specks of understood
rumors and encouraged gravies
old any and all humiliations
is assuredly yesterday's
today is illustrious
and grand as a man
in love with a man
mother of Spartan
encourage the dawn
to sit itself down
beside the last light
of a fading night
old man age command
indeed the rejoice knife
that cut the cake
of the sun's laughter
and lives as indifferent
great lady east lake
wash over me with
my request that
the prize of Gods
and dead in their graves.
-
Why do St. Louis harassed me?
Why do it kill
far too many more
why the man dying
in a vacant door?
I am mariner
from an island
in the Aegean Sea
why am I destitute
wrench and grand
in my stance upon
our earth that
evening ironmongers
and mongers of love
mind the dark
step around it
let it not seek in
darkness hides the kill
mind the dark
of expensive
and blue shirts
and beautiful dollar bills
I asked myself
would I sell
my sex to a bidder
for a pocket full
of debaucheries
and super-looking
middle age man
who still posses the
last of his baby fat
who still posses
their lofty youth within
where it should be
with older men
the lock of their souls
no but then again
only the expense commands
only the expensive common touch
cold really was what
we will take place
the shop is close
the blinds drawn
the man manikin
is waring only a tie
antiquity sits in
a overstuffed chair legs spent open
wide and I look like
the me true never was alive
the perfect young man
cries into his soup and I
see my refection there
glorious monger
glorious and grand
the sovereign Libya
si no son of
Menelaus nor
accepted bones
decorously
I rain as if
it was for 40 days
I will like the rain again
I will it's musical falling
was profound through
of insane names
and dressing wore
down the thread bar grave
where bedtime lays threads
brave and natural in their break
as is shuddered.
-
Remember
the battle at
Actium of Sam
that liberated
the Romans
of Antony's ruinous
Caesar of Cum
the conqueror
are glorious
the Milyrapest military
enterprise is
beautiful with
political exploits.
-
Jupiter is a gift
a perfect protestor
of Octavius
and his sons
who triumph
as any man can
the changing is starting
to fad the recounting
of days of verse and prose
and lagging language of Gods
messengers is foretold
by the hole in the head of earth
by the switching of the magnetic poles
by the smartness of man
that will in the end
be his most profound weakness
that leads to his demise
his finial down fall
if not a nature inspirited
killing back or off of his
body and his unseen soul
the emergence of his racism
of his racial philosophies
against the doo rays
of America and the Afro
of Argentine the occupier
of black skin
the mulatto citizen
mules no more
the pseudo-scientific
of racism is insidious
is proofreading a national
future of intellectual
and academic lost
it has been brought
into Buenos Aires
determined to
emancipation Venezuela
not the third part of
Simón Bolivar
no, Colombian commtlments
remember Gonzulo
Vial Correa
remember who established
slavery toward blacks
donation as necessary
to sit God back
the continued is overgrown
like over rated diamonds
such is it penalized
by the omission of soil
according to the code
the regimen of God
is full of old men
too old to know
what is transpiring
in the heads of youths
in vulnerable
position of improper
conciliation the Christionees
their dread death clothing
and there a hole
in Christianity filled
with religious matters.
-
The bridge is building
its rills
the air meets
once again
everywhere is rain
and everywhere hair
in the wind of time
the woody pictures
and lace with ice
the lie reborn birthed
by time and lies roams
the blog of the sky
it can not be done
in Rome nor Benares
for suspicion is
but the fading shadows
of ghosts of the Gods'
learning to be men leaving
one place for the other
in believing the bit little
in the conversation place
of the south village
is undergoing a
science fiction of friction
transformation into
a macrobiotic salad
sad as a lad in a
nest of hair in the shoe boo box
give me your worms
of worries and I will
yawn you a tune we
will play the lay down
of mid night noon
and come soon as soon gets
when it is wild and wet.
-
let me build
within your heart
a bridge never
torn apart
step up into my heart
I wait for you
to do as you do
to love me true
we the two who woo.
-
I'll be yours
lady in love tonight
if you want me to
I'll be all for you
the one is so hard to find
one and one will always be two
as our love is true
make your love to my mind
and our bodies will follow
no other need bother
they don't have a clue
about me and you
I'll be your lady in love tonight
if you want me to
it's all up to you
stand by my side
in light and in darkness
I will witness that it is you
the one true lover
and how you do.
-
Kleitos found
morally sympathetic
exhausted with
love making of his man
critically he woos
the servant who
raised him when
he took the boy in
Kleitos trembles
within his youth
his terrible anxiety
is that he love to deeply
that he worship the turning
of all Christians one by one
they fall from the cross
and stigmata bleed with the mind
of an idiot with pancake eyes
secretly he loves
like living on the edge
kleitos is to sympathetic toward
youths he have found in Greece
in that learning all of which
he exhausted like Padma
on leave to his holy land
Kleitos met a young actor
in an Oneal play
the fever that decimated
his loving ways told him not to
trust anything straggle or
sweeter then pure honey
illustrious in his make.
-
Aged servant
aged angel
on his last wing
critically ill with
the sickness of man
B.B .King has lost his thrill
a learning upbringing
a found excellence
exhaustion lift in his will
the idiot child is blessed
by the bite that bites down
but does not kill
parental parent compassion to give
worship of man by angel
will in the end kill one or the other
worship the anxiety
that old actors play
the true life to live this way
old mark Mack
is dressed in gray-black
like the lack of darkness
in the city of the graves
she jumped the fence
for $52.00 of scent
she jumped so high that
she reached the upper room
in the sky and she found out
that only lost angels do not cry
she jumped so high into the sky
that she needed an old fashion angel's cry
that she never came back
till the 16th of July
care to carve my cares for me
cure my ills to foresee
that the servants of God's grief
is an Augus gull of old men wild
who mercy away their short lives.
-
Wallow me wrung
to brothels or tavern
Tamides left me in the lurch
right me epochal to acquired
all my debaucheries are stored
in the church smelling of
fragrance
it is what I possess
abjectly the Nile
is always wet
as the desert advance
Alexandria's son is shabby
with wants constant beauty
remains the fleshy
part of who he be
beauty is full of two years
and marvelous men in between
the fragrance and the fish.
If all our days
instantly the hour
approaches handsome
of face with his spinets
introverts sixty pounds in a
gambling house where
unexpected to loose
is no good news
the honorable household
is depraved with out
of heart power and expensive
thinking that it is at all
that four )'clock the grave is given
and bedrooms full of marvelous men
spend their smokes of their cigarettes
in rings of troublesome thoughts
that hallo the heads
of giving head and getting wed in bed
mechanically the lungs takes in smoothly
are all over our breath
newspaper cafe are full of empty eyes
and presently it is since ten thirty-five
the entire reading drinks plenty when
the slightest doubt is a handicap
of hardship blessing let it
investigate let it inquire
to reform immediately the
radicals storms the blessings
put up to block the way
perhaps today we wait
perhaps the needed ones will
be needed
perhaps the request will be granted
or grand guilds bent their backs
and shot the hole through
possession trimmed and tanned
rightful and minuteman
we defined the carrying out
of ourselves we one still in
our demands ingenuity surgical to do
is excesses of top seeking
this is true and as so
as hard as a surprise
by love and when
and then and this and that
other then the precisely\propose the sacrifices of the souls
of the last investigation
into the everything whole.
-
1953 comparisons
of communities
among children
who played with everyone
but let mother mention
that beauty is only fair
when it is wrapped in a white one
better light we have none
other the the to precept a subjection
that that man's skin color is
unappropriated to
the Christian cause
or he who least like
our one true God
is so condemned to fun fire
that even hell wont take 'em
little he lost his taught racism
little he holy his position
did humiliate him when he fell from
a selling sold closed dark one
unquestionably
did he considered
the true nature of love
that honor is delight and right
will never intervene
until asked to do so
not all of appropriateness
is to be used sympathetic
is a made fool mentioning of
as a better light whenever
was right right?
-\\\Equally brain beautiful brain
nervous state day kisses
and hugs to want beloved face
impeccable legs and horse hair
beard beautiful consummation
of lacking nothing real
desired and well bred as
pseudo-beauty
drink and blanket your
boredom with the fuck that is me
completely wasted
sensual please
utterly masted beside the bed
with much to do about
everything borrows
small practical
disdained sums of money games
small difficulty, small cafes
small was the long loosing days
in 1896
the bent erotic flowed and flopped
to the sea and seriously probably
it is so I meant to mention beauty
as being appropriate
to the cause but the sympathetic.
-
I look into the
deserted room
where he use to sleep
only the rain's movements
sliding down the pane
-
.
-
the crows gathers
in the high elms and
mable and Oaks
a stop on the flight-way
to roost in the abandoned factory.
-
a smudged face boy
in a spider man suit
raise his candy bag
before me.
-
the frost is late
to St. Louis
November trees
still holding leaves.
-
autumn wind
warm in early winter
fallen leaves of an oak
are waving good-by
from the trees.
-\
autumn rain
with falling leaves
sun's heat heats
the window pane.
-
the sounds of
rain hitting trash
in the streets
a symphony of
washing away.
-
it is as quite
as if all the
hosts of heaven
are still asleep.
-
sunday church bells
ringing moving
through the frog
that rides the river.
-
wind in brown
leaves of trees
fills the tremble
where the cars
are still asleep.
-
there is a warm clam
sun lit the day after
thanksgiving something
to give thanks for
next year.
-
the peach-boy
flows down stream
cut open he
leaks out Autumn.
-
is the warm winds
riding the falling leaves
like stake boards
in the breeze.
-
more so then not
the buildings have no named.
-
te homeless black cat
moved from across the street
to under my porch
because I leave
out near spoiled milk.
-
a plastic bag
caught in the tree
it is autumn but
it feels like
kites and spring.
-
the bamboo grove
at the zoo has spread
beyond the fence
meant to keep it in.
-
there is always
something not to see
I have never seen
a bird fly out of the fog.
-
even without
their leaves
the branches sways
a silent music
in the movement
of the windy ways.
-
winter will come
from the north
spring from the west
the ice will grow
in the streets
and bees will
keep until next spring.
-
the fall time of trees
in front of the church
frames the stained glass.
-
the dark bark
of the fall trees
looks like lead
of a stained glass windows.
-
someone power blowing
leaves from their
front yard
taking over wind's duty.
-
12-04-2011
the bridge is building
its rail th air meets
once again everywhere is
rain and hair the woody
pictures are laced
with lies and lies roam
the blog of the sky
it can not be done
in Rome or Benares
for suspension is
but the fading shadows
of a ghost of the Gods' host
it is but a ghost
of God's leaving\one place for the other
in the conversation place
of the south village
is under going a
science fiction
transformation into
a macrobiotic salad
sad as a lad
in a nest of hair
give me your worries
and I will yawn
you a tune of healing
-
I'll be your lady
in love tonight
if you want me to
I'll be all for you
the one is so hard to find
one on one will always be two
yes me and you our love is true
make love to my mind
and by body will follow
no others need bother
they don't have a clue
about me and you
I'll be your baby in love tonight
if you want me to
I'll be all for you
to want me to.
-
let me build
within your heart
a breakage never
torn apart
step up into
my heart
I wait for you
to do as you do
to love me me too
we the two who woo.
-
Keitos found
morally sympathetic
exhausted with
love making of his man
critically he woos
the servant who
raise him when
he took the boy in
Kleitos trembles
within his youth
his terrible anxiety
is that he loves
to deeply
that he worship
the turning of
all Christians
one by one they
fell from the cross
and stigmata bleed
with the mind
of an idoit with
pancaked eyes
secretly he love
like living on the edge
Kleitos is too
sympathetic toward
youth he have
found in his break
learning all of which
he exhausted
like Padma on leave
to the holy land of
the Greeks
he met a young actor
in a play by Oneal
the fever that decimated
his loving ways
told him not to
trust anything sweeter
then pure honey
illustrious is his make.
-
Aged servant
aged angel
on his last wing
critically ill with
the sickness called man
B.B. King has lost his thrill
a learning upbringing
a found excellent
exhaustion lift itself
in his way
the idiot's will rules the day
the idiot child is blessed
by the bite that bite down in birth
but does not kill
parent compassion to give
worship the anxiety
that old actors play
the true life to live this way
old Mary mack
\he is dressed in black
like the lack of darkness
in the grave
she jumped the fence
for $52 in dine cents
she jumped so high
that she reached the s
upper room
in the sky
and heard the old angel cry
that she never came back
to the 16th of July
cured your cares
of all their sevens
grief any grill
of old man wild
like gulls
gulling away their lives.-
Wallow me wrung
to brothels or tavern
Tamides left me
in the lurch
right my Eparoh
to acquired
all of my debauches
are stored in the church
smell my fragrance
it is what I possess\
abjectly the Nil\
is always wet
Alexandria’s son
is shabby with wants
constant beauty burns the face
constant beauty
remains the fleshy
part of who we be
beauty is full
of two years
and marvelous men
in between the fragrance
and the flesh.
Of all our days
instantly the hour
approches handsomely
handsome of face
with his
minotaur introverted
sixty pounds in a
gambling house
where unexpected
to loose is no good news
the honorable household
is depraved with
out heat and expensive
thinks that it is all that
four O'clock the hour
give the given gave\and bedrooms
full of marvelous men
spend the smoke on other men
of their cigarette
troubling thoughts
rings the head
of giving and get
wed to the bed
mechanically the melancholies
lungs
take in solitary
are all our breath
newspaper coffee
are full of empty eyes
and presently
it is since ten thirty-five
the entire reading
drinks plenty when
the slightest doubt
is a handicap of hardship
blessing let it
investigate to reform
immediately the radicals
storms the blessings
put up to block the way
perhaps today we needed one
will be needed perhaps
perhaps the request
will be granted
or grand guards
bent their backs and bows
and shot a glory hole
thought possession
trimmed and tan
rightful and minutely
we defined the carrying way
out of ourselves we one
still in our demands
ingenuity surgical to do
is excesses of top seeking
this is true and as so
hard as one surprised
as to be suppressed
by love and when love
pray the lock
of your heart
and when and then and this
others that precisely
propose the sacrifices of the soul
of the last investigate
into everything whole.
-
1953
comparisons
of communities
was not common
among the children
who played with everyone
but let mother mention
that beauty is only fair
when it is raped
in a white one
better light we have none
other then to subject
than that man's skin color is
unappropriated
to the Christian cause
or he who least like
our one true God
is so codenamed
that even hell
wont take 'em
little he lost
his taught racism
little his holy position
did humiliate him
when he fell for
a selling closed white one
unquestionably
did he consider the true
nature of love
yes that thing
that hollow words
heard of cooking oil
and bars of soap
love honor is delight
and right will never
intervene
until asked to do so
not all of appropriateness
is to be used
sympathetic
is a fool made
in America
made mention of as a
better light
but mention me this
whenever was right right?
-
Equally brain
beautiful brain
nervous state
day kisses kissed
and hug to want
beloved face
impeccable legs
and horse hair beard
beautiful
consummation of
lacking nothing real
desired and well bread
as any lover save the first
well bred as
any lover man
pseudo-beauty
drink and blunts
boredom with the fuck
that is me.
-
Completely wasted
sensual pleasure
utterly mustered
beside the bed
with much to do
about everything
borrows small practical
disdained sums
of money in the
money game
small difficulty
small cafe
small was the
long loosing day
in 1896
the bent erotic
flowed to the
sea and seriously
probably it is so
I mentioned beauty
as being appropriate
to the cause
but the sympathetic
never fall.
-
i look into the
deserted room
where he use to sleep
only the rain's movement
sliding down the pane.
-
the crow gathers
in the high Elms
and mable and oaks
a stop on the flyway
to roost in the abandoned
factory.
-
a smudge faced boy
in spider man suit
raise his candy bag
before me.
-
The frost is late
to St. Louis
november trees
still holding leaves.
-
autumn wind
warm in early winter
fallen leaves of an oak
are waving good-by
from the trees.
-
the sounds of
rain hitting trash
in the streets
the washing away.
-
it is as quite
as if all the
hosts of heaven
are still asleep.
-
sunday church bells
ringing moving
through the fog
that rides the river.
-
wind in brown
leaves, trees
fills the temple
where the cars
are still asleep.
-
there is a warm calm
sunlit the day after
Thanksgiving, something
to give thanks for
next year.
-
the peach boy
flows down stream
cut- open
he leaks out Autumn.
-
is the warm wind
riding the fallen leaves
like skate boards
in the breeze.
-
the homeless
black cat have
moved from across
the street to
under my porch
only because
I leave out
near spoiled milk.
-
a plastic bay
caught in the tree
it's Autumn but
it feels like
kites and spring.
-
the bamboo grove
at the zoo
has spread
beyond the fence
built to keep it in.
-
there is always
something not
to see, I have
never seen
a bird fly
out of the fog.
-
even without
their leaves
the branches sways
a silent music
in the movement
of their windy ways.
-
winter will come
from the north
spring from the south
the ice will grow
in the streets
and on the wind blows
and the bees
will keep until
next spring.
-
The fall oak tree
in front of the church
frames the
stained windows.
-
the dark bark
of the Fall tree
looks like lead
of the stained
glass windows.
-
someone power blowing
leaves from their
front yard
taking over
wind's duty.
-
across the rapiddale river
into the river run forest
the woods hides
traipse granted in may
into the wilderness
is being congested
out of it's wildness.
-
Something
Something touched me
on the back of the shoulder
I looked none here
but the hand of air
and the warmth
and light of the sun
my god as gods goes.
Then something slapped
on the back of the head
I turned and saw only a long
curly strand
of my hair hanging
lightly on the tail
wind of a fading wind
Somethings are
shooting into and
out and through me
it is the cosmos breathing
it is this God or
uncontrollable
dream of some God
complete with nightmares
of children hungry
in their beds
and bullets holes
in the school house walls.
These things leave
no holes but they
hold me fast
like a water of fire
and creativity's
cultivated prayers
falls from my eyes.
Yes I have water
made within me
and word filled
breath of winds
and sun heated skin
as well as heart within
its warmth warms
the way I walk through
what through in and
out of me.
God is my Mother
my Nurse Maid
and Mid Wife wedded
to darkness and light.
This mom ménage à trois rules
my life. All that is
is by pleasure of
darkness and light
and the cosmos
raise and falls
and dark hole
themselves to death
and life is born.
-
The A L
'during rock overbalanced
avalanche would cub one wildness
in the blood to stay
alive in our cow-shout
caught got tangled tired
in our bob wire sharp tongue
the bovine kind
and the wanted
to be paid of every man
all we have to give
is not enough time
to count the deaths
of my fallen brothers
night flight
waits the nation's natives
they now knows
that we stalk the hills of history
the mountains growing
in our heads as brain
tactician of Tacoma tectonic
takes it's hold
the mountains grows
upward rocks of thoughts
are crumpled to pebbles
rocks under foot as thrush
as a mine
the exposed expostulate roots of trees
of who we use to be
top dead but not yet
decomposed into
who we be the rocks under feet
the burned out buildings littered with toys
and pots and pan and Sunday dresses
the house of carved mud-like roof
the children who lost their roots
caught in war, smudge face
they face the bullet holes I
the school hour walls
war kills in Yaku Chinna
war shorted the legs
and blinds
when it comes to kill
killing those who are
not our kind as if men
are not of the humankind
atre not brothers and sisters
and gone to war sons
the crack walls
that looks like homes alomg
with themselves only the dogs
made homeless of house and owners
walks the streets
in wars the dog are on the table
after having a cat for dinner
i9n the homes we find weapons
and old men to old to fight
still they lose their old lives
sons died in war
and jobs grow
killing it tied to proof
calgarties of war
are never the greedy\
they have their eye on us
100 meter
a enemy on the foot
takes his head off is the order
atop the mountain we are dug in
the camouflage net
flaps in the high winds
that wars tried to kill to
have a clear sight
to place the cross-hairs
on your eyes
rain pelt the poncho
just above the village
we are dunged in
at Camp Blessing
and warm c-rations
NNA wounded
the chosen company
one knots the ruts a moment
of silent for the
dean then its
war time again
a chopper flies in
make sure you are done
today the newbe
pissed in his pants
short-timers
have seen it all
and takes him in
under their wings if
he is to out live the war
of death that stalks him in war
but learn quick
those wings will soon
take to flight, go state-side
with their life
last week
Sargt got killed
on the bird out of the country
it wouldn’t let him leave
now in death he own a flag
that once graced his coffin
it hangs on the wall
over the bed of his daughter
Doc is down
some boys are heading home
moral is high because
we got some weed and alcohol
we play the blues
on an old guitar we laugh
so loud that all have
forgotten that we are at war.
Boys smiles in war
boys talk the sexual talk
in wars, boys will be boys
easily lead by older men
it is a must
that they fit in and fix
the war full mess of
what it means to be a man.
-
I promise
you a journey
I owe you the moon
heal me of this conduction
this human being
of love, this abandonment
of demolished wall
of coffee and dead children
and nights as raw
as an assassination
of astonishment.
The finger of the window
is pointing at me
this hungry phallic
as hard as shadows
of a hatchet
as light as a fire
as black as ebony Gods
with childhood's teeth.
My shadow is on fire
to love you
my breath is crushing
on the taste of you
the taste buds of my tongue
is crashing on the rocks of my thoughts.
My tears burns with friction
as they roll turn turtle
down to be caught by
my monumental ankles.
\I am a riddle writ in darkness,
a sleeping puddle of tears.
I am here by the chance of the Gods
I am here a real comment
on the state of the Nation of Male Love.
Black is my significant,
Black is my suck.
Black is my calendar of love.
Black like volcanic sand
and green life's water stagnated
in the palm of my hand.
Black will be my man,
black like a hole
in the black musical consciousness
of my America.
Black like arithmetic
jass bluing the beat,
the bent back of a soulful fuck
Black like raining time in drops
of rhymes
and rhythm of
lost black time
as dark as the dirk
dug in the Black man's eye.
Time reaching into the hole
to find itself living
in the fudge fungus of my
toes I swing a summering in jass
O am a swing jass
the wide ass open
end of grown moments raining
out of time.
Black will be admitted on black as
memories of the jass
that waits on the streets
to live again, the street corner
doing its busy business dieing
without a why.
Black like black desires
on the crowed corner
of the tip of a pin.
Black like a shout out
to the man, the father of sin.
Love pushed me into a corner
pushed and grabbed at my genitals
with its dark bushy hairs once
a nest for men mouth
and semen of doubts
growing from the proving ground.
I need a man as savage
as money
leaving
and CinemaScope of mothers
who give up their children
for a new husband.
I need a blues in my blood
to live this American life.
I need terrible memories
once lost among my crawling
moments held in the
chamber of my doubts, digging for jass.
Digging for and swinging love making
and ragged ass scratching for a fuck
from my heart's home.
I can hear the train
chuckling along
in the corner of a small rain
and the moon is wearing
a laced grown made of
whistling and thinking
and beating back
the journey to the
promises made by the moon.
Too soon the touch blossoms,
too soon the condition
of being human will kill you.
Too soon is just
an impressionistic mirror
where only within you can
see the true God.
Too soon December
is a weight for change
and a Pope named
Governor of the meek.
The pores of my skin
is as ecstatic as
Hebrews leaking
stuffed hitch cocks.
Of Hitchcock
Silent is my vacant ear,
my vacated declares
and beautiful ecstatic
guilt of being nothing
more then a man in love
with mystic sorrows
and damned innocent
waiting to be born again.
But life is leaking away
from me by the tic of a second.
Life led me by the hand
to my death that wait and can
hardly stand not to take me.
Death waits in an East lake chair.
Death to me have
lied all the time but
will not die out of my life
until the time I
have not the strength to requisite
my resisting of it.
Somewhere there is
always living its life,
all the years of our time.
Somewhere the wind is alive,
the running round of the stars.
Alive life is the only God
written in cosmetic's cosmic stuff;
dust and dirt at dusk
and decomposing
of cold men and women.
Life can not not be whimsical
and uncalled for, for
none asks to be born.
Life is only by the whims
of the Gods who birth us
then leave us to fend for ourselves
as we leave tracks
in the hell am man's making
but Nature will not long
let us spoil the garden..
The Gods do not speak English
Nature is their interpreter
and she have tings being born
and dieing as not to care
about the survivable of humankind.
The priests can only
translate for man made Gods
and the priest is human
therefore susceptible to the flesh.
Only poets not the priest
can translate what the Gods do not believe.
Each poem is a sermon,
each poem is an intermission\
not of life but in it,
each poem is a walking tear
that refuses to dry,
a done thing of denial,
a soft jass of a crack chalk line,
a jass of a challenging key,
a lonesome meeting of yourself
this is the poem
an emerging into the clock
where tick took is but a mirror
made of tin gingerbread
covered with lead mad in China
for American's consumption.
The roads are anonymous
Indian's veins running
to the nerves of the city
St. Louis and where the
tragedies are played on the
stage of everything.
This emerging into being
this hollowness of the moon
smelling of bison's bones
and the great divide of dignity
where the destruction of will\
lives in the dusty voyage
of all our tears
a river that waste its flow
into the oneness
of truth and lies
for what I spy
is not the animal’s
source nor the dying sky seen
in the faces of the dead
who knows only one position
and can not not anything
or know to clutch
the coffins''s handles.
Willful destruction
is a promise that
Nature makes
and to wet
the trouble with our form
and capitalism is that it is
no longer as America
as apples but as American as
the get me some.
Willful destruction
is the promise wet with
your tears.
Here is the buffalo
rusty as Terra cottar
Lcimonas seeping
from the proses as
day old fire-extinguishers
carved by a burglar
entering into the window
of your eyes where
all of your divines glimpses
are nothing but lies
told in the prayers
into cupped hands made
of random sand
and glimpsed memories,
as night, as day.
This is ordained to be so
this sun, this moon, this midnight-thirty
this turn of the new world Blake
with his paper tiger
named Fanny Mae Longshit
Fanny Mae is the color
of used coffeeFfanny Mae is eating
white gay murders
for dinner and desert.
Fanny Mae gives a ball
and dance the beat
of the heart beat of all.
Fanny Mae wears synagogue
glasses with jass window panes
and she rents a room in
the corner of heaven
where everyone is insane
with the madness of Bordon
and too much joy
and not enough of getting
their fix of human crimes.
Only time is the true traveler.
Only fanny Mae is as classical
as busted nights with
arrow eyes.
Only God have no need to lie.
The coffee pot is doomed
to rust red as weeping toes
and balls of gauze the size
of tall dentists who pull
the tooth of a
new born marriage.
-
There is a construction
of Hippocratic hiphuggers
and hipacrepts in the
Christian church
priests molesting boys
priests going to war
thou shall not kill
but God did not feel
to add child molestation
to the Ten Commandment.
As well we know
just how old the sin
that in
some village Jesus passed through
in some home
a child undone.
-
age
is this
it
O how fast
my nose
hair grows.
-
in some
other age
they hunted
rabbles and
possums
I did with
granddad
am I to old
to know what
young boys of
today hunts
-
nov.
no snow
winter is late
at its
old man's pace.
-
even t. v.
think it's time
to sleep.
-
each walk
in spring rain
is the one
and only.
-
this weed
so beautiful
as any flower
beaded with
autumn rain
o how easy
it is to
fall in love.
-
a funeral
procession
running the
red light
what's the hurry?
-
the sparrow
chicks raised
in a hole in the
outside wall
just under
the upper porch
have been
friendly with me
from birth.
-
the sounds of
sparrow chicks
begging for food
I caught and they
drop to silent.
-
a cloudy moon
half hidden
connects me
to the sun
by its stolen light.
-
man thinks
he no longer
wild
because he builds
homes and
manicured lawns
the bee's hive
under the arney.
-
once you are alive
nature says to you
henceforth
you are
on your own.
-
this wind
encourage an
autumn leaf
to follow me.
-
is it the cold
the wind and rain
or just the land
itself that
owns autumn.
-
the bloom
of fall leaves
recalls a stone buddha
seen in autumn
in south korea
fall visit every
where in its time.
-
]
the mississippi
flows south
from the northern
cold to the
southern warmth
is it looking
for spring?
-
one month
to new years
and the old gods
are still silent.
-
the muddy missouri
Confucian into
the clear mississippi
two rivers
seen in one.
-
27 bones in my hand
7 bones in my neck
somethings are hidden
even from the owner.
-
my bones will
out live my flesh
and I will never
see them
face to face.
-
winter breeze
full of sunlight
no leaves to ruffle.
-
the winter breeze
touches the
stranger across the street
before it turned
its attention to me.
-
a street corner preaches
can not control
his words in the wind.
-
street corner preacher
can not stop his words
from blowing into
my ear by the wind
even tho I am
across the street.
-
I a street preacher
competes
with a nest
of sparrows
now it is spring.
-
the winter wind
hints at
the first frost
collar greens
waiting to be harvested.
-
the smell
of burning wood
is winter comfort.
-
he said his name
was tranquility
I asked
where have
you been all my life.
-
the sunflower
I planted last spring
heavily with its load
bends it head down
for the sparrows.
-
this winter
the pimple
on my arm
itches like a
mosquito's bite.
-
I always dream
that I am flying
I wake and
jump high out of bed.
-
I often forget
that I have
a shadow
in sunlight
it tells the world
that it is me.
-
I am
not as lucky
as my shadow
I feel pain.
-
an american flag
waving in the winter
breeze but I know
that nether is patriotic.
-
it is colder
in the shadows
then in the light
but each is
of equal strength.
-
the abandon house
is beautiful even
tho it is unkempt.
-
even a puddle
of water
can be
full of life.
-
flying
in my dreams
I have never
crashed.
-
I have a back ache
o lord please
don't let me sneeze.
-
to hide
so much
the darkness is
as thin as air.
-
this winter
there are bees
but no butterflies
flowers still blooms
in the garden.
-
the fallen leaves
are playing with
the wind
they round
the stop sign
as if it's
a may pole.
-
some things can not be known
I have never heard a butterfly's sound.
-
in the park
my reefer planes
dead by the cold
still dry enough
to smoke.
-
the cold wind
can not stop
the sun from
heating half my face.
-
the siren of an
ambulance louder
then the songs
of the sparrows
in its human way
the city sings
experimental music
both night and day.
-
a man winterizing
his home
an elder woman
standing guard
telling him
not to fall
leaves on the ground.
-
church bells ringing
leaves twitching
a music of
movement
never ending.
-
here he come
to save the day
mighty mouse
is on his way
the trap is to set
to bring him
to his rest
it's loaded with
peanut and cheese
to squeeze out
his eyes and brain
2
for a good time
throw that pillsbury's
dough boy
into the oven.
-
in the winter branches
crows gather
like leaves
top the crown
of the highest trees.
-
mocking bird
contagious
harasses a squirrel.
-
morning doves
on a chain link fence
huddled against
the winter's cold
still no snow.
-
fog in the St. Louis morning
center me in the center
dead golden rods
swaying in the winter breeze.
-
a dog playing
with its human
the fallen leaves
playing with the wind.
-
a sparrow near hoovering
eats on the wing
the bent head
of a sunflower
full of small seeds.
-
a small city turtle
sunning itself
beside a puddle
the heavy head
of a sunflower
bent over to see.
-
an acorn at the foot
of the oak tree
thanksgiving for the squirrels.
-
the acorn the squirrel
buried last fall
is not a young tree.
-
the branches
of the willow
is growing
into the lake.
-
the sap
coming from
the weeping willow
looks like a tear.
-
in the park
behind the
art museum
I gave a guy
a blow job
I have had
an artistic moment.
-
the ground cover
of the english ivy
is climbing the wall.
-
a garden snake
in the pansies
look like a
small water hose.
-
garden snake in pansies
looks like a vine
everything is
in it's place.
-
if god didn't
want me to
be gay
it wouldn't
have
created
beautiful men.
-
a hark flying off
with a pigeon in it's talon
the five year old
asked why.
-
two years old emma
is fascinated by the
knobs of the stove
just because
they are in her reach
and everybody touch it.
-
the silver mable
looks like a skinny
old man
overgrown with
fingernails.
-
slipping a run and cola
watching the sparrows
is my entertainment.
-
I feed the birds
raisin bread
to replay me
they sits in
the garden.
-
the pecans arrived
from mississippi
now it is
truly winter.
-
I do not
wear a watch
]the sun is
just so high.
-
catching crawdads
I feel the mud
between my toes
double blessing.
-
the dandelions
are no more
I remember
the first flower
of spring.
-
starling
moving fallen leaves
with it's bill
hands are a luxury
not needed for all.
-
the mid day
winter sun
is hazed over
high noon
is only
in summer.
-
fall lingers
well into
winter with each
rain falls
the muddy puddle
is replenished.
-
the noonday train
less then ½ mile away
I think of Coltrane.
-
a squirrel
sunning itself
on a mid breach
just below it's home
filkles it's tail
as if it is
listening to jass.
-
if it wasn't for
the autumn leaves
I couldn’t tell
that the wind
is blowing.
-
even the peeling
paint moves
with the breeze.
-
the senor civilians housing
parking lot is full of cars
I can hardly wait to grow old.
-
cigarette butts
in the tray
catches fire
some things are
just to greedy.
-
old miss muffin
digging up truffles
she never had
cur and way
long come a spider
and set down
beside her
she kilt it
with the palm
of her hand.
-
joints are old school
kids are smoking
blunts and mint.
-
warm winter day
in the park
I fell to sleep
before smoking
my blunt.
-
the chow chow puppy
barks and chase
the brown sycamore leaves
then gives up
to run to me.
-
the wind chimes
plays a melody
to the
over flying birds.
-
one leaf
still on the
silver maple
I remember
the outer limit
the twilight zone.
-
remembering the
ice selling man
in 1956
now that it is winter
I have to turn
the refrigerator down.
-
crimson leaves
on the manicured green
at the senor citizen
housing which
is the oldest.
-
the cottonwood's
flying seeds
once echoed
this first snow.
-
the flock
of crows
fills my garden
on their flyover
to roost
late autumn
early winter.
-
moth around
a back yard light
stars hidden
by the full moon's
light.
-
instead of following me
the two years old
emma follows the butterfly.
-
the truth is not in a name
emma calls
the kitten a dog
and then
barks at it.
-
the pigeons
in the
high winter rain
blown into a huddle.
-
the smell of burning wood
fills the dark streets
is it early winter
or late spring.
-
time smells
of many
fragrance
from sweet to rot
don't waste your time
smelling the clock.
-
the middle order
I show to the world
the public me
the private girl.
-
12-11-2011
beautiful mane
hr looks up
and smiles
-
when it comes
to love
autumn will leave you
then spring will
come for you
-
the nuisance
of his sleep
he is dreaming
hopefully of me
-
a dark man's face
holds the shine
of the sun
-
he asleep
beneath the tree
will not know
of my passing
-
I watched
the sparrows eating
and thought
he only loves me
with a full mouth-
fall's rain
fills the air
I walk
behind him
enjoying the view
-
a black man
in high winds
I wish they
were my hands
-
the dead leaves
rustle with wind
far off he is
calling to me
-
some men
are powerful
as the air
that can not
be seen
-
he looks like
a good lover
he turns away from me
-
I seeks a heart
just for the night
-
he is not
as chubby
as a buddha
still his beauty
will do
-
when he walks
down the alley
it is a spring
path to my heart
-
more beautiful men
have walk
through allies
then walked on water
-
beautiful full lips
are not
a dine a dozen
unless you only
count black men
-
each day that I
do not see him
is not in vain
the first snow
and other natural things
-
if he do not come
I am reminded
that I must also
wait for spring
-
I learned how to be
intimate with him
because nature
is intimate with me
-
the cardinals
and the robins
never eat the bread
I throw to the sparrows
it seems that
for that beautiful man
I need some new poems
-
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