Friday, December 18, 2009

the ultimate impotence of "c"

Paint marker murder blood
and all that is beautiful I have stolen
and made myself
Of composite parts
To be gathered with persistence
even in the winter
and I lay down plates
of both vinyl and ceramic
and if you were a scale model
Which would be your material?

Mouth full of mandarin tongue
And breath laden with a citrus health
That yields not to cigarettes
Or copious amounts of pot
With the pulp in my mouth
To be spit out
At some later
More inappropriate moment
While I am wreaking of turpentine
Beside the table cloth
And intending to nuke

All silence and patchouli
I slink home again
While the crescent of the moment hangs on some incongruous
I note the fort-night’s passing
Without celebration
But with an excess of confetti
I see the evidence of my traversing
Room to room
Marked on the faces
Of those who play
“A game for young gentlemen”

I awake from another drunk to find I regret nothing
But the fact that I can’t find
The one hitter box
In my apartment
Made entirely of camouflage both winter
And forest- GREEN
There are handprints
I can sit on
For the next few hours that will relay to me
The sparkle and crack of memories
laid on an open fire
as I camp on diagonal slopes
Prepared to watch you take the fall of lifetimes
Thrice to roll

Twenty times to die

A sailor with your arms full of
“Time” magazine war-bride
All the clickety-clack of the 1920’s hides between
Your drugstore teeth
and in the pin curls of our hidden lusts
Straight up and down
I just want
To long-board backwards from what has cumulatively amounted
To madness
And the hands of Nigerians
Disembodied, bleeding rainbows
The birds of true love
yakking back
From the small trees in front of the rehab centre
(under construction)

I don’t kill tigers with my sling shot
Only maim them
And heavy fur and muscle
On the waifish flanks of mine
Is burden sweet enough
And I DRAG them
To my secluded game of house
Where coconut is thick in the air
And I linger with the eyes
Of a mournful child star
Just within the door frame
And pray to Jah…

With my face kissing the gray storey curves
Oh the anabaptized clouds
I forget the prairies
And all else that encumbers me
And with brutal hands I try and throw
The beast away
But I

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