of streetlamps

i've always admired
the inherent beauty
of streetlamps
and the brightness
they cast in the dark.

they know not
the hazards of bumming
cigarettes that kill
men with fatal breath,
tragic necessity.

they serve to illuminate
the frost and the drink,
for the girl
who tramps hopelessly
on the barren sidewalks they lie.

their truth takes form,
quietly singing
for the vagabond
who relies on a shelter
only light can provide.

how warm, these lamps
on which i speak
of my affection
and undying devotion.
how softly they shimmer

and forgive.

unaware of such brilliance,
robbed of forgiveness,
i would find myself lost.
deep in a cruel terrain
of night.

What the fuck does Robert Frost know?

I

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
I thought it was Monday, to which I close my eyes
But Tuesday, alas, stay open wide
With arms that grow long and bright

II

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
Beyond a fence, I see from inside
A fever breeze sick with the fits
Shake surly flakes from its perspiring head

III

Today I am not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
Beyond the fence, a sigh drools casually
Outside suggests an old season dies
Inside a new reign begins

IV

Still today I am not afraid to go outside
It is cold but hope holds up my sky
For If I sleep and gaze not on suns rise
I’d sooner forget Nature
does not need me to survive.

For sienna and flesh hugs me as victim of flush
And “blood” can not capture this
Description only mammals can name
Categorizing sensation with word like “sublime”
To delicately frame the sunset’s limitless paint

V

I am unafraid
Now to step one foot outside
It is cold yes
But today I have prepared
Cigarettes to soak up time

And when smoke,
Like youth
Foams forth from the estuary
Betwixt my tongue
I’ll go back inside

My self
However grotesque
Will know
Nothing of sublime.
Only true bliss.

Δϵινα

I have always been struck by that which is beautiful.

Overwhelming, highest in the sky, flash-boom prettiness. Although,
striking causes trauma in the child.
Ghosts of a haunted past, eternally striking.
My Mother’s smiling, beautiful face
reminds me of her Goodness and

I soon forget her Evil Eye.

Strikes subside in the Subject

as the Doer’s fists stay dormant.
Danto: “I have often been struck…”
Kant: “…strikes the eye…”
The eye’s Sublime representation confused with striking Uncanny repression!
Beauty: Transformation of Repressed Horror
Grotesque: Representation of a Higher Love of Self in the Eye of the Beholden

There once laid cries of, “Madness!”
from across this infinite asylum.
Now, only the silenced moan.
It was the mad ones that were compelled to make this battle cry.
It was PTSD soldiers that suffered in their unconscious skirmishes.

Everything else died & two things survived.

I and Eye.

Eye and I.

Variation on Theme

I

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
I thought it was Monday when I prefer to stay indoors
But Tuesday, alas, I welcome
With eyes wide and arms bright

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
I thought it was Monday, to which I close my eyes
But Tuesday, alas, stay open wide
With arms that grow long and bright

II

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
Beyond a fence, I see from inside
A fever breeze sick with the fits
Shake surly flakes from its perspiring head

Today I am not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
Beyond the fence, a sigh drools casually
Outside suggests a young reign is ending
An old season dies

III

Today I am not afraid to stray from the house
Yes it is cold, but I have cigarettes to smoke
While my mind wanders atop roofs high
Outside it races my heartbeat
Like the sun chasing night

Still today I am not afraid to go outside
It is cold but hope holds up my sky
For If I sleep and gaze not on suns rise
I’d sooner forget
Nature doesn’t need me to survive.

For sienna and flesh hugs me as victim of flush
And “blood” can not capture this
Description only mammals can name
Categorizing sensation with word like “sublime”
To delicately frame the sunset’s limitless paint

VI

I am unafraid
Now to step one foot outside
It is cold yes
But today I have prepared
Cigarettes to soak up time

And when smoke,
Like youth
Foams forth from the estuary
Betwixt my tongue
I’ll go back inside

My self
However grotesque
Will know
Nothing of sublime.
Only true bliss.

Ladies and Gentlemen...

I give you Esau Mwamwaya over a track thats been making us all feel like we aint been keepin up with the news but sure've been getting that daily paper... (sorry luda for stealin your line)


http://gvsbchris.com/tengazako.mp3