Friday, May 2, 2008

Artificial Man

I first learned about hell
On a trip to the big city
I'd just arrived
When my daddy pointed an said
“You see them manhole covers in the middle of the street?”
Beneath em run rivers en rivers of all kinds of things
Garbage and cigarettes
Big rats and who knows, thirteen foot crocs!
A giant cistern of material posesions'
Done left behind by people
Not like you or I
Cause we don’t live her son,
We’re on vacation.

See them people
On that side of the street?
There, sitting, about to git
heself a shoe shine
From that malt-colored nigger.
And that group of women there,
Laughing as they sip their expensive
coffees? All them people shoppin,
lookin for sumptin well,
it’s all their problem!

You see boy, Hell
Is made up of these streams
Much like the ones flowing
Beneath our feet.
They consume everybody’s sin
Till they aint nothing left of em
And if you’re not careful
You can get swept right in
An never come back
I know some ah them even forget
About their own children
An go father others....
No, hordes of kids,
With illegitimate women!"


For weeks his description
Haunted me
And then years went by,
Well beyond my first communion.
An I’d tell them other acolytes
What I’d heard that one time
I’d left town. Realizing
The city sat on top a world o’ sin.
"If we wasn’t careful,"
I’d say
"We’d get swept right in."

We made a pact back then.
We aint ever leave our parents
Nor the farms and small towns
We was growing up in.
We’d promised our parents
We’d never led em to decay
Like them city folk
On top of their rivers
Of diablerie.

An I’d never seen my parents so grateful
As when I told them I’d stay close
An I still remember my father shush me,
Telling, "A life without sin
Is one the good lord intended."

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Howlin' Gayle

No painless interest,
And I'm taking the train.
Goldylocks tied across the tracks,
"We'll be gettin' there soon honey."
One heavy eyelid, like some Eastern cave -
Slummin' hard down Main st.
A five year old with some good moral company,
I bruise barmaids in a localized pattern.
Let me shout some soft words in your ears,
And call you "little sister" with hot drunk breath.
I'll take off all your chains,
Have you sit in my lap.
Fill an attic with paintings of
Lady relatives, cause it's raining -
And rape at the delicate garments
That make-up the wall,
Phill, Philly, Philly C.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Amateur Pornographer

"Women."
Tell me about it.
She's sweeping up everything,
Swaying layers of fabric
Seduction like a daily thing.
A pole-cat, pole-cat
Swinging from a tree.
Underneath
All the dead grass of a summer trespass
The Milky Way encircled by a steering wheel
And if the Big Band rages on,
We two will live forever.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Fool!

I have never truly believed
that regardless of what you
are trying to say, someone
has said it more eloquently
or poignantly before.
That is unless you
intend to profess
your undying love;
at that point
you may be better off
asking Shakespeare;
or if you're speaking to a young boy
Ginsberg;
and if you're speaking to a ghost
Dickinson;
if a bottle
Bukowski;
if old
Larkin;
if Spanish
Neruda;
if smart
Eliot;
if dumb
"look in thy heart and write."

Monday, April 21, 2008

Bird Can't Land

"Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place & governs the unwilling."

-William Blake

Winter,
The tedium of rehab.
Paralyzing cold descends
On my every luscious fold.
Spring brings on an erotic weirdness
That makes my skin crawl
And writhe.

I feel a Super-hate;
I’m in my dowdy maid’s uniform
Drowning.
Underneath, and somewhere else:
I spread the cards across the table,
With the provocative arc of my wrists.
The way I embrace this fucked up weather.

My forgotten disposition
Born again,
Sweet chlorine baptismal!
A term of nocturnal emissions
The governance has successfully induced
Is like gorgeous acid rain.
We celebrate by running in the streets,
Not wearing underwear, listening to the Grateful Dead,
Congregating menacingly at night
In children’s playgrounds.

Memories, sharpened phone calls
Lacerating my snowy, exposed neck.
The softest part of my body,
And one you’ve come to name.
I want you to Vampire me,
A soft bite, treat me right.
I am wanton and disemboweling the world,
With an electric rain,
With toxic moonshine,
With warm vengeance.

To reinforce it all with steal girders
Would be a fantastic impulse
To fulfill.
A death with honor.

The power was inside me when I crossed the border.
Mecca di Suburbia rolling around the other side.
You sold it to your friends.
The citizens would slowly eat me,
“It wouldn’t be a selling point.”
Or so I had been convinced.

Denial like a fierce bird that cannot land.
"No, bird can’t land.
That bird don’t feel regret. "
As alive, as alive
As we will ever be.
Slip sideways in meditation,
I realize I cant help anyone make Hamburger Helper,
If I can’t Hamburger Help myself first. Then,
Getting lost in a forest of bamboo.
Looking, searching, lusting
For the off switch.

For the off switch…

For the off switch,
The Dead Kennedys lashing at my innards,
Speed is key,
Too many rings,
Looping through the universe,
Knotting at last the noose -
Broken Windows from action films
Will rain down upon me;
For I like Gene Kelly,
Am king of class.
I will escape, tripping ravishingly,
Over the spokes of this umbrella.