a stage-step fall's drop

a stage-step fall's drop

who's old worn coat
is anyone's present?
the forgotten memory
is man's responsibility.

(if true he is) if all see he
is honest contradiction,
slightly obscured word-
play, but something under-
neath: he is safe, covered.

though, when any thread is
pulled, or any spot is lit, it
exhibits his play counterfeit.
in vain, his active ignorance
when on a stage he stands
naked, facing truth.

trembling treble remembered

trembling treble remembered

the glass, smashing, hot, on sidewalks,
trampled & dragged under hi-tops.
sound hits like lightning to the senses
w/ each screeching reprise

a chorus, an explosion, a force
abrades like sandpaper to bone
all over, tearing, moving, shaking,
like the sound of sound breaking

& then, in the afterward, trembling,
a single silent note is punctuated
by fuzzing waves of no known origin,
the universes' eternal radio.

she draws the eyes

she draws the eyes

she draws the eyes
of men like flies
to that zapping
contraption.

bright flash,
blue death.

rendered helpless by her
anti-cool (thus, cool)
personality, she leads
a play, which you view
in a stupor.

the final act,
in all its grandeur
is when she shows
the fingers crossed,
kept behind her
as she goes.

the mirrored gavel

the mirrored gavel

see -- look at those
wriggling insects
in asshole clothes,
uncomfortable, watching,
submitting silent critique
like dumb judges,

licking their leash &
swimming like water
in the stream.
drifting w/ tide & tied
to their drift, their blind march,
seeking nothing new.

when all i want to do
is w/ you, it seems
their eyes aren't there, but
instead, flashbulb blasts,
lighting our walk
through the crowd.

to youth

to youth

stay
never stray
from your innate decision.
the world of adults is diseased
w/ tumult,
venomous expectation;
a reality you want
no part of, trust me.

cling to the rings from
which you are hanging.
swing and experience
the subtle breeze of motion
the exhilaration of
mindless being.

see
the wind through the trees
and appreciate
the comedy of air,
of which there is
just
a small audience
aware.

drift through your
invincible playtime w/
infinite range of gaze.
delight in discovery, &
never see the end.

the world of adults
is satisfied w/ default,
never understand
the words to a love song
and never drop
your oblivious guard.

O! I Love Evil!

O! I Love Evil!

poor, horrible
duplicitous me.
I perk up at
the gun fire, my
heart does
jumping jacks
inside my ribs.
I am twice myself
w/ a different side
for everyone plus
the one kept thusly
private and whole.
It's a subconcious
confessional booth
w/ no priest or muzzle
for a mouthpiece,
just a blind, unbiased
stenographer -
the only one i trust.

Sleeping Disease

Sleeping Disease

working restlessly,
w/ concentration,
producing sleeping Z's
as representation:
a dreamy dot matrix
of descending size
floating above
my clouded eyes.

laying still after such time
is passing, still waiting
to see what's unreal:
indication of descent, an
extension into relief, the
unstressed subconscious

where native is praise
for the great arranger,
building w/ letters, words,
& words into sentence.
but the gateway is made
w/ mindless persistance
w/ the sleeping Z's now
foreign to me, falling,
like in a French dream
w/ tired subtitles.

trichinosis

trichinosis

rotten, boring still
photographs loose,
let w/dominion
throughout my
apartment.

decent transfers
but crisply biased
against my mirror
and its reflection.

death dry choking
but better than
moist meat under
the sun.

coming back,
it reminds me
of falling asleep
at a movie
& waking during
a dream sequence.

fingers crossed behind society's back

fingers crossed behind society's back

a bum fumbles over
stone steps, limping;
doing the hopeless cha-cha.

he carries cardboard walking
with his feet in shoes with
toes stuck out, feeling
the cold of the wind and
pavement combined.

he drops his sign seeing
the tremendous figure
before him, above.

he is homeless but
better, curled up under
their monument to collapse.

lost nights

lost nights

lost nights
and their
consequential
days.

division of love-
spread legs.
knife on bread-
spread thin,
and my dust
making up
the between stars.

is a barrier
between lovers
just?
a candle crying
the wax tears
of its protector
as the flame dances
in the window draft.

blame falls
like tall towers
on the half-perfect man
who makes love
to the sun
while seducing
the moon.

a day in the life of arnold schwarzenegger: the never ending orgasm

here is all there is

here is all there is

under the lonely light
of his yellow desk-lamp
the sad eyed scholar
lets drop his heavy lids,
falls quick from the cliffs
of consciousness
into an ever growing pool
of non-thought.
he swims in equations,
becoming one
with the numbers.
he dreams without sleeping
and rides tides deep down
towards a floor his swimming
is always pushing
further and further.