One Ambitious Species

Touched gleam-cast light

On the everyday acorn idea

Kneaded breathless

Behind television predilections

Guessing at the racy night

Caught in a frozen web-tied lesson

To shoot pyrotechnic tides over the urban mind

Digging into a buttressed yurt, cold

Teeming with sly children and boiling over

With alien-looking animals,

Creating puzzles and games unto pure artistic passion

For the deification of the homeless womb

Within all air’s stout breathing

To meet life: A snake-eating fish

And push hands into the forgiving earth,

Whose great breast struggles to respire

The thick wilds of branded consumption and the overgrown

Lush crime of one ambitious species 

An Island of Childless Offspring

Pulp Massage

Matter disguised as her unfolding paradise,

A genital incision, without,

Brewed spawn all quaking and facing heart failure

With thick-rimmed glasses and a paranoiac daze,

A thin glimmer of repose

Infuriated golden gnome,

Lowered into blissful gardens where human hair is felt as weeds,

Useless triviality

In the maze of Puritanical property and stubborn consensual heavens

Drowned in blue time,

Glowering in the thick mud of some academic panegyric formulae

Wherein tumult and insult meet over lunch to discuss Baudelaire in rhyme -

“And the scurrilous frankincense

Nose of his Biblical haunting awakened

Through a Pulp Massage

Over bellies skyrocketing with future’s ragged predictions”

At the all-night table

Proposing to wed anger and the twelve-headed classicist dream

Paying striptease Eastern minds

To wade in inglorious pain and rush, philosophically insane

Throughout our comedic taxicab drive, breaking through

Oceanward,

Where the thumb and nose meet at the spun wheeling whys,

Whose greed lurched from above the lily swamp and naked,

Pressed their white head to the diamond name,

Giving laughs as praise to the only answer ever

Sought by a young grave, breaking ice and calling for a break between pauses

Random Parkade of Fences

It’s all a random parkade of fences

garlic nightmares blowing a chill into my root canal American fear

Living the drunken stare of the Irish east…whose mad talk stirs ruthless in my sleeplessly jarred brain…napping between contiguous web-threshed freedoms to a forgotten deafening…and thickening the low-coasted noon of the heat wave forecast…my mind becomes sullen with blank remorse and a violent emptiness fills me…bearing down on memory like a catastrophic angel of the white light…pitch black featureless dusk of interpersonal reason in the long endless fight to be good and seek happiness in the joyful cries of others…buying homes and staircase bed mattress sweets…to cover their sick bellies in the rollicking waves of cheap eats and mild rain-swept indecision,

Bingeing on the unnecessary billions…whose lives anger at the human mold in a resounding attempt to save a bit of that home…that once was stolen from the earth’s own sun-dried hands…still cool with the dank earth and her womb of littered seeds,

And the rains pour angelic wisdom over the arisen anguish…to craze for the source and defy the powers that be in an unanswered mind of free rationality,

Landing in the oldest of our most ancient pasts…crumbling as the staircase billows…as a feather in the soft yet painful morning of ice-burned teeth…and oh the sorry Canadian lore…fumbling over the mouth of England in her beautified native bones…losing gold for bedside furs and the hair of our Mothers,

Sinking in the gruel of waste over a bowl of gravy and sourpuss eyes…leaning into the sound of a ride going going going gone over the brink of our American time…hitching that ride south and calling cabs in New York, California, Saskatoon,

Dreaming of berries in season and wild-crafting the maze of Her swollen lust…turning on the locomotion of boom bang music over the café loudspeaker…three hours into space in the beyond of our lost anxious sound,

Teeming with a life unknown and gaining no pride…in this, not a single lie of the honestly expressed now…a ruined gripe,

The unchanged man…lifting up to the misanthropic sky with grumbles and soothing smooth coy…listening to the elegant humanity bequeathed in the silent breath of the awake…hearing our hearts beat,

“Each to their own” writes back the lazy teacher…beginning with Zen and ending with architecture…bending for no one except the jungle fire steaming behind the glassed promenade…glowering sickly in the mud of visionary astonishment…shaken in a thud…the mortified martyrs’ brought cinematic drip dry skin…to toast their muscular direction to the lunar fist,

An eye…not judging the conflict over rights…not caring to desist the African whites kissing diplomatic business men on cell phone streets…as buildings remain erect in the capital with no lights,

A Khartoum man…following Arabic grins to his trite ceremonial ending…a tense and vicious gore between man and man…hollowing out the middle way and preparing an engine to clean an evil race from the race of men…whose niceties glare into the mirror of Europe’s own sterling prophecies,

Gazing suddenly into the wide shore…calling all people into one name…a unified sense of place…an identity with Love in the making…to produce never again…and raise the flag underwater to infinity…to create magic furnaces that pull anchors over the starboard aft and shave the whiskers of the catfish and his black gills of delicious glory over an oil spill plate…on the drenched body of America at bay under its own weight,

The truth, reconciled, and divined,

not too overstated,

From a random tour through a parkade of fences

Reading to be…

Second call missing

Unctuous pull from the umbilical poor,

My unending desire for a madness

Inherent within revolutionary culture and the curtain’s aftermath

Beyond ironic civil warlords and the innate lust for earthen ore,

Lore and gore,

Multitudes fornicating over oceanic test-tube breasts,

Blessing the fatherland journey past the mother’s nest,

Her bespoken world’s gone

Radical and espied in the volatile pangs of our collective corrosive lie,

That “family be praised over the traditional sacrifice

Ritualized by the high eye,”

“Now go morose as artistry found blank and engrossed in drink,”

Muddied words tossed in a frail porch of cancerous failure –

Where Middle Eastern smiles haunt sad entropy’s demise

Over the burnt flag and its disappearing star

Out of time

Whereupon sits the cosmic being,

Presidential yet aware of universal law -

“To correct the broken backbone of historic civilization looted in the ashtray night!”

And we plunge into our hostess,

Her buttocks flexed,

Extreme gladness to mount the rousing fire

Atop a summit’s raging cry,

That nuanced breath of snow

Lilting over Asiatic pages

Stirring as leaves around the eardrum esophagus

Opening into pure human sound

Expressionless wandering

Atop vibration’s first pulse

In the spatial moment

Sculpted directly as mirror-lake brainwave reflection,

The ghost of Buddhist Lao Tzu

Math, sacred numbers disclosed as irrational fact

To light upon mountain mist and brainy cheer

Instead of repulse to the heart of the natural man in love with the nature of mind,

An everlasting beauty,

Pure,

The virgin tongue touching a lunging fountain

To caress the weary feet of his constant motion

Bellowing secret need beneath the lung-escaped tree,

Quaking and still throughout our infinite earthquake island sand,

And the lover prepares for emergency at dawn’s forsaken grasp -

To be aware of the conclusive yearning astray beyond mortality into the second calling,

A fortuitous whisper

Internal secrecy,

To calm social panic

And sweep our American blushing under the oriental rug of timeless intoxication

For a new sky,

Fine-tipped,

Seeded and reading to be…

Spreading Easy Freedom

“It’s all about love; however you can get a child into this world and embrace them steadfast with a transparent honesty,”

“A full expression of Love in mind, heart and wisdom”

“Will the new being have music in Their veins?”

“If marriage of shared blood, the perfect union of musical harmony and universal rhythm will mark the forehead and line the bones of the little one to be”

Raised on the pressure of finger to string

And palm to drum

The progress of creature lust smote my vandalized trust in a tortured nether-realm,

Metallic, dead, belittled egg-floundered reason gave birth to “me”

And enchained in the estranged pathless ecstasy of spontaneous confidence in personal direction,

I turned to the naked swooning of political might,

No anti-war voice or veteran digression into free man or woman under our sole humanitarian god,

No,

Instead the post-war industrial clock of spewed, rash tumult, a forceful nudge into the Pentagon’s civil trap, the saved million plus

Angelic poetries of newcomer consciousness,

Flight to Quebec

Where separation prevails as national demise for the folk who believe intelligent design is our link to the kind of fate conceived in pre-Islamic Arabian sands,

When the eventual hiding of our forefathers sought cavernous refuge from here to the Hopi fall and wondered how to produce documentary visions

From the black and white morgue-stashed womb of artistic inspirational madness,

Freeing the Euro-ethical divide from American names

Breeding forth disclaimers of broken democratic noise

Perspiring “leadership avails”

Over Chilean airwaves, 1972

Pisco sniper revolt

And the Vermont team of bullies schooled in international chess (CHAOS)

And the vile newspaper desk war of patriarchal stress,

Groomed for the post-atomic lore,

These fathers of the new mind grieved for the poor and ate African hands

Over Chinese rICE,

A simian charm tamed their table folds at Cambridge home-schooled pond

Creaked hammocks,

Chasing after the luxurious right to negotiate law away from hope and need

To eviscerate meaning from symbolic action

In the moist summer New England air,

Leaving space and gifting humanity with resource-cored Fourth World tours on spineless backdrop forays into the heart and strife of the rural no-mores who cuddle meal-less and festering in tube-tops and coined fame with designated looks and stereoscopic illusions sweetening the Earth with a breakfast menu and cinematic features,

Her adopted face smiles warmly,

Secret’s warning finds her packing for greater shores and spreading our easy freedom

The Orphaned Exile Returns

that I am silence

and silence, and nothing, and silence,

and how in silent searching , the wandering fades,

a trespasser in the popular living happen-stance of  “honest” life,

stopped,

self-betrayed,

to tarry with biblical heat

and white-skinned eyes,

paranoiac doom

in the aftermath of domestic civilization,

bled into ship-sworn castes, spelling enslaved croons over a proud starless night,

giving thanks to the all-ending smoke

breaking past fissures gone smoldering past,

laughing

bold laughs,

calling back to the childless dream

Earth,

where speed holds its tongue

and the random chest-heaving world breaths its last,

her too,

engraved spawn,

artless chanting

mixed divine

in soups

heavy with weeping,

the rains burn,

forehead noon,

a loosened drainage over the sky pulls down sheets of electric poison,

the plagues returned upon this mysterious Egyptian birth,

the escaped,

the chosen slave,

the shameful power of the oldest tomb,

our gold forsaken eyes shower the lessons of our Ancestors with gross neglect,

a knowledge finding no one except the town fool

and his shaky memory

to remember the wisdom flesh

bespeaking the first human crime

and outward law,

crumbling with panegyric thought

in an unctuous whirlwind god,

smiling with constrictive glares over a tempting yet inhuman façade,

as an Orientalist’s appeal before European execution

relieving respect from her lifeless duty

in the pawned handful of dust juggled between the trickster’s foresight

smattered lands

a cold, powdery smile,

drinking in a waterfall’s stolen dam water,

now breaching the five directions with eyeless crimes

untold and sorrowful,

the wilderness,

bowing down to ancient slavery,

magi of UR,

returning from within

the simplest symbolic stare into the beaten human sigh

pointing downwards,

upwards,

west and east

with the surest of numbered lies,

telling children to fear death and bless the flesh with ungrateful ears, blocked

to the great mystery

that is not

that I am.

The rains bear down

The rains bear down hard and long

On these deceased pangs, longing to embrace ghosts

Long shied-away, deep within memory’s misbegotten despair

Ringing clear in song

And the nostalgic scent in lands returned to the body of our parents

And their laughter,

Their dancing and gay right to live unborn to time and work

And be, forevermore without clinging

One with the bright happy tour through ancestor’s heartbeat,

The cantor’s vocal stretching over the Hebraic lore

Building with eternal constancy, the acoustic lair

Of a perpetual stay with human glory

And reckoning with unity in suffering,

The diminished poor bear arms while the rains fall

Calling them home no more to breath

In the air of pure and raw savagery

Beckoning our rice-fought union to work

In undivided shame across river’s breadth

That brings wealth and a name to the American prince

With breast inflamed

Prepared to reason with his shame

And engrave in the desert an unplanned way

Towards brotherhood

Freeing spontaneous whispers

To a last pleasurable remorse

Upraised and sacrificed

As great offering to the Klezmer bonfire

Whitewashing the New York tide with Greek verse,

In one soundless escapade towards relaxed state of being,

To be elder,

And speak the folkways throughout our northernmost rickety-frayed bridges

Breeding with grace, over and along the other side of our homebound river’s play

As it juggles the society in its sacred embrace,

A pathway to which one serves the source,

And never forgets one’s self as mere creek, brook or flush puddle

Returning and dissolving with the cloudless awe

In light-turned moisture

Cyclically bridging the human body with the global fate

In one silent orbital wave that resounds instantly in every curve of lost strength

Between arms where the beat follows to our brethren and kin,

A growing and invisible host to our name, thinking up a sound

And so, calling forth the blessed invocation of being,

And yet, anew,

The Universe floods with Love

Bringing forth the cleansed and raw form of humanity

The ruined name

“I taste blood”

            says the mourner returned from Argentina’s bathhouse brigade,

The Italian connection, un-swayed by the prudent fire of tango nights

            stirring wilderness roosts

in the back hall of some sterling porch façade

                        in the mundane sky of an after-party dimming

                                    beside alcoholic whiteout praise

                                                and the ruined name.

The socialist epoch

Breakdown of disaster in the socialist epoch,

As the tired groaning of racist America brews a proud glory of personal despair,

more,

An interpersonal contemplation on the theme of color:

Hair,

Eyes,

Fingers,

Pubis,

Nose,

And Shape,

Body of form,

And the formless desire,

White against the all-escaping cloud of solar obscurity,

Who rushed civilization into the neighborhood of the absent & poor,

Breaking the long arduous fast

with an unwelcoming community,

founded not on Love,

only on a hope to pray

before the Cyclops’ rise

over the crossed horizon,

Ever loyal to Europe’s general mythology,

that tours the enlightened colonies with derogatory jokes

and coffee/tea stained laughter

or almost anything to show one’s consumption of the enslaved,

and their rich souls,

now moving slowly through the belly of African migration

up from a confederate’s warning

In the Global South,

arranged nightly to the music of the diligent crowds,

masses filling the circular base of human power,

an enthroned mystery over-sounds the mis-created

as dialectical frowns cover friendships with lost convention

or land border brevity

carrying the brink of urban heat

over the brilliant green lung

of our common white suburban upbringing,

to gaze into the purity of monochrome eyes

and talk conversationally with African and Mexican families

in homes of their own land,

only to return apologetic and starry-eyed

wide grinning failure of international beats

grabbed after the skinned lines, dissolving

over a worldly fire towards human creativity,

The formless,

finding no-commotion

in the reason to be

as one is,

ever seeking truth

In the instantaneous notion of interpersonal continuity,

the struggle, rife with colored imagination

to free the city from a visitor’s paradigm,

and re-create connectivity with man and woman

under the arboreal sky

frozen with awe

In the blinded greedy law

murdering our youngest

from their golden years

of awakened poverty

and taught in a disillusioned bubble,

gravely preparing to become fugitive

from the mess of a hand-me-down society

and change the course of world-wide monotony,

Stretching beyond the bounds of individual reaction,

To choice. 

think IN drink

“think in drink

and whisper solitudes,”

Says the publication of setting,

- Filmic mind, braving theatric kingdoms

            Weighed heavily by the German cross

Over western shores, blonde

            With sightless camaraderie

In the sociopathic gaze of mindless pain,

            Order & god for trade

                        At the bedside, nude

                                    Binging before a final restitution,

Breathing in dream-talk laughter nightly,

            Not for escape,

                        Only to tread the unfulfilled urge

                                    To let go of body into an act of base movement

Recognized, respected as the practice of wealthy contentment,

Irreducible through monetary magic

Or lawn-flushed passions

That wave together in common

With the environmentally subdued fractions of human space

Gambled for priceless breeding

Into the arms race

Incarcerated by a spherical media village

Condemned to a virile depression issuing from the mouth of folkloric gravity

Sparing flat-boned rushes from the skin-razed marina,

            Hard with a lofty weathered pacing

                        From youths who stir the boiling pot

                                    Into a thick African stew

                                                Meant to be consumed

                                                            By ceremonial justice,

Not a visitor

On the brink

Daring to slug back the human truth of non-being

Through a suicidal sense of belonging

Untouched Grande Awe

An untouched grand awe,

Landed finally to rest beside the sickening mildew

Mulch-pressed nude lakes,

Praised unto the natural moon,

Lowering close over the beached horizon,

A thirteenth name,

Pleasing those raised on the island to visit their blood,

Despite being insane,

A malformed genetic waste,

Purchasing birth,

Towering over the healthy dead

Groveling, ensnared by the angry temptress who walks entombed in mind

And spiritually blessed beyond our mundane knowledge,

She treasures the feminine life,

“Womanhood is a goddess

Calling from a mother’s grave”

With unanswered punch,

The lessons of the tribe surpassed the war,

And the mongering hordes linger in prehistoric cave symbology,

Who in their ritual fasting break the last slave and reason no more,

To put to death philosophy and the cursed forms of common language

Now replaced with magic and divinity,

Inert,

Enough to overact above the spilled heights,

Grandiose unity,

Frontiersmen who bite at raw flesh and faint under the jeering of native rumblings

In the overcast dusk of Western humanity,

Fallen alas to the bitter womb of civilization

And the crass membrane stew of our unalienable forebears

Freaking us out

Into stomachs without mouths

To feed on the juice of the horned phantom,

And only lick from inside

The wounds stinging our nameless pride,

A selfless art,

Succeeding in touching the present

To make immediacy so palpable as to hand it over as a gift,

The living eye of the sun, eternal,

Ubiquitous urge,

Elevating within each individual

The welcoming need

To become true in form and direction,

A fastened string to every ray

Cast through the burnt moisture of our lush atmospheric divide,

The living high of being

One being at a time

Without feeding the poor,

Lowering greed inside

Eternal Autopoiesis

Why, Autopoietic Eternity!

This smile, these eyes…

Not because it’s you that I enjoy…

Nor your surroundings, and our place in them together…

I smile for what’s inside…

The poetries and open-ended music of Love…

Bearing down hard into my inglorious heart…

As a burnt wick trudging through the bled darkness…

Now blessed by the disinterested lost…

Whose minds graze the round of being…

In a conundrum of pain and untamed roaming…

Loosening the human rope around the oceanic neck…

The great ring of fire…

Lassoed in spring by the Albertan rains…

Toasting to hot chocolate whispers over Mexican breasts…

Sweetened by the oily touch of American tongues…

Piercing the used flesh of an imperfect dream…

The only cold matchstick…

Still reddened but dry…

A sad ending to the rage personified…

In Rusty Kjarvik and his chess logic…

Pinching the Grandfather reality…

In the light of Persian mystical nights…

Of music and the bodiless mind…

Forwarding beyond the wordless divide…

To train insight as creative willing into the artful breath of poetic necessity…

My instinct’s crying bold in the proud deep of North American continental strife…

To transcend the borders of national glory and reach the great peak…

Budding with growing concentration camp Israeli trees…

A miracle as grand as the celebrated synagogue of ancestral lies…

Bearing down hard on the smoky aftermath of the beaten Greeks…

Chained to their swollen shields…

Engraved as the shell of Turtle Island…

Beaming with foresight into the sweeping ancient European imagination…

Whose back lunged upward into the full sky with an amber gold…

Freeing the Hostess of Modernity with lifeless glamour…

And cuddling with the mountain’s ceremonial stone-wrought keeps…

Purifying my ancestors until their bones scintillate…

In the dreary madness beyond human hurt…

To an earthen burn…

A sensation born from deep under the subconscious blinds…

En eyeless face…

Peering gravely into the molten membrane of our one mind…

Bloomed into the immediate now with lotus awe…

Or the always distanced graceful presence of our insides…

With shared wisdom…

A lingering passion to unify and create our own night in this sinking vessel…

All existence…

Breaking down from the mouth to the wine…

A craving understated by the street-side paranoia…

That coasts assured into the numbing crime of our damaged religious signs…

A taste of poverty lingering with the sculpted muttering…

Announced softly with the motion of a hand…

Feeling for air above the hard-packed soil…

Forming dunes and painting the beach wilderness…

In the hair of an Asian temptress…

Whose punchy urges frame this bemused mind…

Struggling to see through a daily panic of poetry…

Scheming with all mental strength to form the formless into beauty…

And nonsense into the communicable…

A symbol of Love in the act of creation…

Yet fallen into the failed…

The early laugh…

Draining the energetic fingers with worthless junk…

In the silent reading itch to continue for continuity…

And perpetuate the laugh into the timely press…

Over the gorgeous moon visible at dawn over the charged urban jungle…

Cringing with playful Chinese drums in the MSG headache afternoon…

Waiting for sexual drink to find space in the lounging throat of want…

A risky path…

Over the endless din…

Whirring above the vibratory pandemonium…

With catatonic dissonance and hypnotic forgetfulness…

To scramble the mind-waves…

With the gurgle of a knifing toothache…

Searing into the cinematic backdrop of history…

As my Jewish ambitions for Calgary beckon with ruthless intellect and certain death…

To enjoy centenarian genetics over a glass of ginger tea…

And remain blameless on the deck or balcony of a Chinatown low-rise freedom…

To be and create willingly…

The tasteful force of lush introspection…

A thunderous improvisation in the sudden cry of heaven…

To proclaim the momentary passing of a world and its universe as mind itself…

In the contemplation of death…

And the nature of mind thickens over the fold…

To become wearily apparent…

As a new blanket of relief in the empty law of the drowned fate…

Beaming through all our embodied instances of life…

Defined in the present by nothing’s painful truth of becoming…

That, the frame of poetry’s eye…

Seeking individuality and expression within…

And throughout the frank endless mold of electric crystalline fractal-speak…

Rushing past the generations dead with rapid strength…

Over the mountain of fixed glory…

Where dream melds with the ancient fixation…

In overcoming the human form…

Trespassing in the realm of gods…

To marry the irrelevant mix of triviality in humor…

And offer our bodies to the deified blessing of one circular direction…

A featureless song prayed to over the burning incense light…

Of the mundane working…

Whose clasped hands respect the value in hope…

And the unknown’s shade remains thoughtless over the waking earth…

To renounce the children of envy and prosper with kernels of the bejeweled sand…

Along eastern shores filling our adolescent minds and cooking up internal choice…

As the creature of man embraces the four points of the underworld…

And smokes with the devil in the bribed factory of our New Bedford whales…

Who swam from the South Pacific tour…

And rescued their soldierly brothers on the history pages of the local war…

And the veteran newspaper determined…

That the youth were emancipated from our armed struggle…

And must now fight with words of praise or critique…

As the satirical play finds its step on the frozen lake of family…

Against the lame, discolored horizon…

Darkening ever so slowly until the shade-covered rushes are silenced…

With one last rustle in the kayak sound…

A memory pushed forth…

To cover the proud painterly disease of our Pisces rising…

Amid the bone dry grasses and paved seriated highway zones…

Constructed and vandalized by toughened hands…

Choked and gone purple with gushed veins…

Rasped and lacerated on the back of our cousin species…

The canine drought bespeaks a shameful woe…

A truism, unforgettable and opened finally with delicate sway and miscreant wonder…

At the sad mystery in the relative fire…

An erased afterthought…

The strong and elderly endurance…

To forge through the most sought after and undivided pressure…

From beneath the cold unmoving earth…

To present in words an archaic urge…

With controlled mind and agile fingers…

To re-create body in its own self-created form…

A silence breaks over the lawless head of our own shaking and forlorn chest…

Arms and face…

Feeling the stress of birth as an echo of fear in the humanly pain…

To desire to create…

To fill the footstep earth with humiliating love…

And stretch beyond the wrinkled chord…

With a truth unsought and yet communicated with kind connection…

A flesh, salted and massaged to share life at its most visceral…

While the real and changeless spectral flash of spatial duress grates…

Turning in the burly show of lost fortune…

A sure embittered wailing…

A longing…

A frenetic blur past the poetic stirring…

A joyless round…

A midnight wrangling…

A mournful purr…

A drinking insanity and wakeful surmising…

The restitution, despised yet somehow completing our entrenched need…

To be and play forward in the shapeless deep…

The unceasing downpour…

And slow drizzling food of creativity…

To give our most valued offering…

To the smallest most insignificant pull…

Which finds our being necessary…

And in that moment die…

Unafraid to the dream inside…

To slip away and join with the whispering few…

Whose wisdom has changed the All…

In a corrosive yet painless drip off the medieval wooden monastic awning…

A cool raindrop fix that relieves the immediate pleasure to perform…

And calls for an inner gratitude…

At the constant play of now…

Re-shaping sleeplessly…

In the feverish ordeal with patience…

To see still…

With eyes of our self-creating human identity…

What makes us…

The figment…

Pleasing the universal Word, yet with throat closed…

And with unceasing unobstructed vision…

Pressing beyond the viral keep…

Into the starry jaw of final rest…

To make all finally united within…

As a breath, still…

Purging the Great Mystery of Time unto an Autopoietic Eternity…