“I’m a tree, a tree,”
She said.
I flew around again;
I studied the smoothness of her skin.
But where are your twigs? Your leaves? Your branches?
“You are the first one who has bothered asking--
you can build here, build here.”
I flew high and low but couldn’t find
anything about her I didn’t like
and I built a small nest in low little hole,
and marveled at the wonder of my new home.
“I’m so glad. So glad you’re near.”
What other birds do you have living here?
“What other what? Birds indeed,”
she said without answering,
“isn’t it enough that you’re here, now?”
In the morning, I flew close to her skin
confused at her markings but soaking her in
If I would’ve looked I would have known;
I was too occupied with making a home.
But when the seasons changed, I was forced to see
that my tree was not a tree.
What are you? I asked. But she would not respond
and I heard her weeping as I flew on.
“I’m a tree, a tree,”
she said.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I Lost my Pet Brain on Easter Island
I got higher than the gypsy moon
and staggered barefoot to the sea.
I Walked hand in hand with lonsome
and watched on silent stars.
I braved the abraisive tide,
the cold console found in crashing shores.
At four days past, I found you.
Singing celestial lullabies,
breathing serenities long-lost song.
We laughed there for eternity,
our eyes locked in the cosmic kiss,
for all the seas to see.
But by morning's break
the world had come
and ripped me clinging humble.
Back to bleak futures,
of life before your twilight song
and midnight's loving dream.
and staggered barefoot to the sea.
I Walked hand in hand with lonsome
and watched on silent stars.
I braved the abraisive tide,
the cold console found in crashing shores.
At four days past, I found you.
Singing celestial lullabies,
breathing serenities long-lost song.
We laughed there for eternity,
our eyes locked in the cosmic kiss,
for all the seas to see.
But by morning's break
the world had come
and ripped me clinging humble.
Back to bleak futures,
of life before your twilight song
and midnight's loving dream.
Tragic
You gorge and feed your feeble mind,
with matters of meat and murder.
Like lifes lasting predator.
Your angered hunger,
never fully fed.
Sitting ever silent,
Naked on the marble floor
Ready for the meat loaf...
You turned on the neighbors dog.
No more than a carnivorous- criminal.
Shame.
with matters of meat and murder.
Like lifes lasting predator.
Your angered hunger,
never fully fed.
Sitting ever silent,
Naked on the marble floor
Ready for the meat loaf...
You turned on the neighbors dog.
No more than a carnivorous- criminal.
Shame.
Columbus Day
A silly little cinder fires first
Into the furnace of an almighty ship.
With boilers burning overtime
To blaze new paths into Portuguese land.
Help the 20,000 year old Indian
Adjust his clock radio.
So he can soon tune in
To the state broadcasting apparatus
And spray corn fields for broken pesos
And blame his naked former kin.
But the forests were built for people,
Or so I hear.
And Christopher Columbus
Had a shotgun and a plan.
He walked through ancient woods
And laughed at burning bushes.
Singing triumphant
To the killing fields he sauntered.
Who skinned the son of a native
And built vessels with his bones.
A man of mystery and myth.
We salute you one day
And the next no more!
Into the furnace of an almighty ship.
With boilers burning overtime
To blaze new paths into Portuguese land.
Help the 20,000 year old Indian
Adjust his clock radio.
So he can soon tune in
To the state broadcasting apparatus
And spray corn fields for broken pesos
And blame his naked former kin.
But the forests were built for people,
Or so I hear.
And Christopher Columbus
Had a shotgun and a plan.
He walked through ancient woods
And laughed at burning bushes.
Singing triumphant
To the killing fields he sauntered.
Who skinned the son of a native
And built vessels with his bones.
A man of mystery and myth.
We salute you one day
And the next no more!
Days of Rage
Like Rodney King said,
“Can’t we all… just… get along?”
In the aluminum blue-black rage
That bled through summer streets.
When broken bottles tore
Through the fast-forgotten fabric
And chided children torched
A new American Dream
To concrete, rubble, and ash.
The fuzz played new hangman
With the skin of an African shepherd
And called themselves “the law.”
Civil servants watered
Smoldering company cars—
Like beds of burning orchids.
Three days and love had fast retreated.
And a city of new born refugees
Scraped broken VCR’s from sidewalks
By the morning sun.
“Can’t we all… just… get along?”
In the aluminum blue-black rage
That bled through summer streets.
When broken bottles tore
Through the fast-forgotten fabric
And chided children torched
A new American Dream
To concrete, rubble, and ash.
The fuzz played new hangman
With the skin of an African shepherd
And called themselves “the law.”
Civil servants watered
Smoldering company cars—
Like beds of burning orchids.
Three days and love had fast retreated.
And a city of new born refugees
Scraped broken VCR’s from sidewalks
By the morning sun.
Minding Bulls
Looks like morning drizzle.
Broken scapes with scattered thoughts,
Rolling out from my rock
I thought I’d hop the midday rail
And ride jolted gallops on rusted freight.
Bracing fast for northern skies
Laughing at the bastard son
Of legacy now lost.
Momentum gained as speed it grows
And the brakemans gone to lunch.
Whiskey-stained dribbled spit
On a man of sea and land.
My train comes crashing
To the fast frictions command
Hollering ugly screams
Whilst sliding to a halt.
Eyes well spent from grease and grime
The railways soot and dust.
The jungles on fire…
Four mad cats burning deep
On brown brick pot
And brown paper poison.
And skin burnt brown from sun.
I’ll sit and dig and feast
With new found kin
On scraps of skin and wine.
We’ll rap on fortunes lost and found,
Running with the bulls…
Broken bones and battered skulls.
Of prison walls and county doors.
The silly, the damned, and the innocent.
No religion lost on the rail,
But midnight prayers to greener pastures
An adventure in the wind,
Without sneaking suspicion,
With no paranoid thoughts
Of being rolled, and left for dead.
With a story still untold.
To wake another day.
Minding my good time.
Trying to catch the next noon train.
Broken scapes with scattered thoughts,
Rolling out from my rock
I thought I’d hop the midday rail
And ride jolted gallops on rusted freight.
Bracing fast for northern skies
Laughing at the bastard son
Of legacy now lost.
Momentum gained as speed it grows
And the brakemans gone to lunch.
Whiskey-stained dribbled spit
On a man of sea and land.
My train comes crashing
To the fast frictions command
Hollering ugly screams
Whilst sliding to a halt.
Eyes well spent from grease and grime
The railways soot and dust.
The jungles on fire…
Four mad cats burning deep
On brown brick pot
And brown paper poison.
And skin burnt brown from sun.
I’ll sit and dig and feast
With new found kin
On scraps of skin and wine.
We’ll rap on fortunes lost and found,
Running with the bulls…
Broken bones and battered skulls.
Of prison walls and county doors.
The silly, the damned, and the innocent.
No religion lost on the rail,
But midnight prayers to greener pastures
An adventure in the wind,
Without sneaking suspicion,
With no paranoid thoughts
Of being rolled, and left for dead.
With a story still untold.
To wake another day.
Minding my good time.
Trying to catch the next noon train.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)