Humanist diction

Humanist diction

Hothouse smoke on tits
To suckle my casque with lips
Scudding the inhaled down wrested lifeforce
We gainsay this morality terse

Open our hearts to Christ
Attend our childrens baptism
Holding their tiny heads in cistern declarem
Our open hearts of Christ!

Here my kindred gather on lee
For these humid breathes scintillated
We shall overcome in streets
Talk hoary misguided attempts

And lavish ones love on sore pedals
Oiled rubicund modish belief
Burdened our force on earth
Wreathed gravid to fall, defeated

Shall we roar up our greek antiquities
Pensmith a serif in epic meanderings
To justify this abusive nonchalant orgy
Triggering our erected waddled color

Tolling dearly in necessity of brevity action,
Our chest hold within this fracture sanctuary
Mediums of selenium, meager shavings of lead,
Please render us clay in your hands

And guide us nearsay to the gentian blooms
That adjourn our seclusion
An acumen heart of Benedictine monk
That we pray, to feel weary in honest mirth

Human words lost, unrendered
Perferations of ink

out to pasture

out to pasture

the weary blackened souls crisscross across the terrace
careful to avoid the shadowed remnants adorning the field,
they hold onto satchels, sacks of soot and tired raingear
hoping for one more taste of their atmospheres sweet juice,
tonguetied and stuckout they scoot, born in this meadow
they've meandered on earth in humble malfunction

"anne?" a soothsayer with bandaged eyes emits
"Did someone call Ruth? I'm just over here!" but for her,
she cannot hear and no one is wiser for a reply,
as aloof a calm boarish gent in overalls bent
cupped up the trampled clover, resurrected its 4th leaf,
and with this gesture, a bluebird could be seen on horizon

it gathered up the updraft, and then hurled out of sight
to fly an unknown path around market scouring for invertebrates,
it knew not when to perch or when to decry its attempts as for not
a wounded buzzard become it kept blistering on
and the old women gathered and knit this feather fallen
engrossed it within their tapestries not knowing its bloodlet endeavor

Long this pitch of broken changelings stretched
the harpsichord, a grammaphone, a bored out mortar
lone bent collumn of grooves
indented the path of a little lost maiden traipsing her clogs
in every trip, she sensed a small bliss of a tune
tried humming it outloud and went mute

for not, as old wicker basket salsemen propped on tangled root
orated solemly his predictions of future harvest,
gathered forth a small crowd of pitchfork and rye
a stung redflesh muddied in blotches, perked up
believed from his these stories of blessing days
where one would reap a lore of ones kindred hand firm

terra formed and all along these high vaunted planes
an odifourous incense fumigated the air
it was deep within lungs, singed their skeletal organs
it brought them all together in hapless pleasure
the borders of which were becoming encroached
and not but one of these misformed creatures

ever desired
to move forward from the said dowry of attempt,
and a lame boy riding unshod painthorse latched on to crumpled page
and read forth this poem

these barren mothers
these broken backs
we share together
in our small of laughter
in our chipped tooth grin
to keep in favor

our warm hands
clasped in crippled finger
we will not release
please, oh father
delight us again on sunset
show us once more your love

bring us our storks of fortune
on the coo, this listful breeze
for we are meek and dying
breathing in ribbed asunder
oh joy, oh love, oh fortune
send us your favor

bring love again, bring warmth

he stopped and dismounted
prostrated himself wet earth
to sorry to see the merry ants
who continued to build their castles
and he wept their trails away
a cursed bonded lament

unfinished mara sequence

unfinished mara sequence


1

To the vino stained sheets of brasov
I've soiled the street children with their painted rags,
my listless lollygags rousing those awful cobblings
chasing after a fleeced moldovia
where sweet mara unabashed sat on balcony
watching me write, humming herself a delicious tone
beyond my reach she brushed her succulent boisenberry locks

out of a decayed danube to prance on a balled up paper
I must have left behind when fighting off those urchins
she unwraps with milky condolence to the shattered words
for her to read, oh mara, I have hidden your poems
tied them deep inside this black church of a heart
that you, to knock feverishly for sanctuarary
I will unwrap these stares and ask, to hold your hand

feel this silken love strung fortune reading across water,
a sea of your hair in my eyes wrapped up leggy stagger
to escort in fine fashion our mingling of placed ballet
lusted for dry red romani wine, a pelter in silver spoon
I imbibe in your creamy countenance frozen in your eyes,
to mirror our lost happenstance of meeting here, in brush
air to heir this our moment, where we shall love again

2
the twin I choose has a sweeter smile,
an unused sense of roses
for whilst pricking pinky I suckle
this savored blood berry
swishing around cherry in palatte
I no longer choice her skin
for her soft contour is growing garden
a lighter shade her smile
is all I lack as photographer

for of the two I bury with her
a seedling of pure love fiborous
to dangle an earth worm her small promise
she blooms, mara for all of her fruits
showering us spring green a new bud
her special lest this world doppleganger
to conceal her from others in shoulders
te her to my chest this lovely breast
sing both our portraits this pairing

together
we flower

Kepler Accompanies Herkules to Hell

Kepler Accompanies Herkules to Hell

this is Sheol Johannes, worthy a great man
for here you lie, and I visit you
For where then I Sheol? I am flesh!
No, you are a shade, a reflection now
I have felt your telescopes, it tickles
your joy filled stare, it took all of these years
for I felt your supernova god kiss
those of prayer, those of worship, you
strong enough to raise even now with me
johannes, join with me to hell

Herkules, tis you?
existence smashing, take on your fathers sword
for tis a likeable bastard to yield such company,
Call me Johan, -johan! a fine name indeed
You can refer to me as ol' blue eyes,
dressed for travel one musk ask good hope
Before we ride into the great harbor
for what says you about the stars?
By me they seem to be pointed towards Ophicihus
Tis tragic this place, for man has not lived

a priestess in this oneness of being
-were Gods johan, this is for us to see
for there are men seeking their chase now,
there have been some minor deitys,
hell, if it wasn't for my current hairstyle
the door guy wouldn't even recognize me
but these matters are nominally treacherous
I'm a bit of a narcissist,
This is why I have come to you for help
come on kep, I've seen you stareyed and handling

To discuss this nothingness of Sheol,
To embrace human suffering as tilled fern
Through medidation brother kepler escaped
And joined Herkules to the realms below

the chips were done, the salsa licked
I told you they had one hell of a margarita
the crout had never had habanero mango salsa
in the bohemian court he had simply disected tomato,
infused a bit of paprika and ate fresca, the blender
and mariachis with pistolas baristas tequilla in belt
before he knew it he was drinking mescal from a senorita
a freshly livid happy tonguing of bellybutton she yipped
It was Herkules that insisted in lifting the new vonkep
hoisted in him snug to recieve haircut agave, he span

water washed over his head, he awoke in a bed
turned over the sleeping broad, wow he thought
this bitch must piss herself alot, what the fuck happend
-You set a little girls hair on fire, that was before the cart,
what cart? The one that was closed, the cops came at us running,
really johan, trenchcoats are better for late night frankfurter heist
lets get out of here before that tranny wakes up
As they left the establishment the t had gone out in the motel,
It was rather dark most of the time, he put on some sunglasses
dug his memory banks, Herkules, what are we doing here again?

ol blue had a hearty laugh, well I wanted to see how you drank
if you could handle your weight in barley, you know on the field,
you did good kid, managed to make an uneventful hell festive
-So is there some sort of punishment for being here, any galleys?
well theres a great bowling alley where the pins are rigged
its a good prank to play, but no, its mainly just an afterworld
no real future here, just sort of the same old bullshit day in day out.
then how was this different from life?
Well kid when I lived I got to battle all sorts of nefarious characters
more of a blood thirsty survival by warfare, thats all been taken away here

And it was explained that there were uprisings being plotted
Johan became to feel as a young vibrant sorcerer, to join sword and cap
He outfitted himself in a cloak and purchased a gnarled wooden staff
For as a man to have risen by the hands of the 13th task, he smiled

they would consult oracle, a witch serpentarius gnosis,
for one must understand the handler of a split slither
a small wooden sign with the rod of asclepius rattled with wind,
hades bellows to enter, trespass there true conjecture
ordain the information at hand on this cult of panacea
Welcome, I am Hygenia, please could you wipe your boots
With a grand bow, and a gragarious jolly whip of his hat,
Priestess Hyegnia, I am Herkules, and I have come to seek your help
And who may I ask the sorcerer namesake, who have you hired gun?
This is Johaness Kepler a very pious and benigh observer of your gods,

Well then by all means Johaness, I am pleased for both of your summonings
You are but one of many predictions I have prepared for, and such
Please do inbibe yourself in a few pomegranites, a taste for ambrosia I'm sure,
The Trio set down well appetized and Herkules sat to lighting pipe
Why have it that you have taken to searching for my father she wisp'd
We have heard tales of a rearrangement, of a dormant spirit to rebirth,
a hunters horn has travailed, its laudeous ring loosening deaf ears,
all of the ancient gods are stirring afterworld to alternate dimensia
what is happening in Ophicihus that would conjure such ressurection,
The halls of Valhalla are emptying, the space pirates exiting asteroid

these Hygenia are not sport of chaos
You incense abberant odor dear travellers
For Herkules I have known you since your father killed my father
But I am of a human born priestess of patience and care, a maiden mercy
I have not wrestled with your existence and flung yourself to far
but for the continued patronage you already posses, we have much in favor
with so much at hand, it is wise for you to choose such holy comrade
to field this your last task, I ask only that you eat of your father
the same compassion he had for mine, that the stars from mt olympus
show the fairness in order, I hope well you aim to protect

Michael has arisen Jehovahs beckoning,
A vast army of Krishna were being assembled,
The lords of milky way felt a pull towards solar system
a dark mass forming the snakes full extension

The duo left temple with a new sense of direction
a new pep to their step, a lick to finger found the heading north

Vaccous portal sought, a helped wanted on the closest saloon
a pint at the toothpick dagger but a witches stonethrow
Well, thought ol blue, We're a bit on our heads dear boy
He sipped the grog, nodded without saying a word

there was no conversation before sleep
For tommorow dead moons beckon

No sanctuary for mesopoetics

No sanctuary for mesopoetics

Pass me a rifle hassan,
I want to shoot at the wall for a bit,
Pocket resistance in granite, I’ve got
A tweak in the neck, splintered sandal,
I walk-
Mosey Kabul

For the pension on such messy business
Is more then the journals I scrawled
A Mohammed obsession at night tip to pen,
No one reads Arabic gum wrapper it seems
For I dance
Few little steps to the creak of a lute

I can shimmy a barrage of aftershock,
Sock hop a nail bomb in Jerusalem
Even chacha a Spanish train derailing
To the quarter step of an English waltz
I long to boogey Memphis and keep moving

But our travel has restrictions,
My likeness in such fortress is given a plea,
To savoir such horsemen of apocalypse
I could liberate our constant struggle
And end the ills of western mutiny.

-I had a poet penpal in the united states
Somehow filtered through the privacy stamp act
And he told me that they are funding our terrorism
It was uplifting to know our cause has such great claim
And that he was penniless, starving,

At the last jihad meeting I mentioned the plight
A General American Satanism was the prevalent
But for an American poet to be dying in homeland
For what progress we had made to steal voice
Of people soon to fat overfed and ruined

I curled up with a copy of the Koran
My wife switched on the new osama quintet
I could smell the imported dates wrapped in leaf
For I had many days to enjoy simple things
I wish you my best brave poet, for now I shall rest

This old American Man

This old American Man

Sleeps dearly on cots, embraces the interior
Takes never asked twice the milk in fridge
And wants to hear your old stories
Cause the new ones don’t really affect him much
Lights at night to bright for his eyes in Cadillac
Where is his cane for sophomores?

Is he hiding in Valhalla?
The slain lone star draught recycled cup to
cup
the meat of the calf lodged away
stuck , for one knows that in the hallowed Newfoundland
we winter and we winter, we gain fat
weighed by our tributous

could he be found in china/Prague/peru?
For but a mere trumpet
On holy days, shall the flame of cup restore this dead warrior
Bring to him his pike, his stallion, his mead
For rape,!
For fire and seizure

For to long unchecked in the mess of roads and byways
An old man will crumble,
Be lifted of his mantle gown
And new stories of his return

Let us dissertate old men, patrons female let us populate
For your friends and family could be more interesting
With brown eye child, henchman

It is not to past in hour that we can unplug our brains
Still remainders of something very old, old American

-Stop this. I am to old
There he slept on fannin
Colored at the electronics museum
A sprig of plume, a yellow flower
But a shell, an unused organ, he will continue
To refuse a plug in and can be found largely
At the old places that are inhabited by asbestos to much they say
That it would cost more to fix the place up then to bash it down
Old decayed landmarks and no one with balls to bandana cheap downtown space
America, your old men are dying with there buildings, we all know that the Chinese
Will make use of our old shrines and lack of ingenious industry

If one was to so ask what he did to the Japanese,
The germans, the philippines, hed smile and wink for bouncing betty body
Waiting at home, a real wide open expanse in which he manufactured
Technology to take from his sons and childrens childrens
Forgive him, for he now wishes to undo what he has claimed by hand

He wants nothing for the equity of all his colors and weights
They say there is no castesystem globalwarming, they say a lot
Of stupid shit, who are we kidding our consumerism
To go days without money in America,
You must have it, be given it, or roll your body 500 miles across the
Rockies

Do you buy it?

To you bayou, solvent?
Do your shirts itch, your genitaliaur
What could they be saying or doing, with you not around, martin shorts
innerspaced are you vacuous and solvent
Because you are paying for this

We all are paying for this, everything, billed
So private our public has become creditor scores, tally
Where did the cattle traders and gypsies run from our central green
To building materials? Coppers, iron ore
A steel of our nomads fringing under watched highways and intersections
You pay for that, chandeliers in your eateries, you pay for your talented
Minstrels roaming to your town on billed free press magazines
30 dollars, you know for 30 dollars our could eat 30 items from the dollar menu
some people hunger, starved of talent, meat, ore
and you pay for it, you pay our cops to act as they do, you pay to hate your politics
you pay
you pay

pay me

pay us all

comfy, you there in your wallet, your furniture,. Your furnishings, your walls
your swimming pools your triple crème cheese, your jazz recordings lp
you are comfortably paid for
and will die when some one slits your neck
an old man