Little Freddie the Angelus

Spiriting paper slips from brothels

to billiard halls of a coal smothered
town...
Freddie's blue, intelligent, eyes stayed
cloudless and discrete.
Men awaited numbers cloaked in smoke.
Their coarse affection
came over him in gestures
--fat, gold crusted, fingers
tousled his black hair
or poked his ribs--
the unspoken love of those
who shared sin.
Sometimes he was allowed to tarry.
Freddie watched, studying the
cruel geometry of loss or gain.

Interminable nights spent

suffering the ineluctable
curse of blood,
brother misery cheated sleep...
breath burned his heart as
three slept in one room.

The door closes behind 

and he welcomes dirty air.

Rough hands pass paper slips
marked with strange codes coldly.
The man smiles enviously
as Freddie sprints unburdened,
spiriting away ashes of night.

Ton Éclat Fatal et Pur

Smell of perfume
mingled with smoke,
add sweat
and somnolence,
you've attained
the mise en scène

an addicted chanteuse
chokes in a lit corner
where dust never collects

it doesn't merit
terza rima

rivers of vomit capsize
wasted craft,

a discerning God's

tidal edict.

the bass line drones
pharma-nepenthe

we rest in
her reflection

we want malady
on the cusp
of martyrdom

Never sing such darkness.

We redact the dream
and blunt beauty's knife

to dullness.

waves break over shut eyes.
please, don't ask us to think

welcome the fair sun
into sweet slumber,
fetal-ly curled up
on dew licked hills

mother?
did your breath
cut beauty's sharpness
into our lungs?

we cried when
light seized us
from the warmth
of dark water

we can't bear

this brightness.

give us novelties,
divertissements.

dance is a test and
we can't stomach ideals.

Beauty, redeem hearts
born broken.

Happy New Year

"This year could be our year."

-------The Thrills, "This Year".



Allow the pornography of misery to fade with the
collapsing TV tubes...Plug the airwaves away and avoid
the black and white marks smudging your fingertips and
enjoy one night with the people you love. Sing and dance
and don't forget to burn the past year in a passionate
kiss. To all of those I love and can't sing or dance with---
or kiss----

Happy New Year!

May the New Year truly be your year, too.

Kalstradamus----Predictions for 2008

Written In Blood


I did pretty good foreseeing 2007. Pakistan has become a headache--Britney has
mounted a comeback----Not bad--here I go, fearless and eyes opened wide, into
the future!


1. Senator Barack Obama will be elected President of the United States.

2. The Vice President will be Senator Joseph Biden

3. President George W. Bush will leave the White House with an
upswing in popularity. Two factors: 1. The continuing strong economy.
2. The growing success in Iraq. Peace will not be made between
the Israelis and the Palestinians because the Israelis have no desire
to be just or humane.

4. Vladimir Putin will survive an assassination attempt.

5. General Musharaff of Pakistan will not. (I was off a year.)

6. Osama Bin Laden will die.

7. President Bill Clinton will die in August.

8. Britney Spears will continue to grow in popularity and her
album sales will rebound when her second single is released.

9. Ohio State will defeat LSU for the National Title in NCAA Football.

10. I will be Time's Man of the Year.

11. The Worldwide Climate for the year 2008 will be the coldest in decades.

12. The Dow Jones will break the 15,000 pt threshold in June.

13. Japan and China will reach an Economic and Military Alliance.

14. Iran will suffer social upheaval. Riots will be common in Teheran.

15. Governments will continue not giving a shit about Darfur because of
the massive oil deposits under the sand where the unlucky souls dwell.

16. Ralph Nader will, in early January, come out in support of John Edwards
for President.

17. Love will come.

18. The Indianapolis Colts will defeat the Green Bay Packers in the Super Bowl
27-17.

19. My hegemony shall grow by leaps and bounds.

20. HONY SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE.

The Best of 2007

It is time to celebrate excellence in 2007.



Best Musical Recordings:

1. Andrew Bird, "Armchair Apocrypha"
2. Ghostface Killah, "The Big Doe Rehab"
3. PJ Harvey, "White Chalk"
4. Band of Horses, "Cease to Begin"
5. Ryan Adams, "Easy Tiger"


Best Non-Fiction Book:

"The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy"
--John J. Mearsheimer and Stephen M. Walt

Best Fiction Book:

"Porius"
----John Cowper Powys


Best Motion Picture:

"AssSquirt9071.wmv"
-----Kat


Best Mass Shooting Warning Notification:

Various Web-cam Productions by Korean Mass Murderer
before Virginia Tech Massacre.


Best Title and Music Sequence of Mass Shooting by 24 Hour News Channel:

"CNN: Mall Massacre in the Heartland(Omaha)"--
Producers and Musicians ashamed to name themselves.


Best New Commemorative Item for Massacre:

Candles and Paper Plates(tie)


Man of the Year:

Vladimir Putin

Woman of the Year:

Britney Spears


Comeback Person of the Year:

Mass Shooter


Best Quote of the Year:


"Senator Clinton did not approve or have foreknowledge of the
statement I made regarding Senator Obama."

Two separate, former, Clinton staffers on two separate occasions.



Best Sign History Repeats:

Bush haters aping Clinton haters.



Ah 2007! What a year! Look forward to my predictions for 2008!

No Balance

The moon's crooked smile gave night an anxious
air. A silvery, cloudless, face expanded above my
head dry as a waking thirst.


A premonition made me call. How to explain these
occult urges? My friend's voice rang hollow. His
breath left him in bursts-- like it was escaping a cold
room.
I consoled his worries with hope.


On a cold, lighted, table his brother passed. The oxygen
rich air did its best to fill my best friend's shattered breast.
I imagine he wept hard and restrained, his face a clenched fist.
Even his pictures of the next day, albeit with a new friend,
couldn't hide a man sucker punched by grief.

In Memoriam Mac. In his heart you will run strong forever.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Later, lighter news awaited my warm eyes. A beautiful Card
and Gift arrived from Texas. Our glorious Bidet sent me something
humorous and thoughtful. I savoured the humor, but not as much as
I will savour the gift on a happier day.

Thanks for the needed laughter, friend Bidet. Your sense
of timing is only eclipsed by your goodness. Bless you.

I hope your beautiful children, kind husband and you have
a wonderful Holidays.

The Cock is crowing. I must go.

Waking Ballad

Soft gold sifts down white sills,
remains of dream's epilogue spills.

Carpet, cold as scales,
grips feet with familiar polity.

The given, silent as cloth,
embraces eyes with assuring gravity.

Night's wake shades eyes darkly
to attain day's shining possibility.

Heliotropic

Fire blossoms in hearts.

Our eyes meet and burn 

keen as a first kiss.  

They shine radiant 

as cloudless noon

devours burnt skin 

with Sun's whet flame. 

Nerves(A Cosmology)

Stars, shocks of heavenly synapses, enlighten.
We bend to their grave arrangement.

Darkness is the song.

Sages invoke eternity
in thrall to the neon din of modernity.

Magdalenes

I

Rouge bruised cheeks
under jaundiced
streetlights assure 

treasures swept neath  

night's thick shade.

Pudenda slack and
pocked as spat-out
gum flutter like

dissipated butterflies
out of ferrous cocoons.

II

An army of heels
conduct the siren song.

The music of night, 

its rapturous throb,
excites the content bourgeois
as darling little babes 

slumber neath clean white sheets.

Kynik Aktaion (Fragment from Memoir)

"What is living will only overcome the tumult of annihilation
in the ecstasy of creation."

Einbahnstrasse, Walter Benjamin, 1928.



My favorite hunting experience occurred as I was walking home
with my brother after scoring a few bucks. Our men cordially
carried the quarry. We ambled home along railroad tracks and
sparrows were twittering in the brush. Having more rounds gave
us a delightful notion. Why not annihilate those precious little 

birds with buckshot?

This experience lifted twin spirits upwards to the Olympian.
We became the Dioscuri. Dancing midst a cloud of feathers the 

spell of powder and shell disintegrated. The bowl of fate was in

our hands! Our bolts flew smiting songbirds to motes!

I thought of poetry and its flights. Annihilating song in tiny birds placed 

us past Poetry. From the Dioscuri to Apollo is but a step.

We shot death-dealing bolts. We were Gods. Are not our eyes
blue as steel, locks gold as Helios?

Thirst

I'm thirsty as dust.

Kiss me.
Sing love into clouds.

Let rain cleanse valleys
where columns rise
proudly.

Shut twilit eyes.

Cosma Akakiova, a Broken Nose, and Puppetry

My nose throbs as I type. I tilt my head
upwards and hear Cosma giggle. She's curled
inside me like a lap dog. I, at times, feel helpless
when I think of mother and what she'd think.

Blood and clear liquid runs from my nose. I called the student
nurse and she told me I was a "worry-wart". Easy for her to
be cavalier. She's not afflicted with a swollen honker running 
like a leaky faucet.
(Whine, Whine.) So to the good stuff. I went out with Cosma.

She took me to her favorite record store, Snatch Monsoon.
A great place! So much stuff by my fave C--- O---! She doesn't
care for him because he tried to score heroin from her in Topeka.
We took a walk afterwards and it was lovely. Night vanquished 
the sky. Stars were bright, no moon to steal their fire! I could
say more about an old bench, proximity, and softness. She was gentle.
Tired and pleasurably disposed, we hopped on her Motorcycle and
sped off. I asked her to take me to the Group Home where I work
to check on some kids. Upon arrival one child, 9 years old, an habitual
pick-pocketer, was throwing a tantrum. It's amazing how strong these
little creatures can be. He picked up a mini-refrigerator and threw it 
at my face. It smashed my nose. What a scene! Cosma's kisses saved 
me from beating the child and we left.
She dropped me off at home and sped away, peeling out with such
élan my heart lept! But I should've been wary. Moonless nights are 
ominous. Cosma veered left on a country road and accelerated to 
80 mph, feasting on freedom as her hair whipped like a mare's tail.
A few miles further she hit a deer head on and flipped off the bike.
She was thrown 400 ft, impaled by three branches of an Oak Tree.
They found her suspended like a puppet.

A Love So Deep Miners Weep Light

Miners' eyes
shed light
like tears.

So deep 
they rend
what was and
haul it up
to fashion 
talismans.

In darkness 
they weep light 
as she digs
into me.

Melancholia

Endless winter of dirty snow...

Stars, like unwanted babes, 
tossed down dry wells.

Our breath cold as glass... 

Touch unable to rescue
the life lost in speaking.

Deum rerum coaxant

The part of Joan of Arc will be played by
the Archbishop Clinamen

Herein lies an Oration upon Ethernity and the Surface of God

Dearest Boneless and Economical,

Proem:
May the toad that shits the sun diurnally burp cloacal night.
Wizened crabs click their fore-claws in accompaniment to
protect me from the rage of the Creator.
Corpus Nefas:
Ethernity is the endlessness of air. Those who experience breathlessness
feel free to pace in order to stave off hyperventilation.
In air we fall. Lightless and without solidity Ethernity is a giddiness, an ethical tumble
like the mines my mother warned me were bottomless and went to hell.
Ethernity is the loss of body and the life of endless breath.
Mitred and Azure:
I am granted the right of speaking of God's surface as Von Humboldt wrote of bizarre
Circassian She-Goats that pissed blue streaks in mountain snows because of my splendid
surplice. My eyes are blue as heaven. I see a Horse's head in the sun.
God is metallic. Cool and shear so that reptiles cannot cling to him. Daily, like a drain,
souls flow from His truncated vents......And souls that pass, the good ones, are taken back to
resuscitate Ethernity in the Grand Ball Room of Auric Aspiration. There He is malleable and
soft. Yes, Gold. And as Gold, inside, he exudes warmth, akin to the warm breath of lovers.
In closing I would like to exclaim:

HA HA!

In God's tongue there is no H.
AA
A=A

Herein we laugh,
forgetting space.


Endfinite

Penser

"The sphere of the notion is similar to the bottom of the sea."

------Le Paysan de Paris, Louis Aragon.



I would ask you to step back politely before a perusal. Let the
water miraculously cascade down the white porcelain. White and
shiney as paradise should be..A Hidden God in the wall performs the
trick. The Blue Lozenge at the bottom dispenses a scent of jasmine.
And, yes, the blue of the lozenge is not accidental.
Behold the color of Heaven.


Would that one had such an inner plumbing in the head. A fine mind
steps back and lets the water take the piss of this world and flushes it
down as the Lethe of pleasant fragrance rises, the porcelain's shine
a bright smile.
In realms under the Earth, where the dead rest, the waste is taken.
Forgotten, as we contemplate the blue of heaven.

America, Infinity of Dream

"Amid remotest nations caused to rise
Young empire which they carried to the skies."

-----Camoes, The Lusiads, Book I lns 7-8



The West has always been the land of Dream. Past the Pillars
nimble witted fellows broke all bounds, suffered enchantment, braved
great perils and espied paradises. Oceanus ran over an edge or, maybe,
emptied into stars. Elysium or Caina. And little, since then, has changed.



The Gold of the Old World no longer sufficed. The Teijo had been
stripped bare. The souls of Europa once again looked past the Pillars.
A vertiginous desire dizzied Kings. Fear halfheartedly checked their
compulsion. Soon it succumbed to a dream narrowing eyes. Possibility
grasped at the falling Sun. Measure broke measure.



And again, nothing has changed. From the waking nightmare of a
favela in Brazil to the incessant wet dream of consumer culture, the
Perpetual Peace of a Long Island suburb to the Violencia of Colombia,
America remains the Alpha and Omega of Dream. Elysium and Caina.

Ces Jupes

Does anything die in spring?
When hoarfrost's half-life
teases our love for sidereal
things

At the archway Gallus,
There, where Poppae's
Skirt shifts like a hied
Nimbus

To vapor it goes,
Mists of lust and earth,
Love strangled in its
throes

At the archway, Gallus,
Let the skirts trail,
Tongues of Erinyes lashing
continuous

Set the Ram's testes
And the poison
In her dove-like hands.
Quirites!

Récit

We were never lost as young people say. Belief in
such aimlessness leads to romantic errantry.

Europe was grand, Paris sunny and soaked. The marsh
city sweat like a pied-noir stuck in Oran. We kissed coolness
and conquered Sun's tyranny.

Night winds lifted floral scents of The Tuileries uphill to
Montmartre. The Seine ran laced black. 

The lone white beacon, a suicide's face, floated past. 
We summoned passersby in tolerable French. All were comforted 
when Authorities calmly fished the body up.

Later that night we fucked passionately enough to forget death,
finding life worth the oblivion.

to HeJ

-"Qu'importent quelques vagues humanités si le geste est beau?" 

Harvest Song

Deep as touch,
suasive as voice,
a word breaks diversion.

Into farness
we, with tacit awe,
ride thoughtless into immersion.

The plain's wind-bent heather
rustles gold and sigh together:

To each equal measure
our shared, secret treasure.

Jawbreak

"Newton wrote not only the Principia but also a treatise on the
topography of Hell."

---Arthur Koestler


In pain and struggling to be reasonable, I stammer. My jaw
has a Heart of Pain beating dagger thrusts------ Again the
ordeal of an impacted Wisdom Tooth.
I shuffle by people with a humble, eyes averted, gait. The last
thing desired is attention. This is the antipode of my usual approach
to the world.
I have never loved everything so much. Pain brings everything closer.
I yearn for its repose in my eyes. Kindness flows from me as a kind of
physical contrition.
I am not broken and soon the Heart of Pain will no longer beat. Then
everything will return to its familiarity and I will seek the light of all.

Echo of Blonde

Narcissus
lost in
clone streams

Beholds
the gold's
rippled gleams

Light and lust,
eyes to blonde
clarity rise

Burning bands
dyeing fair
bleach blonde skies.

Lyra Nascitur

Listing in the bay
of a guitar's hollow

trembling string clouds
bring melodious rain

tack sail to climes
where day sets slow
as a first kiss.

Bad X

Eyes dry as canvas,
I was an integer looking for the Equation.
Nightmare played a waltz under hidden
seas. My horse pulled up lame. Darkness
granted a negative Damascus.

I was lost, no desire for being found. The Cosmos
melted into an Ocean of vomit, tears, and piss.

Sleep stood next to a lantern one block ahead. He cracked
a full-bellied grin. His laughter played an aching tattoo
radiating waves inside my head.

The wind blew coarse as an Early Church polemic. Foreign
cells warred inside me. A cloud's nipple offered false
solace.......And there I stood with my mouth open to the sky.

I was an integer looking for equation, eyes heavy
sandbags. Nearby a light bulb screamed light.
Sleep kicked at my heels.
The wind settled and I fell into a woman. She pushed me
aside.
Everything became whiteness and scent made my nostrils
burn. I became a pincushion for cruel angels.

The largo of a siren-like beep seduced me into rest's
capricious arms.

Parade

So many came
to watch
blonde boys
run bright
under cruel
Noon burning skin.

A new song
breaks from homogenous
housetops.

The Eventide strain
boys whistle
while beckoned by
dim blue light's 
placid blush.

April Dies Cruel

I

April dies cruel
as a child's
ideal.

The brushfire pall lifts,

Ashen traces
taken away
by evening rain.

II

Every morn
welcomes
the chaste kiss
of dew

Knowing April 
shall again
burn anew.

Labyrinth of the Continuum

"Clouds seemed mountains melting into empyrean."

Me, Visiting Colorado Springs, 2004.



The distance between any two points on a line is infinite.
It can be subdivided into infinitesimal units.

The space between two people is infinite when they are
not touching. That we do not go mad, miraculous. One room
away is another galaxy.

Leibniz's "best of all possible worlds" opens labyrinths of despair. 
To know when we are not touching
we are infinitely separate is too much.
We run, laugh, and hide in the "lace of soft words".
We ignore infinite spaces we abolish daily. 
Awareness of it would court madness. 

What we call close is unimaginably distant. 

Sound is an aural sheet we tuck ourselves under 
to set the infinitesimal.

Heartbeat a largo when she is not here. I sing her
touch. A spell to dispel all distance.