March 17 2011 Luggage Store Gallery (on the eve of what could possibly be the beginning of the end of the world as we know it)
Here at the end
Of the world
From the shores
Of Japan
From
The bitter
Loaves
Of stale
Bread
On the table of life
When the acid rain comes
If I told you that
Someone
Is stalking us
His name
Is death
And he thrives
On the mire
Of stupid decisions
Played out again and again
In places of power…
If this power plant blows…
We all suffer
And yet I feel remorse
“I’ve never been”
What’s more
Than a lost love?
A lost country
A lost continent
Sushi and Shinto shrines
Bright streamers of blood red
Haiku
Dragons and
Samurai
I missed out on being grateful for Japan
Till it was later than I thought
Now I worry with the world
And imagine a Shinto world
With nature spirits
Praying with us
For the water and rice
And the honesty
To say we are not doomed
Merely hurt
Down to the core of our being
Sorrow finds it’s home
In the trees
And the radioactivity
Itself
Where hands
Work feverish and desperate
To save lives
I want to dream the power plants
Out of existence
I want to suffer from nausea
At my nightmare\
And awaken unafraid of a bright
Harmless day
I want the world
To be another place
Another time
The time when I was young
Before exploding buildings
And exploding airplanes
And exploding power plants
This shrine
The tree in front of my house
Will the leaves stay green?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
urban cry of defiance and assorted bullishit
"I live here in hell
my kids go to school
here in hell
they like to play with construction paper
I roam the ghetto colored in black and red and blue and green
seeming obscene this is my scene
here in at the end of the world
in the bleakness
where I fucked that bitch up
and told the same endless
story again and again
of Urban despair
while my children play underground
sleeping in the sand and rousing themselves
to write poetry of head wounds and lemonade
I live in an army of military greens
and a box made of iron and I feel nothing
but psychotic misery
yet something else escapes from my tears
a small flower of blood and astringent
bleaching my boxes, I grow flowers in a
toilet seat and the dark condemnation
that came from your soul was a leaf
that fell between the hands of a youth
covered in warm colors who's hands
reached deeply into the Earth and
grew flowers inside of cups of
soil and cups of coffee
The land is alive in this place where
the criminals roam
ready to kill for sport
yet there are children
covered in paint and love
everywhere
dancing in the alleys
between the houses and the cars
life brings water and bones
in the form of assembled animals
cats and dogs and elephants
live and love and cry here
my hate and despair is a flourish
of paper, paint and trees
\anger finds bullets in the mud
drivebys are common as are thoughts
and life come from the root
of the mother
who turns
and becomes life
here in Richmond
the city I love and live in
Urban cowboys
prowl drugstores and hair salons
after dark
like devil sh ghosts
waiting for suicide
and for acceptance into
the mud and the sky
covered in clear
shining tears
this land is forgotten
and it is a jewel
like so many
small oblivious
cities"...
my kids go to school
here in hell
they like to play with construction paper
I roam the ghetto colored in black and red and blue and green
seeming obscene this is my scene
here in at the end of the world
in the bleakness
where I fucked that bitch up
and told the same endless
story again and again
of Urban despair
while my children play underground
sleeping in the sand and rousing themselves
to write poetry of head wounds and lemonade
I live in an army of military greens
and a box made of iron and I feel nothing
but psychotic misery
yet something else escapes from my tears
a small flower of blood and astringent
bleaching my boxes, I grow flowers in a
toilet seat and the dark condemnation
that came from your soul was a leaf
that fell between the hands of a youth
covered in warm colors who's hands
reached deeply into the Earth and
grew flowers inside of cups of
soil and cups of coffee
The land is alive in this place where
the criminals roam
ready to kill for sport
yet there are children
covered in paint and love
everywhere
dancing in the alleys
between the houses and the cars
life brings water and bones
in the form of assembled animals
cats and dogs and elephants
live and love and cry here
my hate and despair is a flourish
of paper, paint and trees
\anger finds bullets in the mud
drivebys are common as are thoughts
and life come from the root
of the mother
who turns
and becomes life
here in Richmond
the city I love and live in
Urban cowboys
prowl drugstores and hair salons
after dark
like devil sh ghosts
waiting for suicide
and for acceptance into
the mud and the sky
covered in clear
shining tears
this land is forgotten
and it is a jewel
like so many
small oblivious
cities"...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
random
Today I went to a concert
the room was empty
except for people
and voices
all that was real
was the people
and thier voices
nothing else...
was real
the room was empty
except for people
and voices
all that was real
was the people
and thier voices
nothing else...
was real
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Waiting for Irene
I am waiting for you
Irene
My master
The mother of my fate
The voice in the dark
The shadow of my sadness
Irene, my lover
Who never answered
My letters without
A certain condescending
Kindness
You felt sorry for me
As I was plagued
By the bitter melon
Of your pain
The taste
I washed it down
With tears
and a corona
somehow
we felt like lovers
who knew
nothing of
love
why did
the ice melt?
Only on your hand
But not your heart
You long to be
Somewhere
Away from
The antagonism
Of streets filled
With sorrow and
Loneliness
I care for you
Irene
Wherever you are
Fighting the war
Of consciousness
The war of agony
The war against
Death
Would that all
The letters I wrote
Said what they should have said….
That I am filled with passion
For you.
Irene
My master
The mother of my fate
The voice in the dark
The shadow of my sadness
Irene, my lover
Who never answered
My letters without
A certain condescending
Kindness
You felt sorry for me
As I was plagued
By the bitter melon
Of your pain
The taste
I washed it down
With tears
and a corona
somehow
we felt like lovers
who knew
nothing of
love
why did
the ice melt?
Only on your hand
But not your heart
You long to be
Somewhere
Away from
The antagonism
Of streets filled
With sorrow and
Loneliness
I care for you
Irene
Wherever you are
Fighting the war
Of consciousness
The war of agony
The war against
Death
Would that all
The letters I wrote
Said what they should have said….
That I am filled with passion
For you.
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