Go pass the primitive poetic ecstasy of the tender putrefying flesh of an soon the be dead language dying on the tongue of an astonish atonement that have putted its trust in poets who break open their mother tongue to know what it means when the sharp edge of tongue lashing words cut the skin of the tongue and words of disuse confused and drunk of their own beauty fall through the faithfulness of their meaning where is found the fertilize ground from which they grow words of long ago golden with grief except their antiquated sleep with an antipodal grace they wait the wanting of new usage on the tender tongue of the young each generation bring to the world of words a new meaning a twist and turn on the old reliable paper for the crisp paper bills dope for the giddy good crib for the home of your heart yo bro poets be pimping in the wilderness of words shordy for children crunk for drunk the crazy way that words work I am tanked on the breath of worldly words swallowed and rebirthed with their many meaning strung on the tip of my tongue I smoke a blunt by the bay sitting in the morning sun I wave deep in the smoke of my watery thoughts swimming in my head of no other here in the methamphetamine state of Missouri in small countries and back woods the labs are set to produce the manufactured high of getting by come fly with me die with me ride the wisdom of being high in the haze of a light buzz be it weed or Colt 45 open your mind to the wonder of your preferred drug make me your poet of the buzz for I embrace the attentive mind of drugs and make no bones about it my breath smells of a roach rich and deep smoked in the midnight hour to inform my dreams I bear no sane shame I hide not my meaning named it is said don’t bogart that joint my friend pass it over to me and I agree when my tears are high on weed when my mind fly in the high smoke of a deep breath toke when the warm face of laughter thrust itself forever into the face of violent and the whole sky torn and loudly tatter splatter itself into a wounded scream insolent to tare at the enormous spasmodic triumphant river running through the regal river of machine anaconda and sycamore roots permitted to overflow the banks of an open nightmare henceforth the liquid beauty of destroyed water rush and ride the solemn nocturnal serpent with his public apple of indulgent that if eaten will divide the saints from the sinners the awesome antique passion from the newly born visible voluminous mutilated middle contour of the invented notion of love forever cut into the lingering light of the moon closer then the stars of a damning dream collapsed by the forgotten words that answer the forgotten question of the trade winds deep within the invented time infected by the motion of an intention to do as the moaning flayed and dismembered nocturnal triumphant that rule the rotting roost where pigeons play with the tail wind of their wings where homing birds are seeking for the lost paradise of a far away exclusive heaven fit only for the righteous who believe in the one beloved God of Abraham they shall meet him there once set free from the holding place of souls waiting for the second coming of the holy ghost waiting on pins and needles scented as pines growing on their own accord up the mountain rocks of the Rocky to the krummholz stunted alpine timberline
Go pass the slavery of a dictum dithyrambic diamonds polished by the daring darting death of vigorous villagers and the black war of black on black war on the finger of the bullheaded bride that’s the way it goes when war slip away and pretend to sleep in a photograph for seven years is it found guilty of unkindly killing but it was only fighting for its insanity for its murderous monstrous glow of feeling holy in war life litmus little leak out till moment memories is all that there is left memories held in the head of others when the bride see only the spirituous sparkle and bright brilliant of facets without a history without a struggler without sweat and bold blood in the darken deep mine where the spark is found once I loss my mindful meaning in a dingy way I beforehand forgot what I was getting at in the saying of something in the mind of my brain stepping out of the game playing without aim wondering through a though tide’s side of all found that fall from the furthermost form of the meaning of the running rhythm of rhymes once there was the tumble down tremor on the future as the red flower subduing the humming bird with its fragile beauty Gods smells like flowers like damp decomposing leaves like rain like human musk cupped between the arms some Gods with dirt between their finger nails are not afraid to dig in the earth some Gods keep their distance from man and wait to store their bounties only on the dead the worshiping is your to choose you have nothing to loose play it safe the brave have chosen to wait to get by without a God pity them not nor raise the rod concern yourself with yourself for yourself know that each alone must meet and make their peace with their maker one man’s God is another man’s demon one man’s demon is another man’s Shiva once encountered both shall burn away the spirit from the body burn away the desires of the flesh that can not enter into the haven of heaven can not be reincarnated the flesh is forever of the earth even in death the domain of nature she alone have use for the breathless body she alone can save with breath feed and fest upon
Go pass the sacrificing of human brotherhood for the remission of the sins played out in the segregated heart of a country staggering for a place in the perigee penitent of a manifest destiny where an elder Lakota nakota sits with sweat dropping to the dirt of a reservation where the White Buffalo Calf Woman calls to him nature for sure calls to him with the bat’s death and rebirth on a personal level the horny honesty of the bumblebee the moveable mobility of the caribou the swept swiftness of the cougar the followership folly of the coyote the mighty migration of the crane the personal persistence of the woodpecker the familial fertility of the tadpole the simplicity symbolism of the spider the cursive curiosity of the raccoon the dredging dreaming of the lizard the truly trust of the ladybug the far seeing foresight of the hawk the dreamtime illusion of the dragonfly the pride of the chokeberry eating elk the spiral spirit of a feather the knotty kindness of the dove the transmittable tranquility of the lion the assertiveness of the moose the attention to detail of the mouse all call to him to be one with them I am that I am one in the soup of life a man set not apart a drinker from the same earthen bowl the old Mississippi runs in my mid-life veins for nature provide the sudden discovery of an elegant element of a disaster against the low ceiling that the old have to go half my live is gone and so as all poets should do I keep no secrets from my poems I am done with the tummy turmoil of the souls I fit in my skin in this season of knowing all is well when we understand ourselves understand the irreversibility of speech understand the legality of poems the infinitude of language the theatre of the poem is laid bare each poem mean what you mean in reading it the poem is a conducting conduit in which you bring yourself to its aid without you it is just a pregnant thing waiting to give birth to its meaning slap this child on it bottom that it takes its first breath in your breath here it cry out in your heart poems are not innocence of anything they carry their loaded load to wrap you in the safety of critical force the poem’s ornament its luxury its blazing leisure between the unbearable waste of water its nevertheless music passing into the season of the ear it is a deliverer of things it sings the irreducible brocading musing of a mind gone mad and blind to get at the deep emotional longing sometime clumsily dreaming out loud like the wind wandering over a river wind without shadow wind sometime tender as the notion of a slender flower that knows not its own beauty sometimes roundly rough it thrust forward with force foundering flowers and brackish bricks breaking them down to red dust mixing with the wind of your breath it brush its unseen beauty by the innocence smile of a black child wild in the maze of the city in the wind driven dust proud of displacing the dry earth the smile of the wind can open the heart’s vault of a liar as it greet a God of wind blissful back blowing against my black blear my beam a God to glorify all the while meaning to meet on the early morning deserted street where the wind greet the sun cup your hands full of wind as if to pray that it will blow all your troubles away listen to it shake the leaves of trees as if it is a choir singing alleluias of please please please see it pushing trash alone the hunch back of the street as if it is an animal fleeing from you feel it caress your face as if it is a long lost lover recently rediscover from the tug of a jazz scented wind lost in the canyons of the city where the tall building spit the wind into an updraft fit for eagles to soar some broken wind whining down low to ruffle the flower heads of four o clocks blooming in the night the wind dost appeal to feel the strong long arms of the sun these knees of trees on their own success the bold hold by roots conceived the wind strain vein of leaves the heart’s forsook that look the rung tongue of Fall flame flung grieving for the wind leaving the older colder wind that can not lie can not sigh will not answer the question why so we who guessed to express what is this life that we have been given to long to know a God who will except and leave us all our wickedness forgiven forgive the brown down foam on the ocean of our earth the bound home frowning on the drowning in the waste that we make
Go pass the sacrificing of human brotherhood for the remission of the sins played out in the segregated heart of a country staggering for a place in the perigee penitent of a manifest destiny where an elder Lakota nakota sits with sweat dropping to the dirt of a reservation where the White Buffalo Calf Woman calls to him nature for sure calls to him with the bat’s death and rebirth on a personal level the horny honesty of the bumblebee the moveable mobility of the caribou the swept swiftness of the cougar the followership folly of the coyote the mighty migration of the crane the personal persistence of the woodpecker the familial fertility of the tadpole the simplicity symbolism of the spider the cursive curiosity of the raccoon the dredging dreaming of the lizard the truly trust of the ladybug the far seeing foresight of the hawk the dreamtime illusion of the dragonfly the pride of the chokeberry eating elk the spiral spirit of a feather the knotty kindness of the dove the transmittable tranquility of the lion the assertiveness of the moose the attention to detail of the mouse all call to him to be one with them I am that I am one in the soup of life a man set not apart a drinker from the same earthen bowl the old Mississippi runs in my mid-life veins for nature provide the sudden discovery of an elegant element of a disaster against the low ceiling that the old have to go half my live is gone and so as all poets should do I keep no secrets from my poems I am done with the tummy turmoil of the souls I fit in my skin in this season of knowing all is well when we understand ourselves understand the irreversibility of speech understand the legality of poems the infinitude of language the theatre of the poem is laid bare each poem mean what you mean in reading it the poem is a conducting conduit in which you bring yourself to its aid without you it is just a pregnant thing waiting to give birth to its meaning slap this child on it bottom that it takes its first breath in your breath here it cry out in your heart poems are not innocence of anything they carry their loaded load to wrap you in the safety of critical force the poem’s ornament its luxury its blazing leisure between the unbearable waste of water its nevertheless music passing into the season of the ear it is a deliverer of things it sings the irreducible brocading musing of a mind gone mad and blind to get at the deep emotional longing sometime clumsily dreaming out loud like the wind wandering over a river wind without shadow wind sometime tender as the notion of a slender flower that knows not its own beauty sometimes roundly rough it thrust forward with force foundering flowers and brackish bricks breaking them down to red dust mixing with the wind of your breath it brush its unseen beauty by the innocence smile of a black child wild in the maze of the city in the wind driven dust proud of displacing the dry earth the smile of the wind can open the heart’s vault of a liar as it greet a God of wind blissful back blowing against my black blear my beam a God to glorify all the while meaning to meet on the early morning deserted street where the wind greet the sun cup your hands full of wind as if to pray that it will blow all your troubles away listen to it shake the leaves of trees as if it is a choir singing alleluias of please please please see it pushing trash alone the hunch back of the street as if it is an animal fleeing from you feel it caress your face as if it is a long lost lover recently rediscover from the tug of a jazz scented wind lost in the canyons of the city where the tall building spit the wind into an updraft fit for eagles to soar some broken wind whining down low to ruffle the flower heads of four o clocks blooming in the night the wind dost appeal to feel the strong long arms of the sun these knees of trees on their own success the bold hold by roots conceived the wind strain vein of leaves the heart’s forsook that look the rung tongue of Fall flame flung grieving for the wind leaving the older colder wind that can not lie can not sigh will not answer the question why so we who guessed to express what is this life that we have been given to long to know a God who will except and leave us all our wickedness forgiven forgive the brown down foam on the ocean of our earth the bound home frowning on the drowning in the waste that we make
