page 426-437
Go where science is the handy work of man where religion is the handy work of man where Gods are the handy work of man where the hidden divinity is the work of an unknowable God who must remain hidden for the sanity of us all under the sun under the clouds under the rain that runs its drops in stream down the cub of our disbelief in the scientific blessing badly nakedly needed badly bold beaten into our skin when we skittle across the random razor’s raised razzed edge like panting on the edge of a prison where is kept the known named storms ornature in their style and missions like charismatic leaders leading the poor poets pass the inquiry of their ultimate profundity true and timeless held taut tied to the throne antiqued in its oddity but I have seen bold polished political prophets poets penning their Ps and Qs quietly and quick in quality squirreling over the quantity of the quarry sometimes quarrelsome in mining I have seen them drowned in words that sued their souls for the misused of meaning seen them guilty of castrating the contour of the cerebral cortex in the season of breathing seen them adoring the efforts of the adolescent’s muscular memories when something funny was going on in the dressing room of the church of the body seen them offering you a sweet surrender sawed to the tail end of the wind they use to hold back from the tilde to tie you down with the rigid form’s function but now you are as hard and holy as water and only the truth of the rhythmic breath can catch you up and set the winds of your sails in motion I have seen them relearning you reloading their words once then now they are men never removed from the sway of the sea of words they know enough as not to confess to the Gods willing to keep their secrets when all should be told in an open handed offer given freely to the soul O air O mother air O air that share O everywhere O robe that cover the globe O infinity old as earth’s infancy O spent element of the universal flux O praise the way the Gods work O sleep in the breast of a midnight rest O black race of grace O understood motherhood O blood in the veins that flood O motion still of my will O now how the marvelous air O born morn full of air O death of the breath O air that make me slake and shake O old that my mouth mould O him that make dim the mind light of my sight that blind O wondrous dear of my mother atmosphere O air there full of prayers O voluminous womb and tomb hollow hung soon the noon’s selves of the self the bleak wind in air the care to breathe the white and the black of me O mortal beauty that reckon and reek and rack a pack the wrinkle slack of my old black skin O dangerous dancing blood flung into the form of the warmth of a recently fired gun bless him that die in war who pay the price with his life the pain delivered into a mother’s arms O make believe the artist’s art smart to wear the spirit’s heart the artist’s war dangerous at its core these solders of the soul frail clay mounded by an unknown God of tarnished gold O O O when the deed is done down by the when it is far flung by the wind fall of a senseless war that calls to our sons O wind that cools the wet flesh wet with youth’s blood spilt by the roadside of a boasted bomb booming till we cry no more O no more our weary eyes where forth the Christ the angels that spy where forth the divinity seen in an eye of the question why war of flesh dose soon denied its self a feast that none decry why why why poets question why that youth must die O air you have seen it all the wars that man can not forestall the glory of them that fall fighting for a pretentious cause wearing the flag on their selves they take the fall and all for what what reasons why that solders must die how do you justify the limbs loss lately the legless man lamed to his wheel chair no more this muscular madness of man disrespect for life O sin of Ganymede the body knows the love of Jonathan and David is formally formed by the wooing of the flesh of a lonely cleric that for the love of his God must denied the youth that bear his cup full of passion when men love men they will not war but woo the warriors wantonly want only as a hunting eagle that swooped down on its diclinous declivous ludus played out in the streets of our modern day mobbed and molested by Saint Louis’ hateful notion and motion of the jewelry Jews damning and denying them the comfort company of the fitful faithful as the fiery faithful deny non-procreative intercourse in their barely reasonable blind belief in clerical celibacy wicked wacky men rule the flesh of the church of a God that reject the pleasure of men to men love that fear the hounds of the Lord holy men hypocritical in their ignorant of the flesh’s demand for some other flesh to keep kindly kinship with in defiance of the inquisitorial accusation of harsh disputant static of holy statutes issued by the homosexual sweetness of love equal in loveliness to the fair Helen that age shall come to accuse accuse both woman and man with the mature love that have come to speak its name from Reading Gaol and the boxing father shall go down to defend the honor of his wayward son and the long hair poet Oscar Wilde who stained the sheets of the wild child shall have his trials in the bars and night clubs of the sexual dance that dart in and out between the musical bar-beat-banging against the sweaty flesh drunk on the shirtless dance that eagerly entice us to come O lovely boy of womanly bones fair of skin within the sins of the church you shall be redeemed in the hast of the honest last coming of the official affairs of the heart where the addiction of the flesh is writ on the skin of the half clad Christ on the cross alone after he kept the company of 12 men did they say live not as fools and simulacra between the two eternities of birth and death be one with your realities and the world will save and served you it will stew you into the stock of the soup of life let your God stir the pot till your life is well done to feed the earth with your bones and the angels with your spiritual soul O essential sin the proper pardon is rend by the sum of your offence toward the government of the public Gods that you can petition for the kingdom to come before the Gods hold their peace in the infinite heaven’s shade of privacy the futility and sorrowful mockery of the battle-voices of dead idols wandering in the wild uncultivated places of stones and trees the Idols are a terror and a wonder to themselves they hold it their eyes the divinity of the supreme power their wild souls full of noble ardors and a force of movement toward an universal admiration of the surpassing beauty of human in their right minds palpable to the echo of history with its deepest deep of the baby beauty bathed in the knowable knowledge knocking a notice of the insincere and offensives of the highest praise given by the flesh’s rhythmic essence of passion for the architectural symmetry of a polished place parked along the physiognomical point of a brief truth buried in the square sarcophagus made of faith to be open on the day of judgment when purgatory and paradise find their truth of purpose when Hell and Heaven close their doors to new souls to the sublimo and sublimest embodiment of the visible mechanism of the musical harmony of the God Nature that thousandfold beauty of divineness fit to be worshiped fit for begging for its blessing fit for the poet’s song sung long by these spiritual prophets of the understood word of the knowable Heaven of earth the holy dirt and all creatures in their daily labor earth’s visible force strong and along strong worthy of worship as the visible God of our daily lives why O why must man think else-wise why not a God along side our side breath her in feel her winds on your skin know that all creatures are kindest kin she is God without and within she gives the breath of life she is the knowable God before your sight Christ was crucified on the wood of her making Mohamed sat in her shade Confucius learned her ways she is the halves of Tiamat the master she is Mut my monstrous mother maker of Mallard and Meadowlark Merganser and Merlin she is Goddess and God feminine and masculine and the burring of such lines and somewhere we exist along her rhyme within her time told divine working of her all knowing mind all living thing are her thoughts manifested into life let us once again worship her light light of day lights of night
Go my knowing one to the searchable heart concern with the lamp bleeding its light into the mouth of an opening in the wind where words are wishing in whispers for a breath to breathe them into the enzyme of existence they wish to be heard in the breath bred byword of the said in its sadly sissified seditious seduction taking the standard stance of a human emotion the boy born to love the boy born to love dose not streak a stray from the norm but is as one with the swoop straight swoosh sword that swing through the sexual knowing bi by the way holds its owing own in the sexual range of man my love be for you all for all your sexual fruits are sweet on the poet’s tongue take our arms of poems wide open as a mirror all reflected as each drops of rain contain the world upside down in its falling let loose your armor of sexual knowledge go bear back into the bump of a hump go succulent and plumb prickly and abrupt sweaty with desires let loose from the skin slip within the holes of another’s body bold and ride the pony home your sweet musk be our guide the individuality of your sense is divine do not be afraid to smell as if your are one with the world as if you are an animal for all that man is we can not escape the fact that we are raw meat penetrate this knowledge with your tongue let it run down the curve of your cheeks as cum the seeds of your body that will birth in the ready belly a girl or boy let the orgasmic salty heat seeks from your pores wrap me in the hard-on muscles of your arms in sex we loose the boundaries of ourselves we become one of the two that engage easily shedding our clothing for the rewarding of the skin O be my wondrous sensual woman I drink you in be my man’s man keep me on the end of your tell- tell tongue let us in this dialogue be as one under the shadow of Shamash where our begging humility burns to be understood in the time space of the divine order of life beside the divine chaos of light under the unsolvable Babel of confusion of the God-man partnership found in the anarchic darkness of a catastrophe collapse of the lost continent of Atlantes the paleontology of our consciousness is found in the fossils of our blood where the Gods go learning the working of man’s emotions and the natural selection of the strongest over the weakest makes it impossible to calculate the God-side of our ancient mentality for we are as strong as our weakest link as weak as our strongest God with their association of rhythmical common sense the linguistic instance is the spontaneous possession of the poet’s soul with its utterances in the meter of the breath poetry is the language of the Gods it is their song in the glissandos of their speech that linger long lasting pass the singing of praise but now-a-days the Gods are skeptical in their anger of the poet’s wares as if we are in the last days of our texture knowledge or the poets have forgotten their timbre duty to concern themselves with the right harmony of truth of imagining that they can sing long and loud the God’s harmony introspectively of the tempo wisdom that the Gods share with them where once the Gods was jealous of the melody side of the unlucky accident of the mind now they keep their instrumental shame tight in the brain when it comes to Gods poems are like worms caught in the beak of a red breasted Robin ready to feed its children so you poets of the divine music birth your poems of nutriments to feed the minds and souls of men music yourself sue yourself spread yourself into the musical accompaniment of words sing your hemispheric excitation into your prophetic posing trance that possess you be one with the goodly Gods one with man the same skin of skin sometime we loose our ability to sing the discontinuities of pitch that ring the round about midnight songs of our hardy heart sometime we set ourselves apart and fall under the spell of the man made hell where we come to tell the confess tongue soft sift that drift the God’s gift of a heart beat’s rift that yet sweat from our pens of the last endured day gone from the day’s shone away the brave blow that saved the rabble babble rolled the cold wreck of a heart-broke the missing words lateralization the music of the greatest activity of the brave blow to and fro the smart bones all alone that keep its own truth of the heart in the start youth of humanness Christ’s sacrificed came with a price to be paid by all that live after you and I must bear the weight of the cross with the body in tack let our souls not lack the grace of a pay day’s joy the anticipation to come when the work is done this is the price paid to enter into the heaven of your father if your God be not among the canon of the Christian’s heaven if your God live within you then be true to the blood that runs within your veins my God be one and the self same of the nutriment of Nature She is all knowing all embowering the breath of my breath the skin of my skin is within her knowing the sins of my sins committed when I pollute her I pollute myself the very breath of the sharing air the earth that bear the bear-footed going of my gone in the early morn wet with dew the true mother of all the Gods even the odd all that man can concede is under the wings of her being even Christ was force to breathe her in no life escape her knowing no tree or bird or lowly flee escape her needs to be seen even the glorious sun burns in the palm of her hand but as a poet I am a man that speak for all the Gods of the land mine is no more righteous as your and I give praise to the substantial God that sustain you that wean you clean you of your human sins be not afraid to ask forgiveness with the hearty heart not the calculated head for it can deceive even itself for its own protection the lies the mind choose to believe are beloved by the body of blood that bleed boldly by the obedience to hallucinated voices heard throughout the cyclic history of the spiritual gyres of our weeping for the handful of the lesser importance of what we choose to except as truth the metaphors of the minds rulethe hypnotic man crying stop the pain of the original sin that explain the curious healing of a terrifying illness of the brain where the biochemistry of stress address the biological advantage of the world’s question is there a God the answer is in the genes involved in the enzyme deficiency of the schizophrenia of prophets in the fatigue knowledge of the self-reflective man in the sensory perception of alpha waves of being one in the one-ness of the world the answer is found in the private drama of dreams that drain the overloaded consciousness of our waken day the answer is found in the far away fleeing of He-who-is toward which we pray all the prayers ever prayed can not come back to save they are as smoke in which the angels bathe but man is of a double brain soaked in the blood of the veins blesses be the prophecy of the insane that worship the secret image seen in rain the search for God is a human game that children and mad men play to gain the upper hand of the knowable same self of I-am-who-I-am
Go my knowing one to the searchable heart concern with the lamp bleeding its light into the mouth of an opening in the wind where words are wishing in whispers for a breath to breathe them into the enzyme of existence they wish to be heard in the breath bred byword of the said in its sadly sissified seditious seduction taking the standard stance of a human emotion the boy born to love the boy born to love dose not streak a stray from the norm but is as one with the swoop straight swoosh sword that swing through the sexual knowing bi by the way holds its owing own in the sexual range of man my love be for you all for all your sexual fruits are sweet on the poet’s tongue take our arms of poems wide open as a mirror all reflected as each drops of rain contain the world upside down in its falling let loose your armor of sexual knowledge go bear back into the bump of a hump go succulent and plumb prickly and abrupt sweaty with desires let loose from the skin slip within the holes of another’s body bold and ride the pony home your sweet musk be our guide the individuality of your sense is divine do not be afraid to smell as if your are one with the world as if you are an animal for all that man is we can not escape the fact that we are raw meat penetrate this knowledge with your tongue let it run down the curve of your cheeks as cum the seeds of your body that will birth in the ready belly a girl or boy let the orgasmic salty heat seeks from your pores wrap me in the hard-on muscles of your arms in sex we loose the boundaries of ourselves we become one of the two that engage easily shedding our clothing for the rewarding of the skin O be my wondrous sensual woman I drink you in be my man’s man keep me on the end of your tell- tell tongue let us in this dialogue be as one under the shadow of Shamash where our begging humility burns to be understood in the time space of the divine order of life beside the divine chaos of light under the unsolvable Babel of confusion of the God-man partnership found in the anarchic darkness of a catastrophe collapse of the lost continent of Atlantes the paleontology of our consciousness is found in the fossils of our blood where the Gods go learning the working of man’s emotions and the natural selection of the strongest over the weakest makes it impossible to calculate the God-side of our ancient mentality for we are as strong as our weakest link as weak as our strongest God with their association of rhythmical common sense the linguistic instance is the spontaneous possession of the poet’s soul with its utterances in the meter of the breath poetry is the language of the Gods it is their song in the glissandos of their speech that linger long lasting pass the singing of praise but now-a-days the Gods are skeptical in their anger of the poet’s wares as if we are in the last days of our texture knowledge or the poets have forgotten their timbre duty to concern themselves with the right harmony of truth of imagining that they can sing long and loud the God’s harmony introspectively of the tempo wisdom that the Gods share with them where once the Gods was jealous of the melody side of the unlucky accident of the mind now they keep their instrumental shame tight in the brain when it comes to Gods poems are like worms caught in the beak of a red breasted Robin ready to feed its children so you poets of the divine music birth your poems of nutriments to feed the minds and souls of men music yourself sue yourself spread yourself into the musical accompaniment of words sing your hemispheric excitation into your prophetic posing trance that possess you be one with the goodly Gods one with man the same skin of skin sometime we loose our ability to sing the discontinuities of pitch that ring the round about midnight songs of our hardy heart sometime we set ourselves apart and fall under the spell of the man made hell where we come to tell the confess tongue soft sift that drift the God’s gift of a heart beat’s rift that yet sweat from our pens of the last endured day gone from the day’s shone away the brave blow that saved the rabble babble rolled the cold wreck of a heart-broke the missing words lateralization the music of the greatest activity of the brave blow to and fro the smart bones all alone that keep its own truth of the heart in the start youth of humanness Christ’s sacrificed came with a price to be paid by all that live after you and I must bear the weight of the cross with the body in tack let our souls not lack the grace of a pay day’s joy the anticipation to come when the work is done this is the price paid to enter into the heaven of your father if your God be not among the canon of the Christian’s heaven if your God live within you then be true to the blood that runs within your veins my God be one and the self same of the nutriment of Nature She is all knowing all embowering the breath of my breath the skin of my skin is within her knowing the sins of my sins committed when I pollute her I pollute myself the very breath of the sharing air the earth that bear the bear-footed going of my gone in the early morn wet with dew the true mother of all the Gods even the odd all that man can concede is under the wings of her being even Christ was force to breathe her in no life escape her knowing no tree or bird or lowly flee escape her needs to be seen even the glorious sun burns in the palm of her hand but as a poet I am a man that speak for all the Gods of the land mine is no more righteous as your and I give praise to the substantial God that sustain you that wean you clean you of your human sins be not afraid to ask forgiveness with the hearty heart not the calculated head for it can deceive even itself for its own protection the lies the mind choose to believe are beloved by the body of blood that bleed boldly by the obedience to hallucinated voices heard throughout the cyclic history of the spiritual gyres of our weeping for the handful of the lesser importance of what we choose to except as truth the metaphors of the minds rulethe hypnotic man crying stop the pain of the original sin that explain the curious healing of a terrifying illness of the brain where the biochemistry of stress address the biological advantage of the world’s question is there a God the answer is in the genes involved in the enzyme deficiency of the schizophrenia of prophets in the fatigue knowledge of the self-reflective man in the sensory perception of alpha waves of being one in the one-ness of the world the answer is found in the private drama of dreams that drain the overloaded consciousness of our waken day the answer is found in the far away fleeing of He-who-is toward which we pray all the prayers ever prayed can not come back to save they are as smoke in which the angels bathe but man is of a double brain soaked in the blood of the veins blesses be the prophecy of the insane that worship the secret image seen in rain the search for God is a human game that children and mad men play to gain the upper hand of the knowable same self of I-am-who-I-am
