Another autumn
and the leaves are waving goodbye
to an empty mansion.
What do you cling to on
the way out, you with your blind gaze upward?
There is so little justice in the world that
when it gets cold I put on a second coat of skin,
I paint my teeth white
and try to leave footprints in the snow.
I used to believe.
I used to believe when I looked something in the eye I believed it,
I believed it was so. I trusted other things, people.
I was young and needed to believe in the other.
Now that I am old I don’t need to believe anything, not even myself.
Everything has its worth, even lies, and nobody knows what the truth of anything is anyway, so lies are the only things we may go by.
Choose your truth, but never believe it.
I know there are things that choose us, but in the end they disappear.
Nothing survives.
This may or may not be true.
I eat on black plates
I eat black food on black plates
I drink black tea in black cups
The sun shines black on me, too.
Black sucks in light,
meaning it contains light.
I am the Real Light, it says,
the hard shapes you see in day
disappear at night,
I own them.
Black is the color of sleep.
We rest in black
if black so desires,
or
black wields a whip
to keep us out,
starve us from our dreams.
While other colors strike poses,
play party games,
black remains serene
like an unruffled butler.
Distinguished
Absolute
A master of circumstance,
black rules quietly.
Black is jazz,
a burning saxophone on
the summer pavement,
slow drinks,
sex, easy and long.
Black is the dislocated,
sirens blaring to upset
delicate ears,
Police bullets spray,
the city is turned into
a trauma unit.
No,
don’t mess with black,
because black has been here
even longer than truth.
She is the Great Mother,
Africa,
the earth
that can swallow you.
So,
rise now,
and raise your glass to black,
in Coca Cola or in Russians.
And, remember,
everything goes with black,
it’s a well known custom.
I wait for the summons.
When it arrives I comply
and enter the chapel.
I sit like a king removed
listening to the thin silence
draw me back into the
mysteries, and wonder
what artwork to expect fashioned
this day by the devil’s mouth,
what shapes will the body of
the snake take, whether pointed
or curved like punctuation, or rather
coiled almost seamlessly into an O.
I don’t know.
Death’s needs hold sway,
its odors must speak sweet
and fill up the air as in a stable
or a house of ill-repute.
My back arches like The Thinker,
elbows grinding into tops of thighs.
The light is weak.
Then I jut vertical to open
to give the babies passage
and kick back.
They rush to oblige, creating
a symphony, besides, dropping
plop plop into the drink.
I think, that is enough.
But no, wait, I was wrong,
another comes along to
join the song.
And yet another follows.
Oh, my! I sigh, I must’ve had too
much for dinner.
One day, I vow, I will be thinner.
At least, I’m lighter.
And now the party’s over.
Time to tidy up.
That’s less fun but has to be done.
Scroll down.
The white pages, the tugs and pinches,
the moustache all coated.
Fingers probe, scoop up the soil,
acknowledge it’s the wet season.
How much to stem the flood? This
is becoming drudgery! Pad after pad.
But look how bright we’re getting!
Maybe another roll will do it.
Finally, yes, here it is: unblemished. Pristine.
Not a hint of muck. Good as new.
I stand. Roll up. Buckle tight. Proudly,
focusing down, I lean on the handle,
and with sadness, wave my goodbyes.
Everything went dark
The screen eclipsed
I felt for your hand
I couldn’t resist
Your mouth restrains me
Your tone is harsh
I withstand your judgement
I stand apart
These years don’t matter
When you strike that pose
The distance we travel
Leaves us alone
Solitude in the afternoon
The sky wakes up
I wish I could be there
In a slim neat cup
I’m going toward something
The wind at my back
I’ll get somewhere one day
Beyond the pins and the rack
If this means something
If this makes some sense
You‘re in the middle
Of this whole bloody mess
Who is going to keep my ashes
when I go?
Childless
Familyless
Friendless
Who is going to keep my ashes
on their kitchen table
and think of me
each morning
With breakfast?
Meat is gravity
a dreamless state
pieces of death
there already in the beginning
and in all things
their essence.
Meat allows nothing to escape
and is empty of all but itself.
Meat consumes meat
becoming more meat
fleshier carcasses
duller slices of heads and legs
some younger
some more red.
The butcher is our friend.
And if we pretend
to aspire to other ends
with our many meat brains
meat guards meet us
at the door to the station
to disconnect the trains.
Fresh meat sizzles with notions,
take sides.
Lies slide from its bloodied hides.
Shapes abound.
Meat like meat likes to fry
in meat patties and on delegations
and in pairings that result in
baby meat who cry.
The meat parade began in time,
its womb the mirror, before
which we walked on air
part of the atmosphere
or flew
or were never there.
I’ve had enough
I’ve had enough of this road
And the stone in my shoe
I’ve had enough of me
And not enough of you
I’ve had enough
Of the air that I breathe
It’s painful to swallow
Painful to grieve
I’ve had enough
Don’t tell me no
I don’t know where to turn to
Don’t know where to go
I’ve had too little
Of glory and faith
Faith in something
I could never erase
I’ve had just enough
Time to prepare
Give me a signal
And I’ll try to get there
I hope Alain is happy with his cat
And didn’t go out and buy a rat
I hope he’s happier still
That he’s not buried on a hill
I hope Eddie is okay
Not in some disastrous play
With his wife and his son
Held down under somebody’s gun
I hope my folks are doing good
Wherever they may be I’ve understood
Whatever transpired I can’t deny
Made me I and I will not lie
I hope Barbara is on her way
To becoming every day
The artist she is supposed to be
And creates herself and remembers me
I hope everyone in this world
Who suffers with what has unfurled
Gains relief and conquers pain
And comes back to live again
People should be screaming out of windows
people should be kicking down doors,
jumping on flags,
shaking like epileptics!
How is this possible?
We have
nearly a million years of human evolution
and the standard line can still prevail:
“It’s mine!”
Well,
It’s not.
You have no right to it.
A spell is on
you,
which continues
generation after generation,
an afternoon darkness,
your robotic mind
clinging to a cliff of lies.
And your mouth that spits on
anything better
and shoulders that
shrug ugly
and bellies that stick out
like eggs.
And you want security?
This will not stand!
There is a Law that says:
This. Will. Not. Stand.
We will make sure
you understand this.
By train and by plane and by ship,
your skin will dissolve in fear.
You will breathe in the stinking corpses
of your children.
Your houses will crumble over you.
You will be availed of no
hope,
no future.
You will cry to the end
of your days
when you may finally
realize the Justice in this
for your atrocious
incomparable
stupidity.
If it’s too good to be true
is it true,
a young man, nearly
a boy, really,
who astounds in
twenty-first century space
with jewels as words that are
louder than blame
and as magnificent
as First Love?
Who is he,
who writes in a third language
he met on a beach as a child?
He is doubtless connected
to those who spoke
before him
in the flowers of language,
messages of possibility,
all the while surrounded
in a world
swallowed by toxins.
If Art is a lie that tells the truth,
then he is a great liar,
a magician who spins wheels
before fortunate spectators.
Regardless,
Beauty is proffered by the arthritic
hand.
You’re unbreakable, little girl.
I see it in your eyes
as you tell your story
of the ordeal endured
of a hell almost
incomprehensible,
Satanic ritual abuse.
Blood, murder, humiliation
foisted on you by your grandmother
no less, Nana and her ilk
for their god, Lucifer.
We call a lot of things suffering,
but this is beyond the pale
even in this day of the extraordinary.
The human will cannot be broken.
You’re unbreakable, little girl.
I’m glad to see this in your eyes.
C’mon baby Take me where I need to go C’mon baby Take me down real slow Had so much trouble in this town It never leave me alone Had so much of nothing Nothing never lets me go It’s getting cold out there Need to find a place to land I’m broken and used up Gotta find a silky hand I got no future Got no past to tell Get close to me baby Let me drink from your well We could make it together Live in the same old tree Could be birds of a feather Sure wish you’d agree
I’m stuck I’m stuck I can’t get up I’m stuck I’m in between I can’t formulate a theory I won’t take a stand I’m stuck like a balloon in a tree And no one is coming to get me Motion escapes me My angels forsake me I am just about ready And I don’t know what for It has come to this and this takes The cake I’ve been educated I once held a job They told me I was alive I really believed it I had a past I wanted things I could tell the difference between things I could see colors I had plans I believed I could perfect myself I was curious about everything God the nature of the universe My place in the picture Now I’m stuck In rage in savagery In ignorance and solitude The world is so solid Freedom is so far away
He sings like a demon on fire
He moves like a wildcat in heat
When he stands still he can even make the women weep
So give reign to your pain and your anger
Get up and throw off your blues
Get a monkey to befriend you
You’re right to say you’ve paid your dues
I don’t remember the man I used to be
Now I’m tired but I’m nearly free
I never look in the mirror
I don’t even want to see
Something coming up around the corner
Get a jump on me
Yes I can feel it in my ears
All I can say is I don’t want it to be
Something more than a tragedy
To all my friends in a tree
Singing your songs for me
You give me heart you bring me ecstasy
I try so hard
I try so hard
I try so hard to love you
I try so hard to live with you
I try so hard to know you
I do not know you
I cannot rule you
Fact
I am blue not gray
I am just made that way
I will just fade that way
Now
The lamp’s down low
How low will it go
Into the dark
Our natural space
Our silly place
I try so hard
To win the race
To end the race
I try so hard
To find my place
I want to be inspired
But inspiration hides under a pile of soiled clothes.
I want to be in demand
But I’m not the man I used to be.
I want to be completely me
But I don’t know where I permanently stand on anything.
I want to do what I’ve forgotten to do
But I can’t remember what that is.
I want to be on a tropical twist with A.
But she has her obligations.
I want to get back all the wasted time
But it’s time I stopped trying to do that.
I want to be free
But from what and for what?
I want to be able to love unconditionally
Everyone everything even myself.
I want to want something,
I mean really want like I’m on fire for it.
Despite these wishes, I’m a reasonably happy person,
Which I don’t ascribe to all the drinks and dope.
