Fool on a Morn

Pure as banging on spoons
vacant stream of city dump
mind trash floats around me
occupying the fragile antenna
of being; shelving crap for later
waves of noise, exhibitions of sand
metaphoric cavemen
march, while I,
stoned,
cannot force myself
to exhale a simple line of greeting
to the morn – I believe such words
are lost, in Irish folk songs, morn... what is it, morn?
These pancake eyes have seen one at birth
though the memory of an old man
can't pick up the word
an infant screamed, anonymous, into the ugly
vape of drawers, clanking in the kitchen
where his wife made Polish
breakfast for sons of this land
soon battling forwards
against the uniform of sitcom
whatever happens showing
I ought to make some coffee, forget the deal
move on w/ the straight life
go back to women, kids & careers, a path I left
hanging such a long time ago
words, like me, were simple-minded specks
wooden sleep proceeding
bells in churches silent
as I roamed the daybroad sin
pure as shitting on goldcoins
draft me soon, or craft me a butcher
error blood proceeds
whipping the culture remains
gutting down the buttons of a broken down shirt
of a prophet, so I say, morn... what is it, morn?
Should I be sleeping or awake already
planning one more failure
should I be dead or alive
stalking freebie mountains

"Love Sun" - complete poetry chapbook.

Collage #3

white beach, touch of breath
mermaids circling sunbeams
sunrise wakes
the plot of sand
it’s your land, it’s my land
we’ll walk it not talk it
and praise it forever
in hand
red dawn, fireflies
touch your face, a butterfly
consciously aflame
secretly afraid
of the sun

Love Sun

Caught afloat, solar boat
lunar flare of the brave who dared
to blare against the shared
horizon mare

Love sun glows in no time
time void blooms in dark night
love sun wipes the frown off
faces that will know love

Brows of father space gloom inside your brain
taste the spear of venom
purify the veins
brows of mother void circle with the words
carelessly thrown
like useless trash
to drain

Love sun glows in no time
time void blooms in dark night
love sun wipes the frown off
faces that will know love

Circles and cycles
All there is
Circles and cycles
Solar boat years

Stick Your Love

Stick it to whatever has two legs
soon you’ll lose it fast
without a bow
stick it to whatever runs on grass
soon you’ll need new fuel
and ships of gold

Stick
stick your love
whip
whip the cream

Stick it to whatever recommends
itself as value this or value that
you’ll lose it like a fool can lose his grip
on this trebly mess called
reality

Stick
stick your love
whip
whip the cream

You’ll need new rockets, new astronauts
new pioneers on western skies
new engine roars above this globe
you’ll need all this to save the love

Last Gasp

oh why does it taste like this
traces of cheap wine
traces of piss
on the carpet crawlers hiss
lovers share their midnite kiss
while outside the city sleeps
weak and leaning on strange wings
echo children nail their knees
to a piece of wooden bliss
where archangels hit and miss
runners of apocalypse
tortured animals conceive
visions of a foreign deep
deeper than the canyon whip
boomerang and angel pest
giving out the last dead gasp
giving out the last dead gasp

How Good To Be A Child

You wake up like a melody
like a wild horse in the middle
of a stream
you wander through this melody
it’s a forest and a sunrise
rising over wings

that grow upon your back
like a curse that’s going wild
how good, how good to be a child

You aren’t occupied with any big ideas
and thoughts
you aren’t filled with demons
and with ghosts
and all you do is watch the morning
curling while you play
rising like a bright majestic spray

that paints inside your head
like a curse that’s going wild
how good, how good to be a child

Tune Your Guitars Down

too loud in here, boys tune it
half-step down
too loud in here, you can’t
hear the words
people don’t get noise anymore
music don’t need volume
anymore
tune your guitars down
make some room for rainbows
make some room for the sun and the moon
make some space for flyers
that will carry on the news
we no longer need
the loudness in this youth
and in this dream
we don’t need no noise
in this scene
we don’t want no noise

Origin Of Species

dawn on cello planet
brains of wool soak like a sponge
with rays of new becoming
and everything is simple
in the womb of the first one
in the steps of the last one
in origin of species

dawn on a volcano
dance of ash and earthquake
everything’s a snowflake
pressed towards a bright face
of a lover that first sees
what cold stupor eyes miss
the origin of species

Ask For Permission

you shouldn’t be fighting
with your intuition
though some bosses force you
to ask for permission
every time you stretch out touching pink white skies
bosses have you thinking your fate is just to die

Brahma

sky is my shadow
sun is my shelf
wind is my passing
sea is my breath

fear not life in life
fear not death of death
pass me gently by
by me gently pass

stars are my children
moon is my marble
love is the name
encompassing my men

fear not life of truth
fear not death of lie
with me gently walk
walk me gently by

Years Of Lost Culture

Yes, in fact the devils made their job
stand out in the field of weaving what
stuck in golden throats of pigs and priests
new militia demons learned old tricks

and we, we’re stuck, my friend
in seaweeds, in driftwood and sand
watching years of lost culture
passing by
like a sad graveyard-painted
leaden sky

Yes, indeed they’ve butchered all “new worlds”
featured primal myths in herald words
talking proud of land discovery
cutting down the natives just like trees

and we, we’re stuck, my friend
in bloodbaths and orgasms that don’t end
watching years of lost culture
passing by
like a sad graveyard-painted
leaden sky

I Am Destroyer, Light is My Boat

I am destroyer, light is my boat
I am conqueror, my name will be blood
I am creator, my space is afloat
I am the conquered, a creature of mud

who are you to confront me
like you do
life form of this planet
son of blue
daughter of my heavens
now abandoned
children of the cornfield
ghosts of shadow

I am destroyer, light is my boat
I am your mentor, giver of maps
I am creator, my wisdom is gold
you will lay down in a pyramid shape

Collage #12

love idiots you say
ride away
in a pink car
faith lenders you think
move away
with the red light
highways are cautious these days
sun is sterile bulb
income serves the first paid man
silence is the tomb
noise is the solution
of the new institution
of a bright revolution
of consumption repulsion
and everyone is happy with the way things are
served and sold and bought and traded
for that old pink car