What is not Under Discussion.

somewhere
in your wet
moist
jungle regions

in the undiscovered mystery of your skin
in the beckoning
in the squalor
in the given heart of everything

in your dark parlour

lies the mystery of becoming

a thing activated by and for
the endless expressions of itself.

sinuous and langorous
unique and
infidelitous

incestuously congressing with

the infinite permutations of itself

Saying hello

Waving goodbye

running its hand up your thigh

why?

for the perpetuating image making
congregating pressure to become

and

to expand

to live in temporary splendor or

in the pursuit of one thing after another
as a veil upon the truth..

or...

and generations of imaged beings overlay

and overlay

the white hot starlight at

the sweet silent center that keeps the kitchen warm
and puts the heat into your jeans at alternating locations.

Can you feel it?

Hmmm...

Yes... it's a mystery.

It parts its legs and the world appears.

The dynamics insist that the attractive impulse should be for the thing

magnetized

apart from... and then...
into communion with elements and compounds
cooking up fiery chaos...

but rather does wisdom suggest
you keep your hand close to your chest
and your heart single
when divison is death

Massive impetus...

incalculable pushing out and sucking in
that web of sunlight can grow sticky
and dense..

denser yet....

down into carbon oil and diamonds...

Wow! Look!

It comes out the other side again.

How comes the fire to be fiery hot?
What is the sensation of burning?
What makes water wet?
What is the nature of pain?
There are as many kinds of fire and
motivations ...as definitions of gain

Yes it is a mystery

Things fall and things change

Things hurt and heal

Buddhas shimmer where the sun hits the water
Jesus glimmers in the virgin mind
Mohammed makes a tapestry
and all of it divine and moving on

sense and nonsense
thinking and feeling
pleasure and pain

and

Time

It's a lily pad
It's a lotus
It's all hocus pocus
Its a lie that depends on the I
see for yourself.

Sticky... sticky taffy.... sweet incandescent morsels of murk
flypaper... amber...

screams frozen in Time
Laughter, screams, laughter, screams
You pay for what you get
You get what you pay for...

You are the currency
the moment looking at itself
devoid of understanding the thing on which it rests
it seeks security against the inevitable

instead of shelter
beneath
the incomprehensible

Herein is the wicket and the key
and you're on a Busman's Holiday.

All of this
so simple and so intricate
hiding in plain sight
with or without light
does hinge on one thing...

one question...

is it conscious?

Are you?

Well then...

Nothing more need be added or done
Either it is or it is not

If not... then from where comes the capacity to question?

Ah..

uh huh...

precious, precious jewels drapped in cobwebs
tracked by ghost spiders

blind groping round the corners of the mind
while the buffeting distractions go on
without end
where? where?

slippery as a fish
elusive
monumentally present
overarching and
groined

penetrating
essence

oily

luminous

There where your treasures be
is each personal conclusion
at that point where the teapot
pours out the paisley and
makes a Persian rug or a dungeon keep.

Real Love

Love opens things

So love would hurt as much as heal

It would hurt first

Real love-

It would confuse, disarm, weaken and destroy

Everything in its way

Everything that was, in fact,

A part of you

That would conceal

Real love

Real love lasts forever

We do not last as long

until we become

real love

Real love has come to town

Six gun blazing in a town full of lies

Now is the showdown

The duel in the street

Real love is the only thing standing

Real love rides alone

Squints out of one good eye

Nails the coffin shut

Nothing got out alive

But real love

Real love is going to make you cry

Make it worse before it gets better

Tear you up inside

Real love-

Who would want such a thing?

It takes the atmosphere away

Breaks all your toys

Burns down your house

And steals your car

But you’re not going very far

Anyway

Real love has got its hands on you

Burns from the inside out

Nothing left

Nothing but wide prairie

And huge commanding stars

You’ve never been so alone

You’ve never been so complete

Outside this golden ring

The cities burn forever

And you can never fall asleep

Again…

real love

In Search of Rest

the image of love in

the mirror

turns...

into a whirlpool of desire

we cannot maintain our balance

and so we fall

was it love?

we are the fuel

and when we are gone

there is no flame

i became brilliant beneath the light of your love

i was alive

and only then was i alive

woven into tapestries of color and sound

where have you gone?

i look for you in every face

but i do not fall in love

i remain apart

one wing in an empty sky

somewhere inside

a woman moves

and at night she often dances

in perfect breath with me

this is the woman with whom i am truly close

this is the only woman

mother of God

sound and fury

silence absolute

beautiful beyond description

terrifying in full approach

the mind dissolves

"be still my child

no harm will come to you

strong men i bring them down

and suck them dry

but my child may dwell in safety"

i looked too hard and too long

i found her and now i cannot return

there is no dream of life that can be believed

there is only the vastness of space

the appearance of time

and the differing weight...

sometimes heavy

like the sorrow of a long past

sometimes light as an angels hand upon your shoulder

steering a course through the stormy heavens

and planetary wars fought in human form

until the last day

she is everywhere

in unseen miniature multiplied

in the air

the earth

the dancing flesh

she takes me in my sleep

flying up the long corridor to my bright home

why is it difficult to leave the fields of play?

here among the doomed flowers

the gravity of bones

the brief exhalation of life

young girls press the pulse

and draw the essence forth

into the raging holocaust

of passion rampant

on a field of blood

"i will protect you my child

i will wash the worlds of form from your heart

i will remove the sword above your head

i will teach you to dance

but you will dance for me alone"

it is the greatest heartbreak

the destruction of the false self

dreamed by the self

and revealed to the self

at separations end

the terror of mortal pain

the agony of life’s constant march

unending loss of everything

unending loss of everything

it hurts to be free

freedom is too much to bear

too difficult to accept

the luminous door appears

and the mind cries out for darkness

it slithers under floorboards and rocks

to hide from immortality

"i will protect you my child

i will hold you as yourself

we are woven as one

eternity and time

forget

forget

forget"

in a world where everything but truth dies

but which few see

in a world that begins and ends forever

that is the playground

for a mind magnetized by dust

in a world were everything is broken

no heart is safe

in a world of mostly water

for it is a world of mostly tears

in a world where love is crucified

no lie is safe

in a world of contrasts

of desperate flights

and measureless descent

where everything is written on

or built out of sand

that flows to the bottom of an all forgiving sea

in a world of waiting

and hoping

where every dream comes true

eventually

and then loses its meaning and disappears

in a world of rumors

and dying swans who mate for life

we move to and fro

in search of rest

impelled by need

in search of rest

tormented by flies and furies

in search of rest

burning in the long night

in search of rest

in search of rest

in search of rest

"i will protect you my child

i have built a garden of delight

it hangs iridescent in the air

it gleams in a drop of water

it spins in the living breath"

a love serene

the emptiness of mind

the holding of one

the mirror of light

the bloom of begotten-

worlds sent forth

in search of rest

in search of rest

in search of rest

I Do Believe (an Easter Poem)

In that essential stillness

that quiet endless hour...
preceding every dawn
of every day...

God breathes into the world of sleep
whatever power might be taken
to reach
that waking moment
in the warm falling rain of his grace...

In every year
whenever the wheel has turned
into the place where it must turn again

or stop

for want of hope
or lack of dreams...

God breathes once again
into the greater whole...
this soft malleable whiteness
this stone...

he blesses
this unformed essence of extraordinary love
not yet fashioned with object
or desire...

it awaits our cleansed and contrite heart

awaits our innocence returned

awaits our renewing hope and certain will

that we might approach closer to the mark...

We have fallen back
upon the dying leaves

upon the sidewalks of shouting cities

into the guttering run
where flows the secret mind of our hidden deeds

more times than we can
through mercy
recall....

Every breath
every morsel of food
every chance of redemption
every possibility of hope
rests upon the bleeding power
that has bought and paid for every coming minute of the age...

Every twisted ugly thing

Every kindness unseen

every gentle thought

every whip hand falling
or whatever we may have turned it to...

all paid for by the living vision
of the one who dies

who is crucified
in the simultaneous instant of every act....

everything is permitted and fed
that we might, through the gift
of this unspeakably great thing
come to see how we might be....

and the certain possibility of that
for everyone of us

no matter how dark the way

how far afield...

is the 'ceaseless' intent
of the one left bleeding....

what freedom is
what love is
what peace is
we have no clue

only the yearning
and the road that leads us there...

Many have filled this void with words

Many heroes come
and seeming villains to meet them in their time

all sleeping now
in places deep and waiting...

but this one does not sleep

Is born anew in every breath

shines from each shining eye

cannot and will not forget

carries us past the trouble and regret.

In tongues forgotten he has come
to every race
in every time

dressed as everyone

always unknown and alone
and waiting...

this immeasurable gift

unappreciated

not understood

remains...

lays on the common ground

is tossed aside as worthless

is unseen among the items in the cart

it feeds us

grants us life where there would be none...

endless granted, giving life...

full and safe and perfect

I do believe....

Bend over and Wait.

true love is a dream

that wakes up

and blends everything into itself

life has meaning

everything makes sense

sometimes it is more than this

sometimes much less

without it

then life becomes all expectation

hope running nervous at the edges

that are frayed

where they have been gnawed by doubt

too weak in the end to hold together

under the terrible weight of disappointment

which is always the result

of seeking true love

while being unable to truly love

real love is more rare than a bankers tears

more rare than sacrifice in a politician

yet it is what gives us life

still

we dream and wonder

and bend over and wait...

the physical eye is aflame and

intoxicated with form

golden Barbie’s and volleyball gods

symmetrical curves and perfect lines

youth without brains and

as cruel as a cat

the fruit of imagination

the object of desire

the plain ones cry-

"choose me!"

"no me!"

"sprinkle me with fairy dust."

"smile and break my heart."

bend over and wait...

"image is everything."

in that case imagine Agase sodomized with a tennis racket

an excellent image

caught by Canon

seeming…

somehow…

vulnerable in this new light

lets see that one again

i know

bend over and wait...

life is television and television

is life

there on the mindscreen to digest

serve it with blood in a beaded glass

put the shine of romance on your beckoning ass

while you

bend over and wait...

ah

the wait

the expectation...

small bumps of excitement dot the cheeks

the sphincter contracts

and in a circular twist

its length is rimmed with invisible tongues

slick sweet death to the max

"oh!"

"now!"

"now!"

"now!"

bend over and wait...

visible beauty

the desperate lie

they came here

and confused attention with love

notoriety with fame

and not even death and rebirth

has given them any depth

these tragic shells with nothing inside

they slide through the scenery

as the scenery

crying to the world

"long for me!"

"desire me!"

"lay awake at night and dream of me!"

(clench your stomach tight with need)

but

"don't touch!"

"don't touch!"

let them milk your desire like bees among the flowers

and

bend over and wait...

they slide like snakes in the moonlight

over dark glass

they mate with their own vacant forms

moving millimeters apart

never touching

and always out of reach

two dimensional poster art

the blue television light flickers

and halos their face

lit with the blood-light of swallowing fate

they dance before you and sing

"bend over and wait."

"bend over and wait."

they break the heart like glass

with their cold hard beauty

hard and cold and hard and

adamantine

and valued

as diamonds are

by those who covet what cannot feel

bend over and wait...

bend over and wait...

we are presently dead

actually asleep

and in a dream

buried in flesh

everything is backwards

we wake up when we die

god is playing hide and seek

while you

dream of being serviced by a cyborg

that television said was real

television said

"get excited!"

television said

"let them sit on your face!"

television said

"you should live for this."

and

if they are late?

yea

you know

bend over and wait...

.....................................

A Trilogy for Bushligula

Birth of a Leader

this

twisted abalone shell

whose

lips

curled round

the writhing black linguini interstate

Hot breath burnin!!!!

burnin hot!!!!!

[is that all you got?!!

IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!!]

And bush bent over for the devil

because he liked it!

like he likes the

Satanic whips descending

on snakeskin buttocks

mule fucked

and blood wet

To the tune of

natural things

turned into cinderblocks and shit

He’s got the numbers hidden under his hair

tattooed by demons in vitro-embryo

when Barbara got the ectoplasmic astral-

hyena

enema

visitation

Up the backdoor

Into the secret clubhouse

Republican living room

[“is it just me or does something smell really bad in here?]

something

crawled up in here and died

Just before

George W.

got shit out on to a Petri dish

In the basement of the illuminati castle laboratory

Somewhere to the Midwest

Of Geneva

Sail on…..

Sail on…you ship of lies and

useless things

Into the middle of the river of darkness

And sink within

With Apologies to Ferlinghetti

lost in the bushes

with the WMD's

and all that compassion

running like the clap from

an infected dick

and everybody lost and nothing got found

back in the day

when the lies seemed so real

but were not enough to win

so they let the court steal the country

and the heart and the mind

as the neo-cons got up as one

to kiss his red behind

spanked in private

kissed in public

and came all over himself

couldn’t remember where or when

hum a few bars

I’ll get back to you

Do lunch

Do your wife and kids too

If you

Fuck around

all the kiddies that got left behind

along with truth

justice

and the American Way

getting skull-fucked by

Spiderman

Cock-blocked by the frogs

On the Champs Elysses

lost in the bushes

and fucked behind the bushes

and discovered in the bushes

somebody needs to beat the bushes

till the tigers appear

♫and the beast ran away on the spear ♫

Halliburton

and Venell

up on the hooks

drying in the sun

Justice jerky

“Did it make your nipples tough?”

Got to be a Lecter moment

while the twins hit the bongs

could be from Laura’s dimebag

go to girl in college

dead man on the highway

and the Iraqi children bring the water home

that shimmering radioactive water

from the nuclear containers

that they found in the caverns

while we

were protecting

the oil ministry

and the museums were smashed and looted

and someone’s

having tea with Osama

on the beach at Tripoli

WMD’s sitting in sun-chairs on the sun blasted shore

of purple mountains travesties

Maui Jim sunglasses and

cocktails at six

with the great whore

of Babylon

who squats on the banks of the Potomac

where the necessary work gets done

and the vultures soar

over the looted plains

the blasted limbs of children

that will never dance again

in the streets of Baghdad

As Nintendo jet fighter pilot bush

lands on the aircraft carrier

with his sock stuffed crotch

packed like a Piñata

waiting for history

to kick him in the nuts

“Bad Leroy Bustin’ Caps”

no actual caps were injured in this simultaneous outpouring.

if you can't follow this break out a copy of Fruity Loops and mixmast your ass into the realm of unforgettable I wish I could do that air-rap fantasy midnight idol gasoline inflamed saturday night special (PEACH SCNAPPS ENHANCED ALSO MAIDEN VOYAGE IN THE AFTERMATH OF 2CB-J...VERY COOL.. IN RETROSPECT I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST WROTE ALL THIS BUT YOU KNOW, THERE IT IS.

see whut IT IS

un huh what it is

i come into the block white non-homeboy

not ganged up...looking fish country

but, could talk

could fight

just like it was in real life and not in this

made up rap for commercial release

this one is made up rap for commercial release

yeah, I went up on a hard two to ten

if I was good they give the nickel back again

less worries when I go look for a job

uh huh

less worries when I go look for a job

says here you get a nickel back

but I'm not thinking about that

becaus right now in my

mental penitentiary

the rules are different you got to play

the song my way

just like it really was

oh yeah, i'm living proof

just like it really was

had a tattoo on my arm that said inshallah

muslim saw this whilst i was back-slapping off some part of a group who played----

---their look this way while i fuck you in the ass

capers which i tumbled to and did a surprising flamenco- off the cuff caporeira paco delucia enhanced double back at you thunderfuck

and the muslim said cease and desist

what is the meaning of this

and i said just what it says..

whatever god wills and i threw in a few bismillahiroCKman'sirahim's i don't know what comes next

just like it was

in real life

and not in this penitentiary of the mind

so they thought cause i said the palestinians had a right to a statehood that i was cool

meanwhile, the nazi skinhead contingent

of the aromatic body enhancing

not prone to desirable human contact

groping... dug my perceived anti-jew

not true

i expect i could find one i like

it's a taste you get accustomed to...

piss yu off good...push any buttons yet?

oh trust me there are buttons i haven’t pushed yet

i see right fucking through ya

uh huh...just like it really was

just like it really is

in this mental penitentiary see I got some cachet

i proved i could fight and i hate everybody

so that can't be bad in here

but that's not quite how it was

i was much nicer than that ...when i could afford it- otherwise i warned people who never paid any fucking attention anyway

so...like i said

i got some cachet in my mind

and unless you have actually faced down bad leroy with his pounding klipsch-horn enhanced dick speaking in tongues

then you just part of this bad poetry caravanserai

this unending bordello of unrequited masquerade

is that my lovers lips?

is that my lovers mind?

read it back to me slowly

while i admire the expanse of my endless behind

just like it really

so, cut to the chase

in my mental penitentiary

new fish come in today george bush

cocky for a white boy

looks like he might know sumit

walks likes he's connected

if he is

we ain't heard of it

word is, in here, man gotta prove his shit

or that man a bitch

man can lone gun and walk away

but he got to clean his plate when yo deliver it

so george he comes in all high in the saddle

my daddy this, my daddy that, and karl rove turn on the lights here

in this place where the sun never shines

and i have fucking been there and so

yeah sometimes the sun does shine

but don't expect it will call on you today

when i remembered, huh

this is this punk ass bitch was president of the united states

this was this lying theivin, run away from his cushy deferment vietnam evading career landing dick enhanced robotroid don't you wish your daughter would marry somebody like me worthless piece of shit pretending posturing side of the mouth talking got no fucking friends in this jailhouse dead man walking or worse...much worse

in this penitentiary of the mind from the miserable rotting fucking you don't want to know what kind of scum lives here in this penitentiary of the mind...

and i'll clue ya

this is the way it really will be

in the moments now being orchestrated for his special lord faultenroy and attendant beasts

let this ongoing poem be just as passionate and violent an uproar

as i may create

but there is a seething foment in the pustulence beneath

and so you will

hear the next version

of this

and you will hear the next version

of this

unless of course (it's poetry after all- loophole

no need for the disclaimer kiss my ass)

you get brass knuckles back i speak for a whole lot of angry mother fuckers

and since you don't know the meaning of fair play

maybe you will appreciate when we do it your way

lies

intimidation

slander

get in my range motherfucker

oh but george you are

here

in the penitentiary of the mind

when they made plans to take you out

(copy the secret service on this re...penitentiary of the mind...undisclosed location...george is in trouble guns don't work)

when they went to take you out

they came to me george