I am sharing with you, here, stuff that makes me feel like when I peek inside myself. I boldly claim myself a poet and for now that will do.
I would hope to contain all the things here. I would hope you enjoy them.
Ask me STUFF
Again, I’m going to make a short chapbook out of the poems from May 19/20 through June 6th on here. Do you want one?
Here’s another poem, in the mean time
Eyes of the Sun
It got dark out Quickly, this evening. You can hear the night Falling, a creaking howl Only audible through pipes In the winded bathroom After you’ve showered And step out anew. It sounds painful, And shattered, Like a stranger crying Out for help once But not again On an apple-less summer Afternoon, tense with you And your leaf laden impatience For the break of an angry Moon. You, disgruntled Disturb the toad’s prescience While eying the horizon Waiting for misfortune’s Ivory eye to poke through Reddening’s veil of freckles That inverted itself When it was spent. You can never look into it. It’s Charon’s luminary, Alight above his river As bone cold as the water, As hollow as any wader’s Expectations there, on the shore Of every campfire’s sudden-ness In the face of its Watery, ashen grave- I know this, and attest that It’s ineluctability unrestrained, Having been long now Staring into landscapes Made strange by vacancy, Landscapes made lively In an unending rivulet Of my cardinal life. I here warn you hence, I, Stranger to the palms Of your love, Hungry for wanting The taste of your sin’s Figs, maudlin at a sight Of your lover’s tears. I, the old man in the moon, Dead to the eyes of the sun And all of its flowering children
It’s hard to, after a certain point, shrink away from it all. It becomes apparent that there’s a much larger thing looming that you’re trying to sink your way into.
And your pen seems too heavy to lift. It, too, sinks away into something larger. And your foot feels over-shod, bearing the world as a shoe of lead.
Like they have discovered your foot cloven, they turn away from you. They castigate you with iron, brand you with charms.
You cannot back away; there is no away to your back into which you may turn. The flowers before you open only forward. You must step into them. Absorb their fiery petals, eat their entombed seeds. Sink away, bloom.
“‘My thoughts,’ said the wanderer to his shadow, ‘should show me where I stand; but they should not betray to me where I am going. I love my ignorance of the future and do not wish to perish of impatience and of tasting promised things ahead of time.’” -Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science
The aging man settles Into a gentle recline
His repose betraying A shared dream of all
Not so much of where We are, what crowds
Us now, stems of wheat Threshed and let
To dry aside a field Of lamplight glittering glass
But a dream of where We may be headed
Of the past ourselves We scatter to acquire
In new alleyways- seeds Joyfully broken on cement beds
We are yet ignorant of. A dream walking hot wire
Temptation betraying destined Ignorance, damning us
What vague substance Sustains us? In what are we bound, what Blue weighs heavy the clouds Beyond our window? Bearing down upon our clusters The many canary pipes Of struck provenance- Profusion of wrinkles, Knot these trees to honor Of miserable flight!
Electric boxes of crowds, Strike out At the many oracles there Attendant! Defy them And hopeless guideposts, Inquisitive of sudden Apollo! Fall forth! Shock the audience Of sad astronomers, Astrology for our modern Dependents!
And the next is always A blur shin splints Lock us to our mania Despite all text to the contrary We rushing to our cirrus, To our emerald accumulation Of drakes as leonine As the back of our seats Reclining assertion over Fatally misconstrued rectangles And their indented gardens.
We suffer together As shared affirmation As we settle in To grace, becoming gods To subsume our death! In this haze, Hollow as your ball Point rebuttal as Your refusal of contradictory As you hypothesize Your entropic distance as Your system ceases indented Work, I ask, Leviathan of the ground, Ominous obsession of mind, sight Beyond all that I can struggle with, If I love you, is that your concern?