Aria

the glories of her
struck me, made me aria,
singing her body,
my loins were, and were
the scene of stupendous achievement.
stupor.  knees, needing to pray.

all knobs and softness of-
my goddess!-
the ducking and trouble
it swarmed in me
all at once....always
i am excited:
the original crime:
lusting for succulent fruit.

besides a sense of beauty-
my goddess!-
and a yearning for dewy paradise,
what could be more odd?
discontent with teeming minutes,
till He leaves the garden of eden.

Can You Tell Me?

transcendent beauty
can you tell me?
how should i praise you?
through inspiration?

of necessity!

i am he whose brain is scattered
aimlessly.

i am smitten!  i
am.  i am.  i am smitten, i reaffirm,
now the words tumble through as in
lonely moments i hear them.
they are all
about you.  the dance!
the verb detaches itself,
seeking to become articulate.

and i cannot help thinking
of the wonders of your beauty
that strums the lyre of my mind.

On Every Think I Think

on every think i think
the countless shadows fall
of other thinks as valid
i cannot have;
spotlights of fantasies, too,
impossible to me.
yet somehow truer,
being with more power bright.
may i never lose these shadowy
glimpses of transcendent thinks
that modify and minimize
my own, and never fail
to keep some shining sense of the way
all thinks at last
before love's dawning meaning
like the stars at sunrise pale.

Transcendence

my mind- not enough
room in my cerebellum
for the universe
and her infinite beauty-
be gone eternal darkness!

Morning Sickness

i do not feel very good;
i think i am dying.
although i have not vomited,
i think it might be fun.
my world is crisp and rubbery,
dripping with karma and irony,
but my mind is still craving her

beauty.

words and their meaning have been swallowed
by a black mist;
the vortex of deprivation.

longing?

ha!
there is no other thing.
darkness....
imprisoning me....
all that i see....
absolute horror.

Alarm Clock

early morining sun
our bodies bathed in ochre
lying side by side

for the last half hour
watching your breasts as you sleep
heave with every breath

staring at your eyes
and willing them to open
good morning star shine

Love's Aria

love's aria lifts me,
beauty's melody bourne
on venus's virtuous air.

i'm played like a pipe,
her breath, not mine,

her love on my mouth.
she blowing o'er
my throat's cords,
making low, unearthly music.

Wee Hours

eyelash moon flutters-
the cobalt sky caresses
my longing silence

How to Love in These Last Days

i.

all i want to do
is love you famous

all i want to do
is burn my initials into your soul

all i want to do
is write my love
from the middle of an erupting volcano
standing in the fast lane of the
lava flow

the world as it's become
eats its inhabitants

i'd rather
sell arms to the devil
than wait sullenly for
approval from a diseased clown with a
three-piece mind

telling me that i should love through a
bullet-proof pair of rose-colored glasses

i want to be
hated
by Everybody Else who
proselytizes hearts and minds

i want people to hear about my love
and get headaches
i want people to hear about my love
and vomit

i want people to hear about my love
and weep, scream, disappear, start bleeding,
eat their television sets, beat each other to death with

swords and

get out and get riotously drunk on
someone else's money


ii.

love ain't no democratic process
love ain't no populist agenda
love ain't foolin' a

grab-bag of
clever wordplay and sensitive thoughts and
gracious theories about
how many ambiguities can dance on the head of a
hallmark card

love ain't no
genteel discussion over
cappuccino and collective consciousness

love ain't no chest-thumping

These Last Days have meaning
as we watch the planets and stars fall from heaven

they ain't no letter press, hand-me-down,
wimpy lovefest about
the broken rainbow

they are a carnival of dread

they are a savage sideshow
about to move into the main arena

they are the thief in the night stealthily slipping
in and out of our lives
stealing a precious gem and leaving paste

they are terror and wild beauty
walking hand-in-hand down a bombed-out history
as missle scream while a
sky the color of arterial blood
blinks on and off
like the light on broadway
after the last junky's dead of
aids....


iii.

i come not to bury love
but to blow it up
not dandle it on my knee
like a handicapped child with
beautiful eyes
but
throw it off a cliff into
icy seas and
see if my unsated soul can
swim for its life

because soul-love is expensive
sorely needed

but....

there is so much iron pyrite these days
apathetic love with a chip on its shoulder
a chip as big as the empire state building
and heavier than
all the bills it'll never be able to pay
because these ARE the Last Days

Everybody Else is hawking radioactive jared-diamond-love
and victoria-secret-lingerie-love that
lowers the iq by fifty points per eye full

the vast masses believe
practicing half-hearted love
is the best way to combine caress and career

we're accosted by comercial love
with eyes like wet stones
peering out from the pages of
glossy magazines
promising that it'll
make us love till we bleed
if we just buy on of their switch-blade versions of love....

The What Could Have Been Pail

nothing ever happens
twice.  the cosmic fact:
we come to life's stage
jazz musicians
improvising-
no chance to practice.
no moment a carbon copy,
no two days the same.

an hour my mind
mentioned your name-
a rose tossed
into my skull,
all hue and fragrance.
now, your name
is the morning star-
a rose?  a rose?
what is a rose?
is it a flower or
a platinum light?

each hour is pregnant
with embyotic moments-
too many aborted-
each carelessly tossed into the blood
of the what-could-have-been pail

with syllabic swoons
i enter the maternity ward-
a jazz obstetrician,
delivering bebop babies beneath
brilliant stars and roses-
today won't stay;
always gone tomorrow.

Dawn

love's dawn:
water purling over ice
blue with rising mist,
glaciers sunk in emerald green,
mountain ram and antelope climbing,
golden salmon spawning,
dolphins frolicking,
the amber jack leaping
o'er the arctic rim.

Pregnant

my love gestates.
i carry it with me
wherever i roam.
throughout the day i am
great with child;
boy scouts escort me
across the street.
women offer their chairs,
no one pushes me rudely.
i waddle awkwardly,
my soul's stomach pressed
against the weight of the world.

Daydream

midday brightness bruised
desire, scudding my mind's
omnipresent beam
oscillates 'twixt love and lust
strange and shimmering dream

Blanket of Stars

your spaceous beauty-
my heart's great wings beat beneath
a blanket of stars

Aneurysm

distended vein swells,
damned by dilating beauty-
brain aneurysm

Prayer

god, pity me now,
the most desolate spirit
possessed by beauty!
my mind melts like paraffin;
her radiance owns my soul.

Embroidery

infinite beauty
wondrously adorns my life;
rainbow on charcoal-
an acre of embroidery
on a postage-stamp canvas

Love Flows

love flows
from my fissured heart,
scarlet rivulets and dribbling deltas.

love flows,
sipped for lonely hours
from hamlet's suicidal skull.

love flows-
my soul weeps
tears of fecund emotion.

Loneliness

i swallow my loneliness,
a handful of liquid thistles.
my congealing blood flows
smooth as a gravy avalanche.
i sip the hemlock of separation till it
disappears into the glass that contains it.

Gravity's Bars

your sensual gravity,
your radiant magnetism,
encompasses my soul
with iron bars.
how can i be expected
to concentrate, when the tides
of my mind are controlled
by such celestial beauty?