Table of Contents


Union

Here alone

And bulletproof;

At the still,

Quiet,

Center of the universe;

It was each other's chance

To find some black peace

In the deep dark,

Where silence 

Is as dead

As eight-track tape cassettes.

We lift two highball glasses;

Ones with dancing girls 

Etched into the sides;

Our faces all ablaze,

Like Roman candles 

On the Fourth of July;

At our feet;

Overflowing 

With Tibetan skull bowls

And ritual trumpets;

The air,

Sacred enough to induce

Nuclear hard-ons 

Under priest-class garb.

Our bodies,

Now,

Lacked their certainty of presence;

Sensory reality

Staying well behind,

As we continued forward,

Pressing 

Into a Holy Communion;

As Infinitely close,

And mystically sublime,

As the fig leaves 

Of Adam and Eve 

Pressed lovingly

Between the pages 

Of a high school yearbook;

We..

..now I.


Uno Way

The only way 

To love God

Is to love 'other'. 

The only way 

To love yourself

Is to love 'other'.

The only way 

Human consciousness 

Increases its love/wisdom quotient

Is by not mincing words.

The only way 

One should be acting

Is with non-acting.

The only way 

Animals can reproduce

Is if they are the same animal

Sharing compatible dna. 

The only way

Perception can take place

Is for information 

To be converted

Into particle-based objects.

The only way 

One can travel 

Is to be an object

That can change locations.

The only way

To make a linear time correlation

With spacial distance 

Is by traveling that distance,

Being an object with a velocity. 

The only way 

Velocity can be zero

Or infinite

Is if there is no object.


Unbelievable Morning

In midst of mild morning breath

We kissed like...

It was the cure for cancer;

Losing spacial position as our world 

Goes hot and black.

The other world rudely taps us,

The soft and stupid one; 

The one with a reputation 

For eliciting bitching

Out of young and old, 

Alike.

We emerge like tulip counterparts

From tangled and torn sheets 

Abused by the fantastic sex.

Flashbacks of moments only hours back

When I felt whips 

Of her sweat-drenched hair

Playfully lacerate;

And that mirage, 

That transfiguration

Of my woman's ordinary human face 

Into a living,

Hot celebrity head-shot

Photoshopped onto a body 

In mid porn moves;

Hot enough

To make a dead man cum,

If I can be so bold

As to steal a lewd lyric

From Sir Jagger.

I can feel myself delflate

To circulatory rythm, 

I can feel the mundane return

Like that of a developing

Polaroid picture

In a child's impatient hands.

Though difficult to discern, 

The mundane is crucial

For its delightful ability,

To be back-drop

To the divine moments born 

Of spontaneous ambush;

The contrast acting as shoulders 

For magic to climb up on to,

Making a four-corner bedroom

Into Heavenly Garden of Eden.


Venice Sand


I was born to run

In a Springsteen song,

Wrapped in latex and chrome

And iridescent smoke;

Taking pity 

On the angel in my head.

I leave her

Vibrating in pearls of light;

Taking swipes

At the smudged electron fog

That sits 

On waves upon waves upon waves;

Whirling fractal whirlpool,

Pushing more of me 

Than the grains of sand 

On Venice Beach.