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.
