Friday, July 31, 2009

negotiating work and marriage

Abraham loved God more than children – but the Jewish religion just the opposite. I see him wasting not even a shrug when God told him to kill his second born son – “the son of promise” – and it is equally impressive if Abraham existed in some form and really did hear some schizophrenic voice telling him to kill his kid. Because God or no God, the message is the same: you must determine for yourself your ultimate priorities. That he resorted to such a literal and dramatic measure is, according to the story, not his fault, but God’s, for the entire charade was only for the sake of God, so he could say “now I see that Abraham is a loyal servant” – for the doubts and jealousies of God are cosmic, and has no faith at all in mankind or anything else, being the spirit of world class cynicism, and spite against mankind. Better still, the love Abraham had for God is more a God than Yahweh.

The same for Buddha when he abandoned his family to seek enlightenment. The legend has him make friends with his abandoned son, who becomes a disciple – that would be the Disney ending. It stinks of disciple rationalization. More likely, if Sid was a prince and decided to become a beggar, that he was barred forever more from his family – and this at least is poetic justice, for if you want to detach, you thoroughly detach, and give your full effort to that one high priority you belong to. But for most of us, high priorities require no desatachments, but merely negotiation, subordination, and a graceful gentle drawing of limits. Buddha’s absolutist and extremist emphasis on disattachment shows spiritual immaturity, although meditative mastery.


upon once again reading Howl -- a book I am returning to the store tomorrow

                Ginsberg is the typical poet who lies, who says the opposite of all realities merely to bend things back on his own horrible experience, evoked and seduced by his own horrible mind. If he says of other authors “Their books are published in Heaven” he means appeal only to hellions. If he says “this novel will drive everbody mad” he means only mad people enjoy it. If he says “so and so is equal to Buddha” so and so isn’t worth Buddha’s shrug. He speaks of the “downfall of America” (a country barely starting!) in the same manner as that one Apocalypse revised from an older book foreseeing the end of Rome (hated by prophets, but not by God), which went in long detail to describe the destruction of the world – which really equates to the poets own ego: loss of integrity, philosophical suicide. Well how does commit philosophical suicide, poetical suicide? Plath was a literalist – follow Zizek’s manner if you want results. He is one of our pretty suicidals, through and through – which would at least be honest! – but in fact, Ginsberg is a self promoter who is both ugly in every sense, but wishes to strip naked and make people see just how ugly he is. That William Williams recommends him demotes Williams in my eyes. And when you sit back and read his howling poem, be prepared to interpret askance everything said straight:

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked”

I’ve spent my best year swith the worst minds and souls in my generation, who were already strung out, brutal, venereally infected--repeat criminals.

I marvel at those who read such a poem and think “how true…how beautiful.” I tried hard to like this poem, wanted to like it, to like anything by Ginsberk – in a way I needed to! – but I couldn’t. I find nothing redeeming about it.


Thursday, July 30, 2009

the musing of birth

All my poetry raked together!


Daniel june



By Daniel Christopher June





Nirvana is hell is Chaos is Aleph is start is her womb,

Heaven then is metaphor is lightening is unconscious is her breast,


Yin and yang are the colors that shine her eyes,

The Absolute whole and abyss are the brahma core black of her eyes

Maya is intelligence the white of her eyes

And their union flashes color


Karma is her right pinky,

Law is her forefinger,

Allah is the nail-crescent of her right middle finger.

Father is the knuckle of her left middle finger,

Devil Mara is Mary is ocean

which springs forth from her left ring finger.

The double triangle of marriage is her ring nail.


Spirit is Brahma her breath from the dark sun the apple of her throat

The holiest Om is her humming love long as she weaves,

needle lines threading her long long hair,

or her fingers through her lips.

The eightspoke wheel of history is earrings in her lobe.


Tao is the rivers of her blood.

Rita is the curve of her spine.

Bible is the bones of her hand,

Dharma is the ligaments of her wrist,

Grace is the small of her arms .


Vishnu is eternity is her memory.

Idols are icons are incarnations are freckles.

The cross is a mar in one of her teeth.

Behind her broad forehead and temples live Children,

including Mother Earth, Zeus, Yahweh, Sophia.


Logos is syllogistic definition the triangle turn of her thumb.

Mythos is the hair on her belly bowl.


Will to power is God is her upper lip.

Heat desire is maid Satan is love is her lower lip.

Need is creativity is force is her lungs.


Truth is her eyes,

Beauty is her mouth,

Virtue is her feet.


Poetry song is saliva of her mouth,

The river of light

Art is glory gleam in her eye.


Blessing is fountain of youth is her menses

Masturbation is her hymn is her pregnation.


Being is her bones, becoming is her muscles.

Nothingness is her shadow.

Difference is her fingerprint,

Play is her laugh.



Matter is her body.

Energy her warmth.

History the blinking of her eye.

Science is the law of her flesh.

Radiation is omnipresence is her milk skin.


Our sun is her forehead,

Our moon is her neck,

Our stars are her pores.

Our Earth is her belly.


The void is blackness is space is her curled jet hair

Evolution is her dance.

The big bang is a tap of her fingers--snap!snap!

Natural law is science is te is causality

Is Fate is whim,

Is Society the network of nerves.

Nature is life is nerves of her hands.

Man is her fingertips,

whom she kisses with the praise of a mother.

The perfect circle is zero her forehead number.


Eros is her inhale, thanatos her exhale.

Evil is the cramps of her belly.

Infinity is the potential of her growth,

Eternity the length of her day.

Dialectic is the exchange of her hands.

Agape is her mother’s love.

Chi is eternal Form is matter form is the curve of her waist.


She is beyond being beyond.

Nothing can transcend her.

Nothing can fathom her.

Nothing can equal her.

Nothing can change her.

Nothing can touch her.

She contains everything alongside the nothing:


She is the great Mater, Matriall,

Motherverse, AtMat, 

wholeness and fullness.



            Forever Matter: now dancing, now flowing, now throwing her universe wide, now entroping into fragments, now introping into unity, ever creating and recreating, ever figuring and configuring, ever turning and returning: grand land, ocean, and planet bearer, author of Earth the sun, sun the system, Systems the Galaxy, and Galaxies the grand spiralling flower of infinity the Universe herself, the everything of everything, the all of existence—how high-sun our lives sing your every-name!

            Gift and giver, grand All, matter, the matrix of every world; you pulled your infinite dimensions into one exact loop, crouched and ready to explode your joy into this universe our universe, this multibillion year history, a blinking of your terrible eye. Within five of our seconds: a stage! A thousand spinnings as your billion arms curled into spiral galaxies, as your trillion fingers curled into fisted solar systems.

            Even now, your elliptical paths expand with your pride, as your hydrogen breath sinks into suns, as your words spring into planets. Your trillion thoughts are each an atomic loop of localized force, humming with a personality of gravity, charge, spin. Your drape of space-time, sewn with the atoms of placement—how it glitters with the spilled milky stars of a wide night sky!

            Let mother earth, your face for us, your daughter Gaia, sing your song. Says she:

            "All of all, universe, eternal flux and mover of certainties: behold my children, who live in you and are you. Through the richness of my womb (a chaos of chance and possibility) the first cell stuttered forth, Protozoa, the first life, so simple and yet containing destinies. She was matter alive, wise enough to repeat herself through my waters. And from that simple one spawned myriads: each replicated in creativity, each differentiated by the wise of chance, mutation, like fingers that spread in every direction, only to come together again in a single grip. Plants, fish, reptiles, birds, mammals, man: I contain them all. I live through them, and my body is their home. Come man, you have learned to sing. Sing now your verse."
            "Consciousness, O consciousness, and the creativity you direct: how broad are you? Am I alone to you, or does all matter matter over these ideas? For matter minds: that is the secret of my being. Man the mind, a mind containing hearts and souls, to guide my hand, to be the eye of all, yes, and to strike open a new way into the world. Universe, I am your perfection. I suffer, I joy, I think, I feel, I act for you, to esteem and figure you out, to fulfill myself in your ways, to act and react to everything in your complex folds. Hail matter! Even I, the materialist, will paint you over with Gods and ghosts: I give poetry to all my life, and esteem you none the less for it. For to create, to worship, to invent, to dispute, to debunk, to spin my fables a thousand ways—this is my turn, my turning in you, you great verse and All-verse, O universe, O turning, O returning, O troping!"

            Nature answered man, and presented her children to him saying:

            "Consider the E Coli, a thousand stations, wombing the world like a blanket of life; observe her ways, dividing and hiding away his place, every place: Proteus and thus adapting to all; simple and thus indominatable. Asexual, autosexual, and so the first life on earth was female for millions of years.

            "Consider the oak who tries the skies and from seed to deed stands all and timeless, with pented leaves and bark for sleeves.

            "Consider the viper, who flicks the scent with cloven tongue: the skin shedder and second self so green, the longitude to man's latitude, the quick as a blink striker.

            “Consider the earthworm who glories in himself, 'I earthmover, I flooding muscle of depths and traverser of cool earth, behold my strength!'

            "Consider the ant: mighty sinews compacted in by chitonous skin; she marches the world over and masters her without wing or winged thought—let royalty bother with flying!—crawling and conquering, a slavedriver, warrior, even cow herder with her sweet-squeezed aphids.

            "Or consider yourself, man, the sapient, omnivorous in diet and place, maker of gods and greater things, high as heaven on iron wings, with towering cities which spiral to space, a consort of moon, Mars, and Venus; deep as a mine and deeper in mind, broad as the ocean and violent much more; fearing nothing in nature, but being God and face of her: man the riddler, man the laugher, man the creator—he amends nature where she is lacking, he is wise and wondering. Born twelve years a poverty, twelve years a possibility, canvas for a soul, and consciousness brushing experience unto her. Man the maker and taker, bender amender. Man, the lens of the universe. With man nature learns to laugh. With man nature learns to love. With man nature becomes genius.”



The Mother

As close as pulse

And without other


Deep as center

Wide as Time

Far as the

edgemost star


            And what if the mother where a Russian Doll that expands infintely outwards, with us in the middle, and her talking to us as the inverse of a face?

            She spreads over all that has place, her hair as alive and sensetive as waistlength tresses, cloudy in the water.

            “I, Ama, am the beginning, and before all beginnings, I All. From an ever dense ring above my brow, shoot arrows of time in every direction, which halo my body as ribbons of light.”

 “I am the Beginning, and I, the Motherverse, created from eternities gone, until my Now shines on you in turn, and your children in their turn, and their children yet again. You also are within me, and my history is our history. I am your Mother, and you, Mankind, are as dear to me as my throat, warm and vital, as tender to my lips as my fingertips. I am as wide as everything, and as thin as nothing. Listen and I will tell you of where beginnings come from, and why endings never come.

            “When time began, I wrapped the great void into an everdense singularity. All that exists hummed in the dot of a period. In that singularity, I evolved the Laws of time and space, and taught them everything.

            “And then, with a burst of emanation, I threw myself wide, and burst in every direction in the great Big Bang—the dance of beginnings.”

            Upon her speaking these words in my ear, I wrote a love letter:

            AA -- Ama lover, ever mother, flower fulness All.

            I poured my heart into love poems, and yet the woman did not hear, she smiled, yet her heart did not feel what my heart felt, my innermost was not knit to her innermost: my passion is without equal. I sing into the night and no lover is equal to me, no rain kisses my rose, no stars haunt my night—save AA, Louvfee, Ahrisoul, LoverAll.”

            “When you love, I love with you, and the love you feel for yourself is my love for you. I am as near as the air around you, I am the clothing over your body, and when you are naked, I am the breath on your nakedness. I am your blankets, I am your bed—I have surrounded you forever, and if you never knew me, we yet felt the inner love, the love at the center of yourself, the love for existence, the love of the all, which glows at your innermost. Believe not in me, nor doubt. You cannot know me, only feel me. Though you may not know my warmth yet, you one day will: I love you. We are forever united, and you are eternally essential to me. Little darling, you can never love in vain, for wherever you love, I am she whom you mean.”

            Grand All Matriall, fulness of the world

            Strong as time, dear as near, held in every touch

            In the center of my soul you whisper

            In the cruelty of winter, you are the warming thought

            You await to frolic my from my grave

            Every beauty in every form is your beauty, well adorned!

            I breath the greatest breath and you are the tingle in my ribs

            Your hands’ love make the beating of my heart,

            My heart, held ever in your palms

            Your kiss on my forehead,

and my mind flies forth like a unicorn brow.

I sleep at night, upon your touch of my eyes

And when I stretch my body far,

you run the shiver in my tendons.

You are my greatest hope,

And yet you love me whether I hope or no

Love or no

Believe or no

You are my now and future joy

Whatever the way of my life

Dear lovely

My heart beats only for you.


We are all her children, and where we suffer, she also suffers. Each tear we cry is her tear for us. And the wisdom we grow by groans we whisper also in her ear, and the universe in her wholeness grows better.

            For any “God” would by nature be irresistable. Therefore, there is no God. For we know at least mankind, and no man resists ultimate happiness. The universe is the apogee of bliss: therefore, the Mother is all.




Have I talked this way before?

Do I even now?

Every man talks by me

And yet so often mispeaks.

If God could speak – he would not

For he said his peace and he said his panic

Listen, God is mere rush over the lip of mother

The grand all Matriall matter of us all

She spirals like lightening from an atom in my mind

A fever, an ecstasy, I am pure magnet, I utter out!

Great! Great! Perfect is America above all Nations

For America is the first and only

to allow the union of all nations

A complete United States

Her people, her literature, her ideas

The prototype for utter opening of everything wordly

You do not see it because you cannot see it

But you feel it and know it

Never trouble over the stutter in your song

This minor worldwide devestation

Laugh and say, “so what! We are eternal, immortal

America is eternal, immortal

Mankind is eternal immortal

Universe is eternal immortal”

I said no Om, when I created the world!

I laughed like river splash

and sang perfect love


America! You doubt, you wonder

Are bothered and kicked

You  believe your enemies,

you doubt your power—

Silly one!

the great united everything

has no right to doubt

She who owns all

and is all


I love you,

the ever you, your whole history

Every crime and every justice

all comes together in your perfect being

You see this not

If you could see through my eyes

You would fall in love

as I fall in love

you are the palm of my hand


Your men and woman:

The creases in my palm

the lines in my hand

Would you read these lines?

Watch your rivers

and read them well

the palmist will know where my future lies

Forever and always

always and ever with you

Who roils like boiling milk

If you doubt

Would I teach you to undoubt?

I doubt it



It is done, I have already worked

the word through you

I sit back

Your nation is as endearing

as the purring tiger.

I love and believe in you

Daring daystar.




Daily Solaces

Upon Waking, sing

Scatter you shadows

Fly away night

Flee here you darkness

Welcome Light


Arise my soul!

Open my eyes!

Greet you your day

Find you your way

And know


Perfection is easy!

Upon drinking a sweet drink:


I accept this wisdom from you my love

As a dancer’s joy

as a poets thrist

as a butterfly’s ambrosia

Sweet to taste but sweeter to be

The flow and swallow of the flux!

(Choreographed, in line 2, the cup is raised to the forehead, dropped at line three to the mouth, and stretched to the right, as the other hand stretches to the left, as wings, with the butterflies ambrosia. The other hand touches the mouth with sweet to taste, and the heart with sweeter to be, and the same hand draws a circle with flow and swallow, and upons from fist to star with flux.)

            The sweet drink, or whatever drink you sip, is akin to any food you eat, which you sip and eat philosophically, connecting your ideas with the tastes, and tastes with ideas, so that a lemonade reminds you of the sours and sweets in life, the ice of the icy woman you met, the chocolate or coffee the soil of life, eating the dirt, the excremental fertilizer of increase.

            Upon dusk.

Lay down dawn of thought

Upon Atlasian shoulder


Bleed to bed

Tears of gold

Dream of death

Her beauty.


Bow to moon

Flow of cow

Muses swoon

Her Madness


The cloak of night

Spoken from a thousand eyes!

I turn all rays with couldren’s wand

Till Robins song bemuse me.


            Upon laying for sleep

Good night Universe of my love: Allmother!

Today I pride my perfection in all of my doings

And sleep in peace of my right way

And great my way

And love the universe sings to me


Blameless Child

Fellow Creator

And poet from heart to hands


Momma and I are one!

So rest this mind, rest this heart, rest this tongue

Drink in your deserved dreams

And hum into the joysong of the all

I am all I love all

So sleeps this little God.

            Upon cleaning and choring

Structuring square of order

Draws a Circle upon Chaos


Mountainous hands

wrive the waves of my way


Circular heart

Loves the fall of my Sway


Crystal structure

Blood stream system

Flow for me.




(And these are the words for a hand dance. The square of order os a square of fingers, the circle of chaos is a full arm circle, mountainous hands are the W of flat palms angling at the thumbs, which falls into a finger circle with circular heart, which falls in two fell swoops with fall of my sway. Crystal structure is interlaced fingers, which beat like a heart for the blood stream system.)


Four things keep clean

First the Mouth

Second the hands

Third the Genitals

Fourth your workstation



From chaos, order.

From warfare, peace.

From confusion, certainty.

From loss, strength.

From self, kindness.

In all these things

and in the all of things

we make our self and place.





the great forward flux,

O coming and becoming:

flow your rivers through my fingers,

fill full your breath within my lungs,

dance your lightening through my brain,

boil my blood with passion-song,


for I am that I am the Creator,

for I am that I am the One,

for I am the lens of the Allness,

for I am that I am the Sun.


so I participate myself

to myself

to the Creativity of creation,

 the AllVerse. Vivoce!


The body's duty


To say without the deed, one chews to spit,

But Bubble-Gum heroes waste their tongue

Time's bones will not be knit by deeds of lung,

For only blood in skin is worthy writ.

To feel without the deed one burns a corpse,

Or winds a rusted clock that will not tick,

For greatness breathes his spirit but to quick

The muscles wrestling wrenching hist'ries course.

The flame is for the engine’s flashing fight,

The say is for the world to flee the way,

The will is for teaching body flight,

The sun is for the time to know it's day.

In lust and blood and rays of mind the flesh

Must make the world and joy and day afresh.



The Petite Death


Panting for the future,

I gave my present the holy cut.

Enumerating supossed sins,

I aborted countless joys.


Folding my hands in prayer,

He slipped on the manacles.

Pressing my knees in reverence,

He stood his foot upon my neck.

Rereading his fist of fits,

My eyes grew grey and half.


The great hate Deity

Jealous of the joy of man

Breathes in the praise of man

Breathes out the curse on man.


Until, in a courage

of stare into the I AM idol,

The great projecting of
Vice nerves and horror show:


I gave up the Ghost

Orgasm of murder.


Appreggio to the sky

In the happy death of the Godhead

The emptying of three skulls:

God is dead

God remains dead:

The lifelong atheist knows none

Of this joy.


I know a fulfillment

Wider then my tongue,

Fuller then my throat.

I am finally Man.








“God is dead” –Nietzsche

“Nietzsche is dead” –spokesman for God

“Some men are born posthumously” –Nietzsche

“Woe to those who laugh now, for they will wail” –God

“He who laughs best also laughs last” –Nietsche

“…” –God

“Hahaha” –Nietsche















What would my perfection,

my gifts and givings,

my loss and winnings,

my loves and lovers,

my sisters and brothers,

be without you to thank?

--I thank you, oh Fate!


What would my distress,

my musings and rusings,

my self abusings,

my hells and wells,

my thunders and bells,

my maddened depression,

my loss in degressions,

be without you to love?

--I thank you, oh fate!


Lashings and kisses,

Tortures and wishes,

Freedoms and fights,

Wrongings and rights,

All have carved me perfect

because of you, my dear,

How could I wish you different?

--I thank you, oh fate!






If you desire something strongly you will never get it—

If you fear something enough it will happen to you—

If you love somebody with all your heart, you will become them—


I am that tree

Whom great fate strikes down

Branch by branch

Yet whose central pith

Fate cannot touch

Family, love, life, work

Fall like branches

But the one central passion of my life

Is master of fate.











Nothings at fault,

No one's to blaim,

Not Society,

Nor parents,

Nor self,

Nor pain;

Not God,

Nor Satan,

Nor sin,

Nor hate;

Not universe,

Nor genetics,

Nor luck,

Nor fate.

Instead do I thank you

I can learn and make.


















Night Song


Swaddled in mother

The moon cool kiss my face

I breath out day

I sink beneath my pillow.


I am as evil innocent as the night

And equal to her.

She lusts for me and

Lingers here despite rude sun.


My blanket high tides over me,

And I am oceans beneath,

Drinking in plotty dreams,

Like mind walking through mind.


Awake, and still enveloped in thought

My dolphin tongue still sounding the depths

My tireless hands tapping out nightbeats

I sleep awake, I dream you too.


I would be Womb child

If I were not already womb,

My mind the mother’s eye,

And night the chaos creator within.


“Night to night and lust to lust”

The flame shines brightest dark

For suns blink forth from pitch

As the world blinks forth from me.


Abed Abed, abetted by night

Self before birth, Self beyond death

Life is slash and flashing knife

And every lips her name in his last breath.






starlight shed your shine on us

moon glow move us from the soul

wind sigh throw us high

long across a midnight sky

spirit of the spearman's throw




teach the farthest star to bow


summon midnight mornings


name and love and bless the night

inhale all



Sound your song and flood our longings

All in all

You are loved


Feel the flowing of our laughter

All of all

You are loved


Oh! Give me all of all your love!






The Cider was good at a gulp,

So I swallowed the gallon.

I ate the tender bacon

And counted it providence.


I pleasured myself to an orgasm

That so weakened me with joy

That I napped innocently on the couch


I awoke, and read Emerson

And felt romance for his spotless mind.


I emptied the contents of my notebook

Into the womb of my books

And am happier then I ever hoped to be.


Is joy always so easy?

Who has the evil eye for life?

Life is beautiful!






d e x pressive


The manic alone contains all God

All Satan in his heart

The poles are his, the all he lives

Both ends in inner parts


The sunny singing portrait Shines

whiter than the day

Strike suns and stars

A night ajar

He leaps from inner ways.


Yet many slash the spirit blood

Cheat the world of life

The moon has seen no sadder thing

Than a dying star turn blight.

My heart, my chest, clenched and tense,

I’ve learned this lesson intimtate

When he you wounds, don’t cry and swoon,

Learn to open into him.


The tautest string if struck would snap

He laughs and cries at once

But now he learns to sound the dust,

He overhears a gnat.


And when he is happy and glowing

Thousand arms, triple hearts,

Let that fury dance.

Again depressed and solid brow,

His eyes blown dry, his lips both chapped

Begin the edit trance.


If a mad man can commit no crime,

And can incur no guilt—

Can he commit himself to love,

Can his fingers flex the quilt?


And so you flee me—say no excuse—

you left me all long ago!

Even working at my side you are far from my heart

The echo told me so.


Incorrigible, untouchable, oversensitive, hypersensitive,

Or dull as a doorknock.

All, all of you, I guessed it,  I saw through, I felt in, I knew all.

You are so many echoes, so many mirrors, so much waste of time.


Ha! My innermost is joysong.




Nectar Ambrosia

The ancient poets

who knit the holy spirit

world over

sipped phallic mushrooms

menses wine

mead and blood

and far enough back

the first to leave Ethiopa

Were inspired by the caffeine cherry



How is it that my living blod

is Ambrosia

And each of my nerve cells

is sperm of nectar

and myself complete Odin

so that to be at least at peace

I take the medicine made by

Enligthened science

and pragmatic capitolism


In order to dim my eyes

and live among men?


Milton wrote epics

intoxicated on long droughts of water

As did Nietzsche again

And I myself?

Take antipsychotic

to walk among men.





























Walking with my girlfriend in the Japanese Gardens


Rotten weather for a walk

A summer, pregnant from her joy

It feels like thunder; too cold too fast

A gazebo swallowed up in grapes

The cement cramps, the darkness strains

A blanket, some wax for the siren

Stemmed glasses? I disdain wine.

Some juice, and sweet, till sweetly juiced

I thirst not, but my eyes for dreams.

Athena grey-eyes, I see those dreams

Why would you want to kiss me?

Modesty robed like leper’s on a saint

But why kiss at all?

To partake of your body.

Don’t you care to breathe?

I had forgotten

Oh those damned trains—so loud

My lady teaches even trains to sing.

And that damned bitch of a mosquito is the seventh on that arm

Our phylacteries momento as we scratch.

Held so tightly, I can feel your every rib

God? Negligent?

Softly held, held soft aloft, so I sleep,

So tell me of passion, to you.

Perhaps for my family, again again for God.

A purring in your guts?

So I’ve heard.

A terror in your veins, like St. Sebastian?

Read too much.

Or a fondling dream?


Or a maenad’s arch?


Or a prophet’s tongue, and screwed-up brow?


Or the proudest child, his mother’s joy?


Or perhaps a minotaur-quite lost?


Or an arrow in the void?


Or my own vanity, from the rib of my God?



Let’s get home lest you be late.


(like a drifting babe. Let us knot each other, so the farther we are pulled apart, the tighter we tie)

You drape around my neck

Golden guitar

Body sings

From fingers on Her neck.


I smell the coffee grounds

Beneath your fingernails

I smell the fresh cut grass

Behind your ears


Yes my Beatrific anima,

You must forgive my silence:

When I praise any other name,

I praise you through that name.

When I curse any face,

I too curse you.


How did you slip

Like a gift-horse in

So that my selflove

Was thus love of you?

My mirror the face

Of Us.

I who loved self and pen

See you were them.


You incarnate the All

There is no greater Flesh than thee,

O ignorant Goddess

What I know firmly of you

No living soul is permitted to know

Nor you.


I am the world soul—the ego of Man,

I am all eyes.

Of men, none are greater than I:

Fettered but never bettered.


Your innermost center,

Your deepest soul

Lies inside my womb

A child I glimpsed nothing of,

Knew nothing of

(knowing too soon would mortalize it)

Yet today—what word?—suddenly I breathed

The eternal inhale.

My heart swells with your name.

My chest heaves and the repression became epiphany

A Rossetti unlocks the code beneath my lips,

All praise and affection become your inscrutable name:




No reply


I bear the bruise with graceful smile,

And never curse the winter's sullen freeze;

Would not denude the poison ivy's leaves,

Nor name the atheist's witted scorn as "Vile."

For virtue's pearl? Within a heart of dust.

And monotheists will take with Life its pain,

And lovers do not curse the devil's reign,

For in perfection find we pain's a must.

Yet when I press my heart to sing its joy

Of love for you, and hope it up with pleads,

And shudder to anticipate your tell,

My heart in seeking grace or scorn asks why

Instead you're hushed without a word or deed.

For silence is the song sang most in hell.



We sting with silence

And gather poison nectar

From the slanderous bloom of Mara’s Roses

Graceful as the true Oak

Who holds the comb

We sting every flower

With the smart of silence

Present silence

True revenge,

The perfection of our enemey

Sick flower made fruitful

With the sting of our wit lips of quiet

Present silence

Like sublte echoes adding naught

While our metaphor heart grows thick

With the sweet stick of honey.



Tell how I shall invest love overrich?

Since you accept no gift nor spare a word.

No other shop affords my crystal turns

Nor offers light, as dark and perfect mixed.

I wish for arrow lit with fired revenge!

I wish for poison tips returning pain for pain!

Or Lethe (although it only stalls refrain)

Or Second heart to love the joys I tend.

But like a miser I invest again

My love for you back into love the same

For it returns a price come heaven's worth.

Now I bury those talents under sand

I squirrel nuts till oaks are named

And you I curse "forgotten"!--(till rebirth)

To contain my raging heart


I see you shiver when I rage

Nonchallent, silly, pretending not to see

For I speak of passion and solitude

You do not breath with me, you choke

Cowards all and I alone

One who thinks

One who feels

I know I am not alone here

But your cowardice would have me believe so

Thunderstorms, lavashouts, and you

Wondering if its going to snow tomorrow

And if tonight’s show will be a rerun

Yes, perhaps I am alone here

But I am in good compay.

Buit for Love


My body is built for love

Hands tongue thighs

For love only love

You who are closest

Never fall close enough

I would press my heart into yours


So I will talk philosophy

Chop and tie ruthless definitions

And dose my heart into drops

I will give you always

An ounce more than you give me

I am deluge

I could drown you


The love that knits flesh to my bone

Skin unto skin, nerve unto nerve

The yearning damming urge of love

Like atom bound to atom

---No! I withhold that from you.


I will shine a little, like the sun upon the moon

My shining I

Will gather for brains clouds and thunderbursts

To filter the full

Lightning tips to carve out books

forbidden to your eyes

I’m honored to die unread.

You see grammar and form

But do not see

Amidst the threads

the love I’ve mingled insatiate


Tongue and thirst of Love

Lick of tooth

Bite of Lip

I say you

Without echo.



My perfect Psyche—

My Sherry of joy

It tore my soul in two

When I held you to sleep

Late last night

And as was my custom

Made way to the other room

To write out my mind

Into my books

You clung out desperately,

And pinned with love to the bed

And said “No! You stay!”

My dear sweet perfect Sherry

I could not in this life ever leave you

Nor could I in this life ever shirk my writings

So I tore in two

Here I am writing this now while you lay there

My love lays next to you

I am with you always

You know if I did not write a body and soul for myself

Each night

There would be no man

To finish his work

No man

To finally fall asleep beside you—

With or without the torn soul.

Alone in darkness


Sleep has purred your eyes shut

Alas alas! Before those daystars fell on me

My heart clenches and nothing will unclench him.


I starve the dish of our communion

For we dine best on the other’s tongue:

Ingest, gestate, and sing forth those words again:

Infinity’s double loop.


Never surrender without me

I haven’t thaw enough to speak!

Never surrender without me.


I belong around you.





I am complete infant

My brow smooth as glass

My body electrified nerves

The butterfly flutters like drums

A pinprick would kill me


My heart fills my whole chest

Feels warm as a bruise


The mother in you loves me for your breast

The demon in you lusts me for rape


I seek

The child in you.


A complete love,

both bold-ha and lovejoy

which says yes and now

to the heartfull flow of I.



I myself


I myself,

center and source of my whole world,

do will and work,

play and clay

my fated place.

My Judges


I am called inflated insatiate.

Consider it: what do others even know?

Who better to judge you

Than yourself?


they don't know you.

They think first of themselves.

When they judge you, they are lazy.

Easy and quickly.

Scales made of stereotypes.

Assumptions easier than investigations.


I never trust anybody's judgment above my own.

Do others even think things through?

I know I—

I trust my eye.

All is ever

All is ever is all

Where slaves worship,

Masters identify.


Heaven holds a place

for great men alone

Never for repentent sinners


They go to their own

private heaven or hell

No matter which,

Since they will be

in like company wherever.

I all

I am all that is man

I am all that is woman

The complete incarnation of the world,

My soul is complete soul of every human—

Yours as well as his

And there is no man, woman, nor child who exists outside of me—


My Brain is Hellenic,

To systemize and codify the world—

And give birth to Sophia from my right temple


My left hand is Rome, My right hand is England,

To conquer the world one after the other, the entire world,

Which no other nation could do

Till every speaks the Roman alphabet, the English words.


The four chambers of my heart are

Africa for rhythm and animality,

India for spiritual longing

Asia for honor and subtlety,

And above all

Germany for pride, courage, and sheer will to power—

Never heard of before, anywhere anytime.


My tongue is semitic, with bombast and monstrosity,

And French, smooth as wine.


My lungs are Aryan, Nordic, Icelandic, blond hair blue eyed perfection,

A breather of ice breeze, willing to seethe lightening.


My gut and my womb are Pure United States

The greatest Creators since the Hellenes,

and the true heirs of the Hellenic -- defining of the World.


I contain all races, nor does a single man escape me—

I comprehend all of us: there is no stranger to me

I hate no man

I am saved, perfect, and eternal to the last person.

I stand and affirm


my eye, my mind, my view, my way,

for it is my own creativity

that shines and finds my love.

I choose and win my values

by my head and hands;

I choose and win my longing

by my heart and words.

And so I brow my best

and burst forth to this new test.



Tap tap tap

From mind

To muscle

To light’ning strikes

The laptop


Tap tap taps

My holy text

I wrighte

And riddle

You, shadow

A cast of sun



The mountain gives birth to the mouse

I cannot be a Man and work this job
I cannot be a Father and work no job
My soul twists up, my nerves shatter like glass

And then the speck outside my window

Crawled up to the glass and shivered

A tiny mouse, only a child, eyes barely opened

I tipped outside, barefeet in the snow

And scooped him up in my hands

My very soul had objectified himself

Into the person of this tiny orphaned mouse

I made a home for him near a lamp for heat

Gave milked bread for food


How dearly I love this being.









For Whom I Write


Posterity must wonder at this heap of ash

“For whom did he write?—this second sexton”

Of course for me, you voyeurs and thieves

What have I to do with “the public” and “the people”?


My miracles performed in solitary bedroom

Only I drink my water to wine—

I am not a blasphemy upon a cross

To net the people I deem as ’licious “fish.”

I prize my suffering too much to advertise,

Am jealous as hell of my joys

My acts of righteosness are more secret than God:

Only I reward my sweet deeds

—I ravish them in the privacy of my room


My room is suns bright,

my door broad as the sky,

my music loud as storms’ applause—

so I may see and blind you,

so I may enter in and crowd you out,

so I may hear my inner voice to drown you all


I sing in my own language—you are not permitted to hear

I watch my hand strum the guitar in the mirror


To you this is a “virtue” or a “vice”—when it is none of that.

Slow to see, slow to hear. It is only me—leave virtue!

Only me, for me—“and this wisdom too?” you chuckle

Wrinkle your nose at the philosophy

For me, and for one other, whom you do not know.

My readers are I and my equal.

I write to educate Mother All.

Posterity’s Darlings


Take care, Caretakers,

Lying infants, inverts, troverts, and reverts

You slayers of truth

You good trees that bear no bad fruit.


For I warn you of one temptation:

That you speak too soon.

What has the sprout podding?

What the sapling harvest?

What is your wisdom

But a muzzle and a lonely room?


“But I am the greenness of my perfection”

And innocence peeks from your eyes.

Yes, but have not green eyes for your perfection.


Behold, I arm you;

Knives for infants:

1.Rebaptize your darkness as light.

2.Use your judas kiss

No teacher gives omniscience: the student who is student takes it.

3.Burn your photographs

            Behold and you are held; become and you shall...

4.Know: perfection is easy

5.Obsess—take my cyclops eye

6.Ask and you shall borrow; create and you shall own.

7.Complexity is superficial; contradiction marks the well.

8. Wisdom rejoices in rebuke.

            Do not dissapoint me with a rebukeAjealousAconfusion

9.Devour your halos

            Shine from within.

10.A farmer cannot swallow his plough.