Reverie

Midnight moon bleeds in the violent dark,
subtle breeze, evanescent shadows,
stars harmonize in the ancient night
as the bare branches of cold trees
quiver and shiver against the
backdrop of the unfurling
of the universe
around me.

And there I am, sitting campfire
in psychedelic reverie
away from the
menagerie
of the asphalt world,
descending
descending
descending
into the never-ending
dimension
of the timeless
where the kaleidoscopic
streams
wash away the conditioned
dreams
spawned out of a doomed
civilization.

The voice says:
divorce
yourself from what you think
you’re seeing, and look to the
source
of your being, where the mind
discerns with splendid purity
the essence of the primordial
beginnings of it all.

And it’s there, right there
in the dark dungeon of myself
where the inherent guilt,
invoked by our long-ago eviction
from paradise,
burns
burns
burns away
by the fierce light of
the return
the return
the return
and the plump little cherubs smile
as the music plays and the flaming
sword is lowered as the gates fling
open, and I, once again, walk into
the glory of the garden,
the infinite reservoir of
nothingness,
as the night throbs
to the greatest silence
there ever was.

Dear Children, Don’t Become US

I often think that our children
must think that we adults
are completely insane.

We set all these silly rules
we ourselves don’t follow.
We tell them to speak truths
that we ourselves don’t believe.
We tell them that violence
isn’t the answer as we ourselves
answer their wrongdoings
with violence.

We lie to them. We lie to them so often
with the lies we’ve been taught. Caught
in a web of our own prejudices, we pass
them on unknowingly. We tell them that
experience is the greatest teacher,
but then they look at us,
they look at our lives,
and with their pure
childlike wisdom,
they see that
that too is
a lie.

The Way To Be Rich

The way to be rich
is to desire less.
Evade the endless
pursuit of trying
to satisfy the
manufactured
appetite
of this dying
culture
and reconnect
with the
earth.

Learn to fall in love
with the mysteries
of the universe,
the moon
the stars
the wind
and the vast
meadows of
wildflowers
you drive by
everyday.

The less you need
in this mad world
the fewer hours
of needless
labor
you’ll have to
surrender.

Reduce the complexity
of life
and you’ll
finally find
the gold
you’ve been
desperately
looking for.

Guaranteed.

Infinite Fall

Rigid beliefs dehydrate our lives.
You can see it the eyes of the humanists
and the Christians and the hopeful
among us. Never alive in the moment,
always planning for something that
never comes. Thinking we humans
are divine creatures that must rid
ourselves of the guilt of our birth.
The FALLEN man, the FALLEN creature,
what deluded animals we are.
Can’t we see that we’re mere
accidents of backseat lust? A
blip in the spectrum of eternity.
A dying organism thrown
on a planet that we ourselves
are killing. 

Forget heaven, forget utopia,
I want to suck the marrow
from the bones of this life.
The one given to me by sheer
luck of a rapid sperm. I want
to forever gulp the sacred womb
that lies between the exotic
thighs of this world.

The only way
is to fall
fall
fall
fall
the great infinite fall
rescinding
from the disillusion
of the artificial light
into the deliverance of the dark
where the heart weeps tears
of great ecstasy and love
flourishes untainted,
unrestrained.

Is there a place
for my lamented flesh
here in this unfettered
purgatory? Will you not
have empathy for the
iniquities committed
on the way down?

Or will you forever point
your hypocritical finger
and shake your embittered head
behind the rusty bars of your
own self-imposed prison?

Paradise is for the unliving.
Stay there. I have no
quarrel.

But to be a creator,
to be a curious life liver,
is to be in exile
forever.

Life is Death’s Prisoner

It’s 3am in the morning
the street light spills thru
the blinds and throws shadows
of bare branches on the
bedroom wall. A symphony
of despair plays around me.
Death howls in the silence.
I walk out into the dark.

It’s 3am.

Today will be just like yesterday.
I will go through the motions
and tolerate the hopeless
commotion around me – this
pageantry of idiocy that we
call culture. I will pretend to be
attentive to matters that mean
nothing to me. It’s 3am and I’m
somehow alive. Breathing in the dark,
a shard of glass in the alley,
a mere particle of existence,
an accidental organism who’s
keenly aware of his looming
demise. Life is death’s
prisoner.

It’s 3am.

Why all this? “Society: an inferno
of saviors!,” Cioran tells us.
Everyone is a walking commercial
playing their theatrical part
in the fiction of life.
Age brings detachment.
Maybe a renunciation is needed.
I no longer want to partake
in this carnival of orthodoxies.
I shall depart from the ranks
of this pathetic parade of progress.
The past is a lie, justice a delusion,
freedom a curse, future a graveyard.

It’s 3am.

I’m loathed because I loathe what
most are amused by. I have no
country, only its language. I’ve grown
weary of categories, definitions,
and moral imperatives. I bleed
to assess my mortality as I
trudge thru the wastelands of
insignificance to meet the
abyss of infinite silence.

Perhaps
only in death
we find
life.

It’s 3am.

You Know What Makes the 4th of July So Sexy?

Rebellion, man.

The Declaration of Independence,
as cherished as it is, was an illegal
approach to preserve the dignity
and freedom of the individual.

It was an act considered treasonous and
deemed unpatriotic by most of the
compliant colonists.

If you were alive then, you would have
probably been against our independence.
That was the position held by many
good citizens of the times.

Let us not celebrate the belligerent empire
America has become —  the exact thing
the Founders worked so hard
to prevent.

Let us not celebrate our powerful national
government and the immense police state
we’re all subject to — a government
that functions against our wishes
and devoid of our consent.

Let us not celebrate this abstract
notion of freedom that we naively
believe we have.

Instead, let the 4th stand as a reminder
that it’s not always prudent to be
a law-abiding citizen.

It’s a day we honor the outlaws,
bootleggers, farmers, whores,
merchants, and drunks, who
took up arms & withdrew their
consent to be governed by
domineering politicians.

Let us drink to the wise and courageous
“traitors” who forged one of the
greatest rebuttals of state power
in the history of the world.

Let us celebrate the great
poetic outlaw, Thomas Jefferson,
and his searing words of defiance.

We celebrate not the birth of a nation,
but a split from one.

Happy Secession Day.

Beach Day

It’s the magical season
Summer
Summer afternoon,
a season all its own …
the day enchanted with a dreamy glow,
and white sands, created
with all the freshness of youth,
gleam under the Florida sun.
And the sound of the sea
devours the ambiance
and the palms quiver
with the subtle breeze
from the Gulf. And we take
endless sips as the Cruzan rum
drips from our lips, and she
gives me a little wink
with those ornery eyes
as her sangria tongue
glides across my sunburnt chest.
And from a little speaker
on a blanket in the sand,
the reggae and steel drums
tempt our souls, and the children
build sandcastles and complain
about the heat, and the young
ass cheek baring girls
with long legs and
sainted breasts,
stroll carefree along the shore,
torturing the eyes of old men
who gaze thru cheap shades.
And the white seagulls sing summer songs
and two butterflies sporadically
entwine as they flutter thru the
dream of life.

Dying light, the day wanes,
the shadows fade as
the dark clouds roll in,
fragmented sun rays
splash over the sea
and the rain starts to fall
and the wind picks up, adding
mystique to our surreal dream.

And her, goddamn, just look at her,
spiritually untamed, a goddess
among the profane, wading so
gracefully in the deep blue.
And the victory, the victory,
the complete and utter victory
of that magical mighty wave
that came out of nowhere
ripping the top right off
her sun kissed body
unearthing the secret
of the universe
for us all
to see.

It’s summertime.

Can You?

After the war
is over.
After the enemy
within
has been
crushed.
After the
smoldering
debris field
of my
inner landscape
has been wiped clean.
Will you still be
there? Can you
even
look inside
the eyes of,
let alone
love,
a defeated
man?

I Saw Jesus Christ Today

I saw Jesus Christ today.

He was sitting on a wood crate
in a little backstreet
behind a massive church
on a sultry Sunday
morning.

The stench that radiated from His malnourished body
was sharp enough to kill a small cat
that might’ve strayed in the vicinity
of where he was sitting,
and the torn shirt He was wearing
slowly ate away at His flesh, and His big toe
protruded out of the front of His shoes,
and His teeth were as dark as the dungarees
that drooped from His ass crack.

I saw Jesus Christ today.

And the well dressed people,
who, minutes before,
sang hymns
and had their untainted hands
raised in the air
in unwavering praise
to Him,
never gave Him a second glance
as they drove off to
Sunday brunch.

I saw Jesus Christ today.

Self-Loathing

my mistakes are not
petty mistakes

no no no

my mistakes are monumental
and glorious mistakes
that completely
rip the heart
out of the people
i love most

i’m undeserving
and i take for granted
most things i have
in this brief life,
especially
her unconditional
love

and tho
i’m so far beneath
the kind of man she deserves
to be with
i just want her to know
that despite my
madness
and despite
the hell
i sometimes
bring to
our lives,
I love her,
I love her
fiercer
than the fire
that continues to
ravage
what’s left
of me.