undeniably true

the committment  to write        at least          one piece       within one 24 hour  timeframe 

was apparently confusing for a few of the members      including the revered   proclaimed

site godfather     who himself, struggled with both truth        and true time in his own

a-work-a-day world..

 undeniably   taking the brave leap into writing for other eyes   inevitably  forces you       up off 

your ass     into the practice    and   into the words…       these talented asian / pan pacific

islanders/filipinos/and true combo  wise guy youths and youth-ettes        got you to crawl out

from underneath your dusty  house    found you coaxing your words and thoughts

out from long-treasured  hiding places     watched  you in the kitchen  with a coroner’s

careful  precision         as the sharpest knife peeled back        each layer of skin   examining the     

bright blue of   each bruise    brought to surface    from lie unto truth    

diving you  headfirst     into the best-of scope        with all your       time-worn excuses …  

undeniably      they forced you to seek  a new calculation within each     and on a   blackboard

full of your best pathetic reasonings        you sought the perfect     safe number     amid all the       

reasons   why  or why not           the writing had ceased for you…

 undeniably   you were forced to  resist       the nightly call of the couch

undeniably those undeniable ones      taught you a thing or two            didn’t they…

undeniably     after two hundred and sixty three        with only four comments from strangers    

i miss being       a part of    their nightly show

in spite of being             

largely

and undeniably                             

ignored..

into his paris

forty-five years ago

i read papa hemingway     from a corner    table

in the ocean park library      and i was hooked..

today   i’ve stepped back   into          his paris

paying a different kind of attention..

a wasted life

across the state              to the atlantic side              your family needed a reason

someone or something to             blame                    for the loss of you….

they breathed a sigh of relief              when you presented

your unfounded tale              accepted   your absolution and confession

allowed them to hold you         still       in their  twisted, shrunken arms of  co-dependence  

rejoicing that you weren’t to blame       they rested, comforted  in your pity       and breathing a

sigh of relief          they now could           blame another       instead of you for        your fall

for this believed tale of betrayal         absolved your weakness      allowed them to

continue to love you         compelled them to understand your sorrow

and their righteous family values     brought them perfect reasons   to        give cause     for your

search for relief         from such an exquisite pain…such relief!       finally!  a reason to believe

as they mapped the terrain of your ultimate fall..

truth is you fell in love         with the opiate queen      who ruled you       with iron fist

you fell hard into her         stardust dreams       ran your bloody hands through         her dark

mane     and danced away  with her      through fields of red poppies    turning over your

soul      you covered your being    with the scent of her     your hands, thick with her sweet juices

held on to her scabbed and track -marked        arms         as you curled into her    softness   she gave you ease and sixteen perfect reasons   to retreat     from        your life..       

and oh how you listened when        she commanded you      accepted as she handed you           her list of all you must choose between         in order to stay           numbed and nodding

trapped within her grasp          you chose       and stayed    lost in her sick comfort…

thirteen years later         in florida     your daughter comes       to say farewell 

to make her peace    with abandonment       hoping on the eve of her twenty-fourth year  

to find      in your unsteady, bloodshot eyes         the father       who left her behind…

instead, she found    you          an unrecognizable shell      and your family     who  had latched

on      suckling  your twisted    reasoning    which sat, festering     deep and certain  into their

skulls      a sharpened blade          to to savor for later    as a perfect

birthday gift        to surprise your daughter   with              when she only came to say goodbye…

they’ve  suffered enough, these daughters       they  tried to love you     they have  lived  with

the loss of you        and now        they have drunk in            the      true and ultimate    betrayal       

of your sickness..

on hands and knees    you, now withered and useless   are trapped       at such a bitter

end           damaged beyond logic       lifelessly awaiting your next dose

from your sick nurse’s hand            you weep      helpless…       perhaps a glimmer of you

wishes for the chance         to do it all over…….perhaps your only true   wish     is for death…

the  opiate queen    of your dreams    left you years ago     taking with her   the jewels of what

she came for         you are useless to her          now      but her gift remains  

wrapped up in bright paper      tied with bits of bone and brain

she has finally led you         quite alone           to  death’s door …

your children will not mourn you    now     for your life of lies

they have buried you already     in a plain pine box         filled with a child’s favorite toys

and broken memories           a final loss       unable to remember    the feel of a daddy’s protective arms…       

 you cannot hurt them anymore             

not any      more

 than you           and they         already have         

thin skinned

this is not a game

for the thin-skinned

or the faint of heart…

the overly-sensitive will

be eaten alive

chewed up and spit out

like bites of rotten fruit…

they will crucify you

hang you on their crosses

of judgment and despair

sneer at you and your

words

with a cruelty that will

rip the pen from your fingers

or silence the typing on

any keyboard…

its an insidious game

here on the horizon

the buzzards stare

from every fencepost

you can be lunch

or blown to bits

as minefields dot

this literary landscape

claws grab for ankle

dragging you down

through their mud and sludge

and often through rivers

 of your own

bloody runoff

writing the empty

as the songs for haiti’s

relief

grip me to the bone

the screen remains

blank

covered in tears

and blood

the babies cry

the screams

have ceased

their cups

remain

empty

rattlesnake dialogue

‘he couldn’t stand the idea                   that anyone else had actually

 breathed in the same air as                   his idol in the old days…

it drove him insane              that  he didn’t have

his own personal vile of it         that precious air

to take out of his                  ‘collections’

to moon and fawn over            or to tenderly stroke each night

his air           his own special air        BESTOWED on him personally

from his MASTER’S hand!

so he turned,          fangs bared

attacking other’s truths         and  memories     stealing them as his own

as if he had the right’

this guy is simply a hustler, he wrote

 he’s a bit like The Talented Mr. Ripley

 tom ripley                   he’s a killer

mister dishonest             both of them killers             one of them  fiction         the other

 deadly           

he thinks he owns him          like the thief who stole the body rags of jesus

rockstar

travel

its not the travel

or the adventure

that i fear

its the overwhelm

and the difficulty

i’m having

planning portions

of this  journey

with ease…

i now understand

why most humans

don’t bother

ever leaving

swirling beneath the rubble

beneath the rubble in port o prince

a crumpled          rat pobertson, lay              struck down by the devils       

he recognized so well     they whispered his name      the hiss of a serpentine’s  call    tickled his

ear    choking breath        and life       as each  pin  placed just so    permeated and awakened the

evil’s   noxious gases   to sing        him a lullabye        his terror      alive

from the bowels of a shaking earth         a spell of vodou  cast over his empty human        shell

paralyzed     the songs       lifted him over         his beloved south    as he cried to  his god

for   rescue        from such darkness      from     such unholy     pain and   evil and this     inevitable

end                it snatched him     amid his    parched screams     unclenching his tightened hand        

still scratched and bloody from dragging him         from     the steps of his money changer’s

temple        pulling him out          from his vaults of  filthy stolen       gold       in the name of his

righteous god …              

vodou        carried him and his silent         screams   for              mercy          over a raging

sea       to the island     shaken from the belly and bowel of earth 

and  he listened       as the chants began  ‘oy yay va        oy ya y     va’      exploding his eardrums

as the hiss of a serpentine smile          buried him   in spell and whispers     

beneath the rubble       among the innocent dead…      

and when the           serpent  wrapped itself     around the fallen preacher’s neck     its tongue

penetrated into his           filthy     mouth        down throat        ripping through vocal cords that

had allowed such spewing of  repeated            cruelty and lies    silencing this voice        for good

 this evil voice…         thru lung and rib         into chest            its forked, darting    tongue      

 probed      searching     to penetrate   the vital life organ      the richness of beating        heart

only to discover           there was nothing beating   in this chest      of evil human!

 and finding such heartlessness       the serpent spit him out      and buried him among haiti’s dead

and dying    ol’ rat’s last breath   was sweet         his prayers rolling unheard amid his tears

and screams…          he suffocated     in a perfect     slow torture     

a perfect heartless death      in the rubble     as unforgiving  as he had been to others   as self-

righteous in his  lies   and cruelty        his own sorry life        ended     a swirl beneath the rubble

gathering for gagaku

amid pastries and coffee

at the novel cafe

the  men were all summoned

for a thursday soiree’…

four heeded the call

to this meeting so named

gagaku poetry society

a gathering thus ordained…

meeting one did commence

the first one of just four

and to what in good purpose

led them all to this door…

did they meet and discuss

the fine works of a  man

the meat or the memory

or the demons’ command

did they speak of old stories

from the threshold of earth

of  mimeo, zines

a bookstore, a rose

or a candleshop’s mirth

did they talk story of those

no longer walking this plane

who have passed like the poet

ah, so much that was wasted

in this life’s torrid game…

did they share in old stories

with the host’s vivid eye

such a recall of details

each moment captured

flying by!

or did they ponder aloud

of his mark on this life

the fire and lightning

the toll and the strife..

did they wonder aloud

if a chapbook should follow

is there a market for gagaku

amid the posers, so shallow

could a new work prevail

were they there for that reason

or to sing a farewell

recalling  his season

a  self-imposed hell

did they find rhyme or reason?

traditional memorials

for those who have passed

aren’t trendy or cool

 planning becomes such a pain in the ass…

but what unfolds for attendees

when given a chance

more notice or time

is the necessary opportunity

to frame a goodbye

for those in attendance

may have needed to say

what was shadowed in life

what his words meant in a day…

those like-minded humans

who may have showed up

might have longed for comraderie

or the chance to express

what his scribbles were worth

as they touched, burned or tickled

a part of their brain

or that spot

deep in each chest..

gagaku poetry society

oh he’s laughing, i know!

surrounded by beauty

five muses in tow

he chortles at our silliness

probably wanting us to know

how  glorious it is now

we’re whose stuck in this hell

the beaches!  the music!  the art on this side

the women!  the writing!  an incredible ride

old friends!   finally peace!  better than th’ drugs!  we’re alive

turns out after all

who needed to survive…

so this is for you

old poet and pal

no pesky old funeral or memorial

after all

no stroking of egos not yours, mine

 nor theirs

nor arrogant scrawls, espousing

truth, lies or bewares

no falsehoods regarding who did know you best

no cutesy syncophants

rarely  giving it a rest…

instead as we were with your life

and your game

we’re alone left scratching our heads

or some, still licking their wounds

from your relentless infliction of pain…

so see you around

either in this one or next

we were lucky to have shared in

the meat of your text

sucking bone and the marrow

shots straight to reflex

the man and his demons

dancing ’round in his shack

bleeding truth with such fury

we can’t get it back… 

amid coffee and pastry

gagaku poetry society met

and shrouded in mystery

its secret intent

of masks and formalities

bent to the tantras, and

slow moving mantras, where

secret gods and forces are

bent on the doing

of poets….

but we’re all silly  fools

yes nothing has changed!

walking endroads of life

each, a tad  mad and deranged

recalling  the lifetimes

the work and shared history

our art and our stories

the key and the mystery

of us all…

 

*thank you, mandt for adding the magic

 

lunatic genius

your lunatic genius eyes             cackled from the doorway

demanding clear thought                    and adult decision making!

they yanked away at          youthful remnants of torn cloth     carefully chosen to wear      

for just this occasion!      an armour of colorful skin          stretched and sagged in gravity’s wake

ignoring all pleas       for mercy        and your lunatic genius eyes      watched silent from the

corner

once blindfolded      they walked   backward toward   this     uneasy compromise     

holding   strong   with urban angst     we were left, singing,  at the gates of a  60th decade!

watch from this  luminous   moon lit streetcorner       those   eyes demanded!

 years of bloody blasphemy      belched from distended bellies      lay wet and sticky  

in the street        like spit from the mouths         of toothless maniacal          grinning poets!    

your lunatic genius eyes             stay pinball crazy         and continue

to  interrupt my pretty dreams….

watch them spitting on old poetry!       as the failed sorceress      emerges  echoing repeated vows

while the muse cackles     vacant with boredom             scratching in places

forbidden to our eyes..

 the mother of desire    is no longer interested!             she saved  your lunatic genius eyes

 in cracked cups       to drink in for later ! 

she’s drawn a fine incision        razor clean with the precision of determined youth

while      leaving behind a rich scar       

 bridging    this half to the other     aiming your now-blinded genius         toward an inevitable

and certain

death