waking up in dark places,
tents of night gleaming nothing
and draped by notes -
notes of chopin and optimism
looking at corners for analysis
to a meet of an end,
a place where (for a moment)
all comes together
only to disperse in infinite direction . . .
September 22, 2008
a forfeit in form
i've begun to notice
my brain functions on a different level.
"what exactly does this mean?"
common questions come -
coming more common than answers
and
there may be
no
true clarity.
"mark, what exactly does this mean?
it's beautiful, but
i
don't get it."
i stared at the sky
tonight
and saw window,
(blank in my periphery)
with nothing substantial
'til the street light hit it.
"it's a little abstract.
i like the ones where
you
use symbolism instead of
spaces."
the window
was a god of the moment,
giving perfect light
to one dark place.
catching the lamp
and tossing it
like
a rubber ball throughout
dark tenement hall.
i feel the pulse at all hours,
especially the dull moments
in between.
i feel the incongruity of time,
the lapse in the second
and the malcontent turn.
i am lost,
but only with a foundation.
my brain functions on a different level.
"what exactly does this mean?"
common questions come -
coming more common than answers
and
there may be
no
true clarity.
"mark, what exactly does this mean?
it's beautiful, but
i
don't get it."
i stared at the sky
tonight
and saw window,
(blank in my periphery)
with nothing substantial
'til the street light hit it.
"it's a little abstract.
i like the ones where
you
use symbolism instead of
spaces."
the window
was a god of the moment,
giving perfect light
to one dark place.
catching the lamp
and tossing it
like
a rubber ball throughout
dark tenement hall.
i feel the pulse at all hours,
especially the dull moments
in between.
i feel the incongruity of time,
the lapse in the second
and the malcontent turn.
i am lost,
but only with a foundation.
September 19, 2008
stranded by the wave
stranded by the wave
body sinking with each pass,
i remember loss;
white sud crash in sun
ray refract by eye in way
strong heat, may night come;
sonata in moon
ascend in beauty dark path,
solo loneliness;
dark drape, mute loud day
water take me under dusk,
it is strong and proud;
moon descend wash, fade,
i wash away - now i am -
light return, light dark.
body sinking with each pass,
i remember loss;
white sud crash in sun
ray refract by eye in way
strong heat, may night come;
sonata in moon
ascend in beauty dark path,
solo loneliness;
dark drape, mute loud day
water take me under dusk,
it is strong and proud;
moon descend wash, fade,
i wash away - now i am -
light return, light dark.
a rapture on the tongue
a rapture on the tongue,
I become wordless and remorseful
to your extent of our sadness;
I digress, my sweet love,
it is not words of unsurity
that I use or cryptic messages
of unimaginable translation,
for like those that get tossed about
too many a time and over again-
they lose the intention of the mind
and once again the intention of the soul
that was translated from such
into that of the mind
(a horrible quandary of
moment to next moment).
so one must wonder, my sweet love,
does it all end with one mere change
or chance of difference,
or does the classic tale of romance
procure in its destiny
of such our hands touch,
our lips first embrace,
our souls first tango through
the doors of a dance
where nobody recognizes our moves,
(ah yes, I remember quite well
the first time I appreciated your eyes-
I could not stop but to
look even further into you
and to venture as only poets dare to venture
and step into the very essence
of your spirit;
I remember dashing out
like I were the cloud to remain
floating the ethereal sky
for the remainder of the eve,
as I wanted to stay there, afloat,
in your mind for as long
as you wanted me to stay)
my longing to tangle myself
in your lips embrace for much
a more sufficient satisfaction
than the briefness we have
accustomed ourselves to.
maybe you have not realized
the response my love has had to you,
it seems almost endless,
(I do wish to sustain from
making promises because I am
not secure in myself to be
able to hold on to such an
angel as yourself)
as if no boulder could
possibly block the path in which
who I am is set toward;
it is so that
a swift breeze will accomplish
setting a blazing heart (of your ownership)
higher into the paradise and torment
that is the great of your gift.
no such breeze or wind
will ever be strong enough,
or swift enough,
to distinguish such a grand desire.
I become wordless and remorseful
to your extent of our sadness;
I digress, my sweet love,
it is not words of unsurity
that I use or cryptic messages
of unimaginable translation,
for like those that get tossed about
too many a time and over again-
they lose the intention of the mind
and once again the intention of the soul
that was translated from such
into that of the mind
(a horrible quandary of
moment to next moment).
so one must wonder, my sweet love,
does it all end with one mere change
or chance of difference,
or does the classic tale of romance
procure in its destiny
of such our hands touch,
our lips first embrace,
our souls first tango through
the doors of a dance
where nobody recognizes our moves,
(ah yes, I remember quite well
the first time I appreciated your eyes-
I could not stop but to
look even further into you
and to venture as only poets dare to venture
and step into the very essence
of your spirit;
I remember dashing out
like I were the cloud to remain
floating the ethereal sky
for the remainder of the eve,
as I wanted to stay there, afloat,
in your mind for as long
as you wanted me to stay)
my longing to tangle myself
in your lips embrace for much
a more sufficient satisfaction
than the briefness we have
accustomed ourselves to.
maybe you have not realized
the response my love has had to you,
it seems almost endless,
(I do wish to sustain from
making promises because I am
not secure in myself to be
able to hold on to such an
angel as yourself)
as if no boulder could
possibly block the path in which
who I am is set toward;
it is so that
a swift breeze will accomplish
setting a blazing heart (of your ownership)
higher into the paradise and torment
that is the great of your gift.
no such breeze or wind
will ever be strong enough,
or swift enough,
to distinguish such a grand desire.
an illness
an illness,
a common sick-
my meditation (unbeatable),
through my mind pace/
slow
,
still . . . easy
no rush;
my love many years behind I
(no hurry, angel must exist
in hand as common medication)
(maybe relief).
tired in waiting, want to sleep-
want to hide my head in the bedspread
with hot steam to make
the breathing (Meditation
too difficult [my mind elsewhere]
when head ridden from distractions
in which to distract myself from)
. . . easier.
a common sick-
my meditation (unbeatable),
through my mind pace/
slow
,
still . . . easy
no rush;
my love many years behind I
(no hurry, angel must exist
in hand as common medication)
(maybe relief).
tired in waiting, want to sleep-
want to hide my head in the bedspread
with hot steam to make
the breathing (Meditation
too difficult [my mind elsewhere]
when head ridden from distractions
in which to distract myself from)
. . . easier.
and in the third heaven
And in the third heaven,
In that strange firmament
That seems very much like daily routine,
An angel appeared to me
With a prophetic message of love;
This was no message
Of common comprehension,
But a communication of movement,
A dance through that estranged
Crimson cloud lined world
That spoke through the rain streaked grey
(like mascara tear streaks
Down the face of god)
Lightly and beautifully tapping
On puddles, creating these
Symphony like indulgences
Yielding not just to desire,
But to the very exactness
Of love itself – in true form -
Being almost pulpous in matter
For its allowance of streaking splendor
Down every form of path,
Down every line of eternity.
This angel, she, cloaked finely
By the ages of pendulous light
Sang easily with every step,
Not a lyrical form,
But a more ethereal transcendence
Moving beyond common philosophy
With a silence of tremendous volume
Echoing such thought, such consideration
Of a true intellect with no definition;
No words bring to mind the absolute
Contentment in viewing such an angel,
Guiding me by no description,
But with a wraithlike vision
Of perpetuity that I could only cry to.
In that strange firmament
That seems very much like daily routine,
An angel appeared to me
With a prophetic message of love;
This was no message
Of common comprehension,
But a communication of movement,
A dance through that estranged
Crimson cloud lined world
That spoke through the rain streaked grey
(like mascara tear streaks
Down the face of god)
Lightly and beautifully tapping
On puddles, creating these
Symphony like indulgences
Yielding not just to desire,
But to the very exactness
Of love itself – in true form -
Being almost pulpous in matter
For its allowance of streaking splendor
Down every form of path,
Down every line of eternity.
This angel, she, cloaked finely
By the ages of pendulous light
Sang easily with every step,
Not a lyrical form,
But a more ethereal transcendence
Moving beyond common philosophy
With a silence of tremendous volume
Echoing such thought, such consideration
Of a true intellect with no definition;
No words bring to mind the absolute
Contentment in viewing such an angel,
Guiding me by no description,
But with a wraithlike vision
Of perpetuity that I could only cry to.
keeping tabs
Another ghost came a night ago,
Quietly sitting next my desk
Pulsating like the air itself,
I turned to view this apparition
And it simply slid like fog
Towards the wall and was gone;
These things were mainly for my childhood,
But still appear from time to time-
Not haunting me, but just
Checking in on occasion,
Like some school time friend,
Keeping tabs on reality, on perception,
On the very differences life creates
As one ages and is sure
To become apathetic towards reality itself.
In reality, no apparition may have been there,
But I was listening to Rachmaninoff,
Sipping vodka and reading bukowski –
When life is so beautiful
What you see and don’t see
Is really of no consequence.
Quietly sitting next my desk
Pulsating like the air itself,
I turned to view this apparition
And it simply slid like fog
Towards the wall and was gone;
These things were mainly for my childhood,
But still appear from time to time-
Not haunting me, but just
Checking in on occasion,
Like some school time friend,
Keeping tabs on reality, on perception,
On the very differences life creates
As one ages and is sure
To become apathetic towards reality itself.
In reality, no apparition may have been there,
But I was listening to Rachmaninoff,
Sipping vodka and reading bukowski –
When life is so beautiful
What you see and don’t see
Is really of no consequence.
may 14 2004 (3:04PM)
indifferent and desolate,
water shoot high at god (G)
with no outcome amiable-
fall still with no resolution;
unfinished water splash over
Carefully warn rock.
By age it is old / by beauty it
remain young and
run swiftly with vitality~
young Lady Grace ‘front
peripheral sentiment to water,
fair distraction to kiss lips
and dissuade thoughts of un- or sub-
continence that is far less
beautiful than she who satiates
a tangible product to my eyes:
water runs free and is never same _
each jump, each gust of wind to wave
fashions something new (even each guise, tough not destructive
nor detracting),
but the kiss feels the same on my lips
though retracts not.
water shoot high at god (G)
with no outcome amiable-
fall still with no resolution;
unfinished water splash over
Carefully warn rock.
By age it is old / by beauty it
remain young and
run swiftly with vitality~
young Lady Grace ‘front
peripheral sentiment to water,
fair distraction to kiss lips
and dissuade thoughts of un- or sub-
continence that is far less
beautiful than she who satiates
a tangible product to my eyes:
water runs free and is never same _
each jump, each gust of wind to wave
fashions something new (even each guise, tough not destructive
nor detracting),
but the kiss feels the same on my lips
though retracts not.
as a young boy
as a young boy
(or at least closer to my youth than now)
laying, distraught with
bright
lights
in hospital bed;
young nursing student
stood above me with
voluptuous breasts hanging
over my face-
“How do you feel Mark?”
my whole body ached
with contempt for itself,
at every given moment
I had felt like bursting
into tears and profanities
because my youth didn’t
always feel much for the better;
but with something
as marvelous as this to distract,
who was I to retort:
(sigh) “I’m feeling fine, thanks.”
(or at least closer to my youth than now)
laying, distraught with
bright
lights
in hospital bed;
young nursing student
stood above me with
voluptuous breasts hanging
over my face-
“How do you feel Mark?”
my whole body ached
with contempt for itself,
at every given moment
I had felt like bursting
into tears and profanities
because my youth didn’t
always feel much for the better;
but with something
as marvelous as this to distract,
who was I to retort:
(sigh) “I’m feeling fine, thanks.”
behind the sky
i could see the leaves
swaying in unimaginable directions;
all at once they tried to break free of one another
on the same limb stretching for different poles of the earth
while, below that, lightning illuminated every blade of grass -
there's music bursting through
at 50mph that dances with the trees,
heavy and dark with the masculinity
of a symphony by brahms,
as if they were waves being pulled by the moon.
every stretch of their peak movement
was a noticeable contrast against the backlight of the sky
and sky spoke out its bright protest
with more of god's breath heavily following,
"be still", i heard it speak, "you must give me way"
tree replied, "then make your way,
i have not the strength nor desire to fight."
the tree were strong, peaceful in reply -
the tree were bonding arm in arm with brisk submission -
the tree were many in all, but also one in all.
swaying in unimaginable directions;
all at once they tried to break free of one another
on the same limb stretching for different poles of the earth
while, below that, lightning illuminated every blade of grass -
there's music bursting through
at 50mph that dances with the trees,
heavy and dark with the masculinity
of a symphony by brahms,
as if they were waves being pulled by the moon.
every stretch of their peak movement
was a noticeable contrast against the backlight of the sky
and sky spoke out its bright protest
with more of god's breath heavily following,
"be still", i heard it speak, "you must give me way"
tree replied, "then make your way,
i have not the strength nor desire to fight."
the tree were strong, peaceful in reply -
the tree were bonding arm in arm with brisk submission -
the tree were many in all, but also one in all.
blues
did anyone ever look back
for everything I lost;
I think I’ll go back home where
the dogs chains are jingling, clanking,
with springs in their heels
while women hop, skip
towards a seaward captain
with his arms spread over the moon~
the children are suiciding off
the pier now, but only when the waves
are calm enough for the blues band
to make appearance to those sands
where a great pig roast is happening
and it’s all beat;
take a beat at the door where
the dance contest is wailing
Like horns of animals in
midsummer festivals, where
magical men their wands
over the virgin’s purities and
skips to a larger smile in the
blue - black - purple - and navy lagoon miles~
over the Brooklyn Bridge Blues where
children play games in the park
and soak, sink as
fire hydrants spray the street grass.
for everything I lost;
I think I’ll go back home where
the dogs chains are jingling, clanking,
with springs in their heels
while women hop, skip
towards a seaward captain
with his arms spread over the moon~
the children are suiciding off
the pier now, but only when the waves
are calm enough for the blues band
to make appearance to those sands
where a great pig roast is happening
and it’s all beat;
take a beat at the door where
the dance contest is wailing
Like horns of animals in
midsummer festivals, where
magical men their wands
over the virgin’s purities and
skips to a larger smile in the
blue - black - purple - and navy lagoon miles~
over the Brooklyn Bridge Blues where
children play games in the park
and soak, sink as
fire hydrants spray the street grass.
changing for you
i feel you jumping
through my hair and
turning my pages without my
consent;
i feel you drying the ground
and licking the sky with
a moist brush;
i hear fighting the
leaves with a hard punch
and
swiftly kicking the open waters;
i can tastes your stomp
across my lips and
your brisk change of
the seasons.
through my hair and
turning my pages without my
consent;
i feel you drying the ground
and licking the sky with
a moist brush;
i hear fighting the
leaves with a hard punch
and
swiftly kicking the open waters;
i can tastes your stomp
across my lips and
your brisk change of
the seasons.
popularity contest
sitting, stretched over
a burnt cigarette and
accommodating greetings -
pink finger tips
and, oh-
pink finger tips.
a ceiling tile slid open,
Fuck!
it’s all painted over
by some fat man who breathes too heavily.
my bed sheets smelled new,
fresh from the drier -
no stains, no stench -
like sunglasses in the dark,
cover darkness with darkness;
the good fall slow (torturously) -
common good not so popular, popular good not so common.
a burnt cigarette and
accommodating greetings -
pink finger tips
and, oh-
pink finger tips.
a ceiling tile slid open,
Fuck!
it’s all painted over
by some fat man who breathes too heavily.
my bed sheets smelled new,
fresh from the drier -
no stains, no stench -
like sunglasses in the dark,
cover darkness with darkness;
the good fall slow (torturously) -
common good not so popular, popular good not so common.
find beauty in the smile
Find beauty in the smile,
In the repose of comfort
Resting well against my arms;
Tenderly, hair strewn about
And my love planted
Carefully in her heart,
We embark ,wistfully,
Towards eternity joined.
Like the Yin and the Yang
We join as two
Becoming, separately, as One;
Never the same person,
Never the same thoughts,
But making difference beautiful
And making difference One.
My arms wrapped about her,
Contemplating the beauty
That rests against my lips,
Recognizing the honesty in love
And the peace in surrender.
I simply sigh towards
The firmament and announce:
“I have arrived”.
In the repose of comfort
Resting well against my arms;
Tenderly, hair strewn about
And my love planted
Carefully in her heart,
We embark ,wistfully,
Towards eternity joined.
Like the Yin and the Yang
We join as two
Becoming, separately, as One;
Never the same person,
Never the same thoughts,
But making difference beautiful
And making difference One.
My arms wrapped about her,
Contemplating the beauty
That rests against my lips,
Recognizing the honesty in love
And the peace in surrender.
I simply sigh towards
The firmament and announce:
“I have arrived”.
independent layers
smooth layers of rippled curtain
shook above the window sill
with velvet sparks of sunlight
upon every gust of wind;
in the living room, my book
turned a page without my
hand's assistance
and i smelled breakfast burning
through the crack in the wall.
on my coffee table a rose waved and pulsated
against the humidity and
boasted of its colorful petals
and i held my typewriter steady
on the independent wood grains
of my desk.
shook above the window sill
with velvet sparks of sunlight
upon every gust of wind;
in the living room, my book
turned a page without my
hand's assistance
and i smelled breakfast burning
through the crack in the wall.
on my coffee table a rose waved and pulsated
against the humidity and
boasted of its colorful petals
and i held my typewriter steady
on the independent wood grains
of my desk.
motions
sweat - turn. . . (sigh)
turn - sweat more (gasp),
wrestle covers (ahh!)
kick them off (no good)
wrestle sheets (ahh!)
kick them off (no good)
i stand (clock says 1:30 am
1:45 am
2:15 am
2:35 am)
i have to be awake in 3 hours;
if i fall asleep i am just going to sweat more (ffff!),
if i do not i will be too tired to stay awake (double edge).
sweat - turn. . . (sigh)
morning. . . (damn)
cat shakes tail in my face (hit snooze)
roll off (dis)comfort (shower)
clean now (nightmares washed away),
start again.
turn - sweat more (gasp),
wrestle covers (ahh!)
kick them off (no good)
wrestle sheets (ahh!)
kick them off (no good)
i stand (clock says 1:30 am
1:45 am
2:15 am
2:35 am)
i have to be awake in 3 hours;
if i fall asleep i am just going to sweat more (ffff!),
if i do not i will be too tired to stay awake (double edge).
sweat - turn. . . (sigh)
morning. . . (damn)
cat shakes tail in my face (hit snooze)
roll off (dis)comfort (shower)
clean now (nightmares washed away),
start again.
my wife, the form beyond form
the other night,
the other half of my bed
was vacant -
stirring in the air,
like a hot kitchen
with a canister of gasoline
spilling just passed the fire,
were the (undefined,) sculptures
wanting a meaning of the esoteric;
my absent half danced in the snow
wit
hout
or
f m ~
giving me everything i needed,
without (just a) an unconscious hand
she grazed at the edge
of the firmament
like a mist (light touch; grace and mercy.)
spraying a dieing child in the sun.
-giving pause 'til nothing is left-
i turn a few points
dusting up cat hair and a figure
on my head
still undefined and blowing
clouds--------------------puffing out
the space (here,)
in between
as, still dancing, miracle
captures my translation of
a simple harmony:
two opposing notes struck
by one composer,
one hand,
one love.
blue turn to shades and figures
of a sunset,
rest in (the unknown,) tranquil
intellectual (laying down as her beauty) mess.
(will comprise no match-)
when i awoke i stretched my leg aside
and still felt the space--------------between
(will amount to no true relative-)
and found a thought; (will know nothing real)
the angel in my dreams was dusted off long ago
and when i awoke, (of what it tries to steal.)
my heart palpitating fiercely,
i saw (at the end of morning tunnel vision)
her beauty
(there lay an end and a portrait.)
and realized it was much more
than a dream.
the other half of my bed
was vacant -
stirring in the air,
like a hot kitchen
with a canister of gasoline
spilling just passed the fire,
were the (undefined,) sculptures
wanting a meaning of the esoteric;
my absent half danced in the snow
wit
hout
or
f m ~
giving me everything i needed,
without (just a) an unconscious hand
she grazed at the edge
of the firmament
like a mist (light touch; grace and mercy.)
spraying a dieing child in the sun.
-giving pause 'til nothing is left-
i turn a few points
dusting up cat hair and a figure
on my head
still undefined and blowing
clouds--------------------puffing out
the space (here,)
in between
as, still dancing, miracle
captures my translation of
a simple harmony:
two opposing notes struck
by one composer,
one hand,
one love.
blue turn to shades and figures
of a sunset,
rest in (the unknown,) tranquil
intellectual (laying down as her beauty) mess.
(will comprise no match-)
when i awoke i stretched my leg aside
and still felt the space--------------between
(will amount to no true relative-)
and found a thought; (will know nothing real)
the angel in my dreams was dusted off long ago
and when i awoke, (of what it tries to steal.)
my heart palpitating fiercely,
i saw (at the end of morning tunnel vision)
her beauty
(there lay an end and a portrait.)
and realized it was much more
than a dream.
pleasant blues - chorus 4
sweating off the puzzlement,
trip black tarmac
in between parallel
line of car;
funny how people look
at cars without racism,
i mean, they're different colors too,
but put people inside
and all the difference has been made.
jesus knew something we didn't
DARK skin
WHITE skin
YELLOW skin
skinskinskinskinskinsinksinksinksinksinksinkitallcomestogetherinthesameplacewhetheryoulikeitornot
trip black tarmac
in between parallel
line of car;
funny how people look
at cars without racism,
i mean, they're different colors too,
but put people inside
and all the difference has been made.
jesus knew something we didn't
DARK skin
WHITE skin
YELLOW skin
skinskinskinskinskinsinksinksinksinksinksinkitallcomestogetherinthesameplacewhetheryoulikeitornot
pleasant blues - chorus 3
my stomach rumbled,
not by what i ate,
not but what i did not eat -
50 cents for carbonation
without the cure of a beer,
the sugar slipped good though.
clapping my hands
at myself
for no good reason,
but that i have lived:
in the mirror
i saw imperfection.
not by what i ate,
not but what i did not eat -
50 cents for carbonation
without the cure of a beer,
the sugar slipped good though.
clapping my hands
at myself
for no good reason,
but that i have lived:
in the mirror
i saw imperfection.
yellow perfection
i found myself
staring into a field of rapeseed,
feeling a euphoria
among the solid color
and breathing heavily enough
to notice the air's purity;
the wind blew ripely
in its age and moved
like a fairy in dance
across the tops of
each yellow perfection -
a tree stood lonely in the mix,
as beautiful as an angel
might appear in the firmament
if it were the sole proprietor
just standing, colored
by its surroundings
and soaking in glory.
at the tip of battle with my ego
from what stood behind me
i am neither tree nor angel.
staring into a field of rapeseed,
feeling a euphoria
among the solid color
and breathing heavily enough
to notice the air's purity;
the wind blew ripely
in its age and moved
like a fairy in dance
across the tops of
each yellow perfection -
a tree stood lonely in the mix,
as beautiful as an angel
might appear in the firmament
if it were the sole proprietor
just standing, colored
by its surroundings
and soaking in glory.
at the tip of battle with my ego
from what stood behind me
i am neither tree nor angel.
once, in hell
i walked in the bar,
immediately barraged with eyes
and lips moving against me
in nonsensical motions;
the bar tender slid some fancy
cold to the palm of my hand,
i am the one living the life
(apparently).
i looked out the window and
a child played in the street,
leaves beneath her feet
storming around,
a tornado of her imagination,
they crumbled to their end
in the rustle.
i watched her laugh at the sound
of them crushing by her will,
that crackling noise
when the dried leaves break
from the support;
her joy in destruction
was beautiful,
'cause she knew that
it would all grow back.
i was still being looked at
probably because i was
staring at a little girl,
but for all the right reasons;
to be reminded of life
and how desperate i am for life,
indeed.
immediately barraged with eyes
and lips moving against me
in nonsensical motions;
the bar tender slid some fancy
cold to the palm of my hand,
i am the one living the life
(apparently).
i looked out the window and
a child played in the street,
leaves beneath her feet
storming around,
a tornado of her imagination,
they crumbled to their end
in the rustle.
i watched her laugh at the sound
of them crushing by her will,
that crackling noise
when the dried leaves break
from the support;
her joy in destruction
was beautiful,
'cause she knew that
it would all grow back.
i was still being looked at
probably because i was
staring at a little girl,
but for all the right reasons;
to be reminded of life
and how desperate i am for life,
indeed.
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