With arms wide open

to receive ye
in my innermost
and must humble of shipdecks
shipwrecks if you must
for I was lost without ye
until ye came along
with arms wide open
now everything has changed
i'll show you love
i'll show you everything
to receive ye
in the palm of my hand
within a dream contained
for all the love of thyne worlds
in this Sphere O' Springs
I shall receive ye
with arms wide open
under the sunlight
welcome to this place
i'll show ye everything
for lack of love shall not be
this demand of tears upon you hair
failling to explain you my sacrifice
and how come you are still alive
in the middle of needles and bullets
and how come I'm still alive
because you are
with arms wide open
and tears of joy
WE"VE CREATED LIFE!!!!
with arms wide open...

Yours truly, Chaos

Night.
As I always told ye
'twas the end of the world
as stars and night
we called upon thee
summoned dear Lord
of frozen silk in the air
student strikes in San Juan
fallen teachers of fallen hair.
Night.
As I pictured it in me head
cleaning me glasses with raspy cotton
falling without earrings
and other shameful piercings
trying not to care about
this unread poetry
painting
writing
forever looking for the next
Night.
As I called it
upon the storm inside
me cup of Earl Grey
rotten Jasmine to me head
opening me ass further
with a tiny kitchen knife
just because I could and wanted.
Night.
Stars more alive than me
far away from me own satellite
as ye all kill me softly
with this song telling my whole life
with these words killing me softly
until I womit the few fireflies
I got me left.
Night.
Forever yours.
Yours truly.

Snow

Totem poel fits thy heaven
as sky goes rotten blue
over cold desert
with fine company
to fish inside perfect circles
where penguins go to dive
whether or not you want to call it the North Pole
I was there
rounding up some clouds
springs of liquid mana for the earth
reflecting on Eskimos
and how they got 400 words for snow
when I only got me 2:
your eyes.

Pageturner

So write
if I be reader of you
stand fast
if you cannot blame me
for dropping a book
at the very middle
if I can't turn another page
out of boredom
say,
have I ever read Paul Auster?
No? Shame on me!
Elfriede Jelinek?
No? Shame on me, mutherfucker!
Perhaps it be fantasy
and how Mr. Potter never drops me
like winds to one of the Walenda Brothers
for I can always trust ye
to help me turn thy page
to make me live again.

Saffron

If "safran" means writer
then I'm saffron
borne out of water and womb
pink, flames
a deathseeker with words
in times of too many mean nothing
in time sof too many writers
fighting for a space
consumed over and over
by thy flames
of nothing.
If Jew is "usurer"
then i'm sea
requesting this vacuum forever
until wind becomes red
filled with saffron powder
gun powder
born out of earth and womb
to go out in a bang,