High

Remember the pastures
when we walked as bacteria
among the Earth
being nothing to Her
but shapeless forms
trying to evolve into beings
that could better regard her beauty
too bad we could not be gods
and had to settle with humans
try to remember
when you were cloud
almost nothing to the Sky
floating wild
and high, carelessly high in the Sky
with no fear for lack of oxygen
but high, cause beauty is never better seen
thatn from high above int he Sun
burning with earrings of solar fire
stars caressing your eyes
with their explosions
thousands of millennia ago
sometimes it’s hard to believe
you’d remember me.

Reverie

I was gathering wool
out of the many sheep
that jumped over my fence
two hours ago when i was trying to sleep
but now it’s all and unpractical theory
that Unisoms or Ambiens
shall make me sleep this night
let the Lord rejoice
joyful, joyful
i do not adore thee
but call me in this reverie
of unknown ultimare origin
give me the power
to stay awake and write
give me the power
summoned Lord inside me
to draw genius from my daydream
let me sin like never
giver of immortal happiness
fill me with the dark
of the days passed
when they were not known as days
let me gather golden wool
golden fleece
i shall be Greece’s best Argonaut
the Celtic bravest warrior
while counting sheep
jumping over white fences
while i shut down this synapses
with two Ambiens and one Unisom,
a bit of vermouth
and tons of wicked thoughts gone astray.

Nyctalopia

don’t you dare
tell me you haven’t
thoughts of suicide
‘cause it’s just a thought
of the night blindness, blind night
I have been better
if you want to ask
thanks to feng shui
fresh linen, recently ironed pants
green shrubs in my garden
and other tricky plants
I haven’t lately thought of suicide
although it’s just a thought
come to me recently with the dark
i found a dot in the map
you gave the other day
it says Hell-Hill
I say Elsewhere
I’m gone daddy gone
to the crazy gospel of the Jones
fresh linen, recently ironed shirts
white, white, white
downtown,
don’t you dare, don’t you dare, don’t you dare,
DONT YOU DARE
tell me I’m crazy
I’m not that crazy
stopping you with my right hand
Hand of Fatima, Hand O’Glory, give me a break
break me in stone
if you want me to live
as long as you think I should
for I’ve been having bad thoughts
although just thoughts.

Nymphaeum

Go to the grotto
where it all started for us
according to Johnny Walker
the mud was in cakes
and the chocolate in the skin of slaves
as we walked and walked
past those fields in the wheat belts of Bible
where fellow folk still practice
a form of ancient magic
it was tih the blues that it all started
in that shrine, very far inside the grotto
I consecreated to you
with my buttcheeks incredibly wide opened
my own personal nymphaeum
dedicated to you
my love of many a shaved hair on chest
of such a baby face
30-something year old man
pronounce the words of power
to open this temple of you
say “please be mine”
and I shall open my behind
answering “please, make me yours”.

Whistle

Whistle,
whistle-me-not
as I try to perform
or maybe not,
God knows I cannot hold an erection
for too long
whistle-blower
do not annouce this illegal activity
at the back of your yard
do not fingerpoint
as I’m plowed in and out
by phallic objects
and other nonsense
for we know I only do it
out of spiteful vengeance
against myself
be it in public or inside a picket fence
whistle,
whistle-me-not
enjoy the sight but do not fingerpoint
or call the police
‘cause this is revenge
against myself
for getting the “cookie monster”
inside of me
along with phallic objects
and other nonsense.

Persimmon

Don’t be afraid to be weak
‘cause this poem has a fruity aftertaste
go to the Southern bayou belle
telling you not to mix your acerolas
with her carefully woven
and tendered with care
Japanese persimmons
in Cayun voodoo soil of hoodoo
return to yourself
to your cry,
to the tears of hardwood destiny
the one that you carved with your hard work
the persimmons you brought me
last year
go back and don’t be afraid
of this poem with a fruity aftertaste
‘cause the bayou belle
won’t forgive you
if you astray.

Galore

Give love,
but don’t go
spreading love’s galore
like butter in bread
‘cause the commandment
was to love thy neighbor
not to give ‘im some sugar
‘case he might give you some
in return
cake in the oven
or crabs in thy pubes.

Wigwam

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
whether Algonquian or Abnaki
Snowcloud-Walks-Best-in-Air
she was scorned in the wigwam
back in rez
when Reagan was the prez
she was cute
to my mother when she was me
to my grandma when she was ma
hating the guts of man
for many rapings and wife-beatings
bulls were drowned in booze
as were the buffalos of this area
much drunk like
Bald-Eagle-I-Can’t-Fly-Anymore
if me feathers and me are cut to zero ground
hell hath no fury like a child scorned
whether Hispano, Hippy (with capital H),
or simply mixed up in the melting pot
of England, Ireland and far-fetched Puerto Rico
you should see me in the air tonight
walking like Snowcloud-Walks-Best-in-Air
taught my grandma, who taught my ma,
who completely forgot
and I had to remember,
by means of pure reminiscense
brilliant white hair becomes us
canyon wrinkles in our faces
in the wigwam
our faces are wigwams
we dare to survive.
Hell hath no fury like us.

Propeller

Crone me out out this crown
walk me all the way
to the River Styx
where the cruising awaits
crossing to the otherside
with a propeller at the back of the boat
to take advantage of the boreals
just get me there already
don’t take the long road
make haste
and let the gremlins in this forsaken machine
rejoice in the pain
of cancer in my bones
for in Hell, that is the sweetest sting
propell me to Hell
violent the flames blue, green, red
burn my fury into nothing
for compared to You, His Infernal Majesty
i’m nothing
not even a drop of Styx
not even a sparkle of the multitude of thy torches
insert an umbrella in the back of me
and open it in fire
open fire to my guts
that my pain shall be nothing
compared to Yer name
Dark Lord of Infernal Glory
many are thy names
but they escape me
as the cancer in my bones escapes too
to this mind that shall marry yours
as soon as i get to the otherside
of these many tears i cried the Styx
i shall get there
if Ye lend this propeller
some of thy fire and power
so that i can impale myself
in thy Hellish Majesty.

Satellitium

Stargazing is not as powerful
as belonging
to the scrying hearts
of celestial bodies
in that chain of lights we call Orion
as my father told me once
that we descend from the starts
that indeed we come from Nephilim
the star children of Orion
that the Kybalion is as true
as its Kabbalah counterpart
always urging us forward
telling us its not such a bad thing to be enclosed
whether it be in a closet, or in ourselves
stars are always there
to guide us to the King
bless the child ‘cause he’s been born
in the middle of the satellitium
the chain of Orion
enbedded in our minds
for we were not there
never there
but that is why
as my father always said
stargazing is not as powerful
as belonging.

Anchor Lays

I believe live near the lighthouse
to the lighthouse I go in books
if God can muster
and master his Creation Equation
and teach it to us all.

I dig deep in waters
of his abysmal dread and beauty
waters of cloud and moonlight
fog and waste
fish and marrow
to search for your truth only
never mine
as I will always live near the lighthouse
to give off my light
and guide your ship
through moonless, stormy nights
when I could care less for tornadoes of wind and water
and the will o’ wisps in trees nearby
if you know that I mean, those that are dead
and look to take care
of our own wicked ways.

Sing me your lay
ballad of the anchor
with which I ground my neck
with the Ropes of the Saint
in order to believe in Me
and only Me
and the power of Me
as I make you come
become
created…

Electricity

That shadow in the sky
it looks like rain
or my sister magus
the one they called witch
electric witch
“fosforito” burning the candle at both ends
electricity is in the air
instead of love
when my sister magus is around.