this poem-throne of fluff
pon' which I sit
disqualifies me
from the recitation of
the vast swipe of a moment
yet the moment
incites these words
your insides condensate
yet you’re a part of the One
under
It’s
constant smile
as
It
feeds you
plasma intravenously
along with all the stars
that expand their coronaries
like a prophet in a stupor
and comatose
two nights ago
thanks to a
pool of effective customer service
and the wine
yet at the same time
I openly admit
the symbol of the All
hidden in 3-D V.R.
where I jack-in for peace
while at the same time
convinced of my own Mind
alas and alack
piles of brown
turn inwards
into themselves
while I return
to the old schedule
with pants off
living in an America
of pink lights
and restless words
that revolve around a glass box
and underneath
who knows?
be still O happiness
for a British schoolboy
responds to you
quietly
he evades conventional
outmoded glaucoma
like the Greek monuments that stand
between periods of abstinence
like fine objects
reminders of office supplies
it’s not over
now I dig a grave
and invite an enemy
to a bit of my heart muscle
on a hero for the journey
the object of this earth
is to lie to the institute
but be at peace
and drive
alcohol poisoning
and teriyaki
I was told later
prompts a smile
until the desire for union
shines
and rejuvenates the elections
barely into the ocean of '86
I find G_d
He is a white rancher
forever great
who treads in black socks
before the Truth
the poem of the air
he throws flowers up there
to float with impulses
that pulse
like belief
like air in the bloodstream
as we sit in misery
on His earth
beneath His Generous Buttocks
of the Ages
for he sees things as they are
after words
and as we write the words
uttered by The Mechanical Tongue
of His own
out-there reality
calm and courageous
along the way
the truth comes forth
bellows
and flaps
with strength
but the Parthenon is superior
studies show
with it's air of enigma
beyond even the creator
but here back on earth
I ride the bus
walk in the forest
drive by
as I hear a roar overhead
and think,
does she see as I vomit?
again and again?
at least it wasn’t
on the blessed veranda
that divine dump
but never mind
with confidence
return to acceptance
to ensure survival
lure me in
from the murky hours of 3AM
with its
late staggerings
by the side
of The Great and Meaningless Void
that Hungrily Awaits for No Reason
as I cry from atop the hotels
as a drunk cycles around trailers
as I wonder about the fire
of the present
that burns
out
so what if one shoves
a child
as he visits his proud defender
in a bar
in San Francisco
and onto Fremont
blooming
on the bank
of love-lakes
but the fact is
we deny instincts
that salivate over a fight
and assemble thoughts
together randomly
the cruel fertilization
for the seed-soul of wonder
while the family
implores you pause
before you act
or speak
from within the light
of your own insight
poems of influence
are a muscular system
that thrive
where 'they' ban the light
so let the specialists protect my rights
as I'm drunk
on lakes of my best interest
see
the sun set
my joy in red
so I do it all
pursue the wealth
through seasons numerous
become my own experience
once I even work wearing a collar
until the Parthenon spake
thusly
look with your eyes
saw off your hand
if not in tune
with the Higher Truth Beyond
the lamppost
encircled in vines
beside
a young child in San Francisco
I must report
that I set many a trap
for at least ten people
while 'happy' at a bar
with lectures
you might expect from an officer
who reports
the discovery
of a conspiracy
of a thought-filled insurrection
doubling as disinformation
yet here in Union Square
I cannot bear family
that is how the hangover starts
unconscious
somewhere