Traversing Versus-A Liturgy of Sorts

8/3/2019 Traversing Versus-A Liturgy of Sorts

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Introduction: In my time of Dyin

Poems

PoemDark (K)night of My Soul (History - Lamentations - Psalms)EvaporatedTheosOn ThroughDry as the SaharaOh, AmericasPhysical NeedsEmbraced at a Midnight HourBackseat BluesLucid DreamsBLINK09/08/2011Rooftop of AmericaAbsurdityNo(a)ught Everythingsing, sing, singLiving breathing dreamsSpies Amongst the WheatShort & SweetCrutchJust a passenger on the train, headn' somewhereKalamazoodBloody brilliant, it is.

HelloChicago Days, Mellow Haze. (8/24/11)Wording...July 1st, 201123rd psalmPlaid DharmaIN HIND SIGHTSullen LoadShining as StarsVisions, Visions, ReVisions: Traversing Verses

ExtrasLiving Breathing (finished)Reworking of: Poem in praise of my husband

Entitled: Poem in praise of my future wifeAnd Im free


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Volume I:Lost Everything and Gained EternitySome thoughts are unthinkable, unless you are Reborn.


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Introduction: In my time of Dyin

Ive died to many things and many things have died in me. The dying tune of a canaryplaced in the coal mine. Not finding what was first pursued, just stumbling gracefully into thePenrose holy ascending/descending wholly ascending/descending ascending anddescending a perpetual cyclonic machine, the inseparable naivety to the inseparable ego. Perhapslost or found in wonderful dis-illusionment or utter bliss.

The naive pursuit of better teachings, stronger learning, factual truths, and a wide-spread seduction.A seduction to others, a seduction to instill others in a love for another place. A new Jerusalem, ahigher knowledge, the end to cycles. The reincarnations, rebirths, new deaths, stinketh no more.To find the eternal upward moving staircase. Every time, just finding, it dies within me.

Not sure if my ferryman days will come, the life of saint Christopher reached. Nothing gained fromthe flowing power of the raging river. The perpetual oneness of everything, never holding despairand joy as one. Dissecting it all into two sects, sinners and non I cannot gain wisdom asknowledge.

The canary doesnt sing to me anymore, he sits silent, let loose or dead. Maybe even my ego speaksover its beautiful song even the song could have never even existed, just a figment, an illusion ofmy own (and the world I have en-wrapped myself ins) creation. Created from my confusion duringnights, the nights that create confusion on their own. Speaking into your subconscious, playinggames with the Penrose of the insane ones mind. Cheap tricks and petty games, alluring to thesenses, the want, the wanting and learning. As if such is gained. As if Ive gained anything at all.


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Poem

- Any given door is closing

Praying those bastard beads back in those days,tying them seven crossed knots while chanting Frannys insanity.

Coincidence or not being stopped, pondered as Saints,a Saintly glow you say?Look after him, last mans name synonymous to our savior, was crossed himself.

- Free the people

Pour lonesome compassionate betrayerTurned away for insanities sake and dreams forever.

Dark (K)night of M y Soul (History - Lamentations - Psalms)

Drowned in scotch, bathed in righteousnessthis life lead unprotected, unscathednearly made it to the enddigging that shallow gravetomorrow awaits; todays left in peril

Pursue no footsteps left behindno one dare lead such a lifesaddle up, ride back homesip at the gin with a grin

no need to face such peril

as night settled, eyes glistenedbeauty is seen from this cellburning supple flame, dark (K)night of the souloh Beauty, rescue me now!oh great freedom, bestowed upon me now

Evaporated

Lightening cracks

Here comes the sun & rainA harbinger of doom & gloomDreamy wet cement day.

My poems are wearytho I am a joyous soul at heartA playful childPerception has a glossy despairing filter


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Cannot turn off the brain

Dear God,why was I created this way?In your image, Imago DeiAre you as neurotic as I?As self doubting and making it up as you go type?Sometimes, it seems as tho your as fallible as the pope.Did you mean for it to be this way oris the blame solely our own?What a burden to ownNo, I have not yet forgotten the son.Such condolences paid still my heart tares.

If the tree ever bore fruitsit appears sheep even wolves would

prepare to destroy the ripeningthe ripened spirit.Along with it, evaporate!

Theos

Despite the inquiry of such; I departDepart from these weary landsfilled with anguish traversing pathsquestioning of which, depths of faith.

No longer warm, no longer soughtout of sight from peaks aboveDisbarred from joy: pry these lips from upon this alter!Reap from what you sow no more

Vast the distance, silent the pathdestruction awaits, peering in my soulgazing down the barrelHow bitter and cold this night.

On Through

Meandering pandering down the roadfrom shooting star to rising sunpassionate bursts in directions soughtinto set breezes passn

Encompassing madnessprudent sense of indiscretions


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laden path set indolencein the course of time perhaps idiotic

live recklessly youngmuch seen from keen eyesgin filled grin from the top window inchaotic in flight; one to the next

this coppered-eyed angel seen from afarwaving on high, to the gatherers belowthis coppered-eyed miserypan handling on-lookers: grace

madness flows like a streamnever ending righteousnessholds up like a never shaking mountain

interchanging gospel lensesdrifting towards insanitymadmen raging yelling crowing screechinghopelessly preaching

lending single lensestruth of Truths, beyond all measuresocially inept, physically staturein shadows Romanesque manor

rough round edgesKierkegaards withering ironic eternal flowerlove for all its worthfinding haystacks among needles

all the intently derived narrativesvacantly speaking forward in timeintensity high, the end is nighnow gazing out, pondering so

Dry as the Sahara

Friends, Shes burning.Wait

She's burnt. Trifecta infestation.Chin deep in the shit held dear.

Phase one: First come first served.Took the bait, the bermensch into obscurity,


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Nothing.Starring into oblivion,

bonfire filthy evening.

Phase two: pouring rain, onward warmthRed pearl whiskey, come along, Alaska

Never mind madmen & their ravings.Live the now,

Dontcha know?

Make way forPhase 3: Promise to stay, we never will.

Wanderlust takes holdSelf-deprecation burdened with boredom

wins 9 times outta ten.

Let her pieces fall adrift,someone else will pick up that mess.

I cant bear to look at her shes burnt.

Oh, Americas

A generation of burnouts, no longer stars. Stabbed in the back by a rusty crucifix, decipheringthrough justice. Our greatest minds falling prey to causality. Beating hearts of truth felt deep, seenfriends go mad on contradictions wake. Self-deception seems fit, so fight we must - aimless andfaceless we fight amongst us.

Established as crazy, far gone by the majority society sees fit. Street art leads the way, for the ratspull astray. Oh, Americas, where do you lay? Why do you laugh so? Chuckle at my contradictorybehavior.

My slacking lazy bones, even this willy-nilly stature upheld.

We underground men, filled with laziness. Stuck are we in conundrums wake. Oh, how it is ever aspectators game. Americas watch us burn with limp minds and dull bodies. Americas, watch theseflaming paradoxes. These smoldering ends.

Baffled onlookers gaze on, the generations baffled travelers. Unceasingly praying and constantlysmoking onward down the road.

Physical Needs

Totally blown & torn from mindless monotony.Frayed boiled burned and yokedFuckn A! Man down.


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Embraced at a midnight hour

Embraced at midnight.Rain trickled down

The Turkish camel lit blaze,

Glowing orange embers enhancing those freckles.

Dont fret, the light is mine.No problem in sharing since dusk weve shared grains of sand.

Excuse my ecstatic behaviorAll my wanting is in this warmth.

This midnight embrace of sensual warmthIts gorgeous, so brilliant.

Backseat Blues

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The sycamore tree pine dawns a waking hour: A silhouetted attrition. Sores scathing white puffymildew, the cicadas skin tears anew. Inhaling petrichor, dust of old glistening spotlight.

2.

MyLiver strained from alcoholic tendencies. Skin bathed in the pain, scarred map of the past.Circulatory respiration barely enough. Scattered patters of cognition.Thoughts stray my ecclesiology hurts.

3.

If only life would allow simply living,morning brew under chirping tree.Whitman by the lake, freedom for all.Intrigue as high as aspiration.Greed lower than hunger.All of these idealist ideals for the youth left non-corruptible,unscathed no apathy but time wears us all...

4.

Towering shadows, darkness too harsh.Settling grey medium. Its a white out blinding uncertainty.

Spectators gawk in awe, companions post bail from the grey binding veil.

Lucid Dreams

I had said, I was living a dream Id never wake up from.Saying it never could make a difference. Still on the path.

Streets covered in French tracts


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Racecar racecar racecarsSpelled the same forwards & back.

Living a thousand stories with a thousand peoplewhile in the end, being a sheer story, none the less.

Its a raggedy mess in here,to hell with organizing... where was I?

Oh yes, gothic buttresses, holding cracked cleavage rocks,process, process, processing ornament detailsroot of all 3vi1.

Hunger wanting/seeking curiosity.Hunger, being a fine spice.

Still a story, in the end seemingly a lucid dream to everyone else.

BLINK

Went to a party, as a viewer.Watching a movie with a projectorrarely an actor. Just an instigatorOminous prospector,

For when I do nothing,

nothing does.

When I try to run, I fall.if I walk I go nowhere.When I drink, Im never drunk.When Im drunk, I never drank.If I blink, Ive fallen asleep.If Ive slept I had only blunk.Im full when Ive eatenI havent eaten in days.

I go to see twilight tho its mid-morning when I do.

Its never evening anymore, night has passed me by.My holy script carved clean, the flask chalked full.This typewriter says more than I, not sure Ive said anything at all.

Blacked out there

My lids open, Im vision heavy.The mind is weary from the unseen dreams.


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the draping curtainsin light of orangish/bluesfalling round curvespeering down the mountain tops

flowing peaks of Coloradoorange/purple rooftops to smooth grasslandssearching the towering pillarsfrom top to bottoms Ive lookedkeeping each measureon the rooftop of America

Absurdity

I wish to read more than I write you crazy harlot, what a paradox, a world with no odes nor prose tothose before. Never have we met, your heart could be shining gold, only heard you rambling on oneday. Twas a Sunday, a lulling boring passing day.

No(a)ught Everything

Splatter and splash, Im in this shadow you cast.Far and beyond; combust if I must.Flames, burning twirling brightly.Graffiting skylines, feeding the auroras

From Borealis to Australis

Grasped still by shadows cast, sploshing and splashing about.Ought naught fight it, nought is all returned.Bending breaking the withering treeWhat that was, was never me.

sing, sing, sing

Dictations, dictations, dictationsI acquit, opposing the fifthstay quiet I shant!sing little bluebird sing

as if winter never cameas if fields and meadows have sustainedjet through the blue skyfly little bluebird flyfor its all you canamend, amend, amendfor its all we canflying amongst the cage


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even the bird is caged to the skysing little bluebird singits all you can

Living breathing dreams

Living countless lives and dying to them countless times you begin to lose grip. Her head on mychest, such soft hair and then Im out of breathe. It feels good, not like suffocating though, the out ofbreathe after a good work out. Feeling better than ever, compression of the chest. This is themoment, right here, the moment I live for. Tea and peace under the nights sky, pulling her into mybreast. Nothing left, silence settles into our bones. Deep down into our souls, a supple tranquility.Our discussions telepathically linked. Not a word ever spoken, just her head to my chest. As if thatsall thats left. I smirk, wrapping her weary head ever closer. So many countless lives and dying tothe times, gripping to hold this one alive.

I wake up, twas a dream.

Spies amongst the Wheat

Shredding hurricane drained this city. I made way through the veil, it was such an elegant facade.An idle puddle remains, its whats left of your pride. Fleeing from terror, you erect spies amongstthe wheat as protectors from the tares. Though, here Im standing, standing within city limits, whereeyes seldom rest. In the center of the storm, where there is nothing left.

Short & Sweet

- Rachel was first and misunderstood -

- Ari was poor in hindsight, I had forgotten myself -- Sophia was convenient yet, necessary -- Diana got away -- Rachel was childish ambition -- All the Sarahs ended the same -- Kelly was Kelly, no changing her -- Roberta was a usual mistake, had forgotten myself once again -- Diana will never be -- the trio came and gone, so it goes -- Lindsey never connected -- Emily the philosophical disaster -

- Alicia placed an ultimatum -- Rae never knew my name -- Though, for you unknown -

Crutch

Such a poor soul, wont anyone help you along?Is there nothing better, than some war-torn duality?


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Some drenched dichotomy soaked by deserts sun.Speaking minds chasm, sweaty and forlorn, yet seldom consoled.Wondering, Oh where, where has that crutch gone?

Its never far that damn crutch is never far.

Just a passenger on the train, headn' somewhere

1. Starting:The anxious settlingstomach all tied in knotstossing, turning, sleepless nightsall nerves at easetraveling is settling in these veinsand havent yet departed

2. Despite surroundings:When it appears everyone is lyingpush and pull to pry the underlining meaningno more allegories, poetics nor prosestraight truth of what your meaning

3. Shes distracting:Its a cool breeze on the summers daysupple rain during a dry heatluscious greens and blues transcend all thingsbut those smiling dimples with breezy brown hairs

keep me focused all day

4. Shes irritating:her dazed and confused pale dayswhen all changesmumbled words, mixed in errorsone hundred eight degreeswhere the hell did it go, unsettling

5. Only one for me:Remember that day, we acted married

the 25 cent ring, for ten minutes morewould give to infinityjust for one minute back there

Just mixed up confusion

and Lord its killn me., Dylan

6. Goin Home:


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Just passengers on the trainheadn somewhereThank God, nowhere but hereHeadn over Jordan, Im headn home

7. What would you do?:Pick me up Ive fallenwhile meeting someone newI wonder what youd be thinknThis Ill never knowIll never know

8. Ill stand idle:anxiety restingstomach filled with whiskey and coffeeapathetic towards the sleepless nightsnerves all shotthe minds only at ease traveling

Kalamazood

- Got the blues, fleeting Kalamazoo Blues -White calloused canvas scattered bluffs,

caged raving madness bound curving, weeks at a loss.Wednesday morning the avalanche prevailed, cruising frayed composure for the moment.

Optometrist revealed a sparrows flight, forthright.

The crow fought, bright lights flickered & doves emerged.Reset vision, grey laden waste apathetic persuading onward.

Through the VOID, down the rabbit hole,fluffy bunny tail muffled since fluffy white clouds.

Dim-days ahead.Calloused sales manaroused by a sale.Purchaser questioning departure,gladly the man calls the toll.

Down through that hell hole,

is darkness, utter darkness .

Bloody brilliant, it is.

Slow walks as the demon tauntsMy every waking hour; insomnia rampantWhat I have left, seems unsettlingJust normality: Except this stigma of insanity


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Tis Bloody brilliant; considerably overwhelmingif only to will One thing.Consistency being the inconsistentnothing more than theories, sooner or later.

paying respect to those at restMy every waking hour; voices rampantit appears as though, Im aloneas always, its Greek to me.

Ill defy the stars to prove it sostriving the usual mistakemissing the now, the bigger tomorrowis this normality? This stigma and its insanity

Hello

Hallo, fellow merchant,sit down,

ponder a moment,Are we merchandise?

Personalization is key.,when the day ends numbers proclaim more than time paid.

Feed integrity, disavow dem nights,

Ill go drink my wine & cork it so,every drop replenishes the soul.Each poem bring clarity.

One day Ill leave,Youll leave,

Well leave.Well depart from whom we are.

It's a matter of when or where.I lied, no matter of where nor when.

Thats the scotch talkn.

The matter is who you become,

Pardon thats the tea brewn out of me.Such beauty transcends these vices.Switching to whiskey in this late hour.

Over come not with evil, but the common reality.Taste:

A burning warmth set back to drink,We shall see whats next, mi amigo.

We shall see indeed.


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Chicago Days, Mellow Haze. (8/24/11)

1.

Monumental decision, everlasting precision, tormented revision.Poor Allen set adrift. Sought solace, the rift claimed more than ever.

OH, Holy Allen crave no longer the hunger is a burden, such wanting is a temptation. Speak likeOscar, resisting anything but temptation. Brought upon soul mutilation, salvation in flux, in darktimes just needed the bucks. Were outta luck , Allen.

2.

All the people reading papersI feel a lacking for contemporary societyas if solitude is far from the normality, shall I persevere?

3.

Click, Clack, click textnJumbled headphones blastnAmplified selflessened us

4.

Brown line to the loopBoop, beep- be bopR2 - chasing machine,What!?

5.Lines-Lines-beverage-Lines AskewIn view, masses perpetuate halls.Ive lost my view.Trash can Chinese man, little English speaking man.Lead my way down the hall,RightLeftLong and over.Right hauled down the line.

Spaniard, explained my way homeward bound.The china man only knew the destined plain, not where I came.

6.

Moisturize me, new feelings: Wibbly wobbly flop and drop.Dried Bones its notta, but a farce.Mind clearing technique, impossibility.Tis closest Ive been, closest Ive been.


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Wording...

Darkened Riverdale Avenue,where a shooting occurredtwelve days ago,were a block away.

Realizing the reality,little white poetry boy.Big city limits nowhere near home.Bigger issues then coyotes among hens.

But thats alright, says a man passn.Feeln the aura of souls collidin.

All aboard, north bound once again,

my new cohort smells of cheese-its.Hunger tickles me,Pain is a word much too strong.

July 1st, 2011

Dear Tree,

You are an It to me.A Thou you shall never be.Ya bastard, Tree!

Love,Me

23rd psalm

The World is my oysterI shall cherish it;I shall enjoy lush green pastures.Lead there beside still waters;rejuvenating thy soul.

Leading me in paths of righteousnessunder the shady pines.

And though I shall journey through the VOIDin which death lingers on,I fear not;For the universe provides;These pastures, these people, these circumstances comfort me.


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Perhaps granted with good karma, mercy shall followfor as many days Im granted;and I shall dwell in the house of the lord, for now.

Plaid Dharma

Hustling brown haze passn by,cattle movin on down the line.Bustling from one place to the next,noise piercing - the lingering silence holds nagging.

Attention averted: Shining plaid elegance,an aura of Buddha glimmering smiling sunshine peace.Delicately delivering a piece to me: crossing trains in grey sneakers.

Brown matted hair pressed straw organic natura l beauty.

Such a fleeting moment, such a coy smile.Peering mirrors passing image less breezeswarmth is all around.Feeding to keep moving on, towering inferno has much more, once you opened up to the worldaround.

Tea, coffee, cold brew in the evening, dusk settles with meditation rampant through the night.

IN HIND SIGHT

A disciple of the wall

&A wall of the disciple

Gave it all, turning back from stench & grimeseeping from pores, drenched in sweat.It never left

My wall, my god, my biblical story& an enlightenment in forestry.

Im not the dirty grime of reason,Slowly eroding in time.

Neither are you.Still children of bright mourning hikes

Naked dips in streams,Cold rock walls amongst friends,A built guild of Elohim creation.

TyingCrying


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PryingWe climb the orange sunset diligently.

Sullen Load

Shore blew a breeze inland, California, Coloradah, Chicagah, where the abode awaited a sign.Expecting such heavens, a pleasant whisper, Newtons falling apple.

Unappealing calling, made way drifting passing virtuous nothing, calm acceptance.Its not what it seems.

Appearing dream-like: city rats squabble never timid, never shy, always nigh. Pesky things, bobbing,listening, judging vultures.

Breach the walls, you shantReach the heart, blew the chancefickle women

lone deceiverIm a(lone) rangershocking relief, lake effect draft passed way.Dignified rest,

Find your belief, a peace.

Numbing procedure; awake for it all. detaching strings. tracked to hell and back. Blood spurtsduring the caravan journey, tumble weed infested patches back to west Texas. Where everythingsbigger, extremes heightened.

Surgeon put me under,

the dream ends,Ive awaken.

Shining as Stars

Baffling this greatest questioningSubjected to such ongoing turmoilbeyond my own known; fear and trembling

Shining like stars, streaming through cosmosA rigorous strenuous depravity of salvation.

Rejoice in perseverance, blameless- no longer facelessthe crooked children:Fully anxiousFully doubtingin humble reverence to Thee


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Though I am lost, may never be foundAlways runningAlways laboring

Forever poured and empty, Fear and trembling beset me, horror has overwhelmed me.

Seized in awe of your questioning.Thine eyes opening.

Visions, Visions, ReVisions:Traversing Versus

Flashing red blue lights bright in the night sky.I don't know why.Smelling bacon as James Deans belting brawn and masculine mischief.Dean exchanging looks with Sal, changing roles, seamless.Rules were meant for the breaking.Cops walk with our "Filth" on their soles.

Fast forward,Sunday morning of September 24th,that wasn't the date at all.Such a lulling boring day,Sunday yet blessed none the less.Let us not forget.

Unorthodox praising,

fulfilling joyous occasion.James Dean, belting yet again from Arlo's lips.Rambunctious congregation,no congestion here.Play it frilly haired sister, enjoy it my dear friends.I'll be quiet, till Alter call.

The crazy burrito calls out, we answer.Singing a tune,praying a liturgy of traversing tales,traveling prayers and comical reenactments from Chaplin's tramp.

Deans' in the 50's, OH! That's where we've been?Could you deep fry this cheesecake?Excellent.Beautiful.

Visions of the future & present & past before...Anne wearing leather,


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Arlo in plaid red upon the floor flipping vinyl at 3 in the morn.

"the nights ever so young."

Fumbling for tea, she beat us to it.

"Feeling as young as the night that's present."

Yawping into the string theorists rational,through things done and undone.

"You smell of coffee and cigarettes, what a lucky day, aye?"

This moment shall pass, strings undone...please, Don't go...please stick around, captivate my thoughts.

Take my thoughts captive.These visions of past, present and future.

Visions, visions, visions, revisions...

Self-gratifying chaos, in which I accept but does it accept me?


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Living breathing (finished)

Laying upon the grass, hidden from any company passing by. The garage and car keep a good cover.Anyhow, if anyone is looking Im only a mere earshot away.

Stargazing is magnificent with tea, these stars never really change, typically the same unlike home,which grows ever more distant, each time I travel back.

Lost in time and space, time skips forward as in a dream. Quickly jumping to my feet to see,something changed. Appears a truck is here, a security truck. Must be a visitor for Arlo. Also, mymotorcycle is moved.

Deciding I should just lay back down, drift once again. Taking a sip, a girls voice resounds byasking for me. Casually arising, like a dream I arrive at the truck almost instantly. Its Molly, howcould I forget? She had my cousin today. Sensing an issue I bring my cousin inside, lay her to reston the couch.

My attention averts to Molly, all my senses, feeling unrest. Molly, come lay next to me. Have sometea.

Living countless lives and dying to them countless times you begin to lose grip. Her head on mychest, such soft hair and then Im out of breathe. It feels good, not like suffocating, the out of breatheafter a good work out. Feeling better than ever, compression of the chest. This is the moment, righthere, the moment I live for. Tea and peace under the nights sky, pulling her into my breast. Nothingleft, silence settles into our bones. Deep down into our souls, a supple tranquility. Our discussionstelepathic. Not a spoken word to speak of, only her head to my chest. As if thats all thats left. Ismirk, wrapping her weary head ever closer. So many countless lives and dying to the times,

gripping to hold this one alive.

I wake up, twas a dream.

Losing everything and just maybe, gaining another eternity.

Poem in praise of a future wife

Poem I am rewriting: Poem in praise of my HusbandBy: Diane DI Prima

Supposing we lived together I doubt it'd be easy

With sudden dips of behavior and emotional twistsbetween privacy & publicity

Consistent pride while weeping between your bosom in bedas you tried to sleep

And you interrupting me in the middle of the many poemsDid I buy the bus pass? the time you stopped a poem

In the middle of Coloradah mountains & passed Nebraska, Dylan singn',


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the whole world singn' in meThe triumph of revolutionary freedom

About to write it down, then youyou say something about the orator

So those thoughts sailed on.

But we cling to one anotheras if each thought the other was the raft

and she adrift alone, as in the mud houseNot big enough, the walls pouring down around us, a fine dusting rain

counteracting the good, high air stuffing our nostrils.

Hanging our pictures of several worlds:Olivet Nazarene, & windy city Chicago posters, set out our folksy dishes,

glasses of wine, hammering parchment diagrams into the abodewe stumble thru silence into each others gut

Blunders thru from one wrong to the nextLike children who snuck out for rooftop nights

As if the roof floats away,& they gaze upon the stars

About which they know nothing,to find out

Where they are going.

And Im free

Im free,

free as a bird freeFree no underwear free

Flop where I like, Commando free!

Bottle of wine free,Fresh joint twilight night free.

Wildly running mourning hour riverbed dreaming freedom.Freedom of Saint Francis preaching to birdsOn a mid-summers dream mellow haze free

Shallow as the stream maybe,My heart beats,

My joy an ocean deep.

Traversing Versus-A Liturgy of Sorts

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