I remember your hair when it turned black.
It reminded me of reflection off the lake
As night rolled in from daylight.
I saw ravens circling around
And the nightlife lights shining neon
In a jet set latex of thrills.
It was 70s underground
That had no part in funk.
I remember how tight the black looked,
How sharp it felt and cleanly it cut.
I could see space ships taking off
Into an outer limit that redefined blackness
With foreign substances like black holes and galaxies.
But most of all, I remember how much life
Existed within those black walls,
How friends moored for comfort
And looked for desire and found life
And how even your stare
Was pure blackness through my eyes of sight.
I remember your trance,
And how looking into it intrigued me so much,
That I knew of nothing else but the
Strange affliction it had on my pulse.
Today black is all I wear.
I cloth myself because I have become itself,
Lost in an experiment of dance,
Too foolish and too free yet
To back down and bow
Before the queen I know
The blackness you are.
And I will rest here at your feet
Awaiting the smoke to clear and
Lift the sharpness licking my brain.
Category: madness
Holes (day 1597)
Here I held
A circular indent
Ellipsing
As a hole
Crispy Wallows (day 1593)
Crispy wallows and snakes following ancient trails down spirals, leading only to a perfectly spherical, blood-moon-packed dirt bubble where one thousand and one perpendicular lines scarred concave smoothness, remarkably resembling an eerie odessical scene of Labyrinth, David Lynch infused simplicity and snakes. With an omnipresent light leaving no shadows, even in such depths, that echoed with every heartbeat snaking it’s way downward, downward, downward until the downward was no longer downward but stuck in a simple sphere, simply circled as if snakes and ladders were suddenly trapped in an empty crystal ball bubbling with misunderstood and toppled (read:shook) reason that inhabitants were too impatient to digest, leaving perpendicular marks in frightened terror as retraced steps traced their snaking along ancient trails back into the under-root of an atmospheric tragedy they had become familiar with and called home.
Frost (day 1592)
Where are my eyes,
The sad fellows singing heart songs
Along icy Nordic roads
To the beat of thump thump thump –
Hard footsteps to control
As solid Mother Earth
Shuts down her blooming
To awaken the underbelly of life
That slowly crawls in vein-like formations
Through all things
Dead or alive.
Where are my eyes
That I have not let sing
But needlessly fret over wrinkled sheets,
Ignoring the awakening world
In a thin veiled frost,
Laid out as if the spine of her neck
Were strangely tingling
Alerting her of tragedy.
Where are my eyes?
Drying Grime (day 1591)
Loser my integration
Chop all my hair off
And crawl around muddy
With a holey umbrella
Crackling at Gods
Who have tormented
Mute city sidewalks
Just as lame bullywicks
Who discard butts
Like scabs they
Incessantly pick at.
And sweep drying grime
Across squished bananas
To make a heart beat
Again tomorrow.
Down Below (day 1588)
Can you hear everything I said?
Is the light here turned down too low?
I am coming out of my oblivion
And I don’t think it’s alright
To mend those sidebars and widgets
Until the storm has passed
And we’ve long cleared the roar
Coming from the spear-tipped legion
Down below.
Gill To Gill (day 1586)
Make me choke my Chesapeake Bay oysters
Down a long narrow tube called onion
On a salty slab of rust
That juts out from the corner
Of a jagged table now suffering the load
Of my humongous belly,
Sliced from gill to gill
And forgetting the kind manners one usually exhibits
While out dining with guests
In a trendy restaurant
On the East side of town.
Hold my napkin tight to my lapel,
And caress these breasts
That light the night on fire
Through a venomous spray
Of narcotics and other banned substances
Hurled deep into the bowels
Of an East Van back alley entrance,
Identified by a single spotlight
Casting lurking shadows into my side glances
And smelling of stale urine
Upon the disposal bin filled with sour milk.
Knock knock, let me in.
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That Fun (day 1582)
“I’m not that fun”
Said the crescent moon
That wept loudly
Amidst autumn’s leaves
Spread carelessly perfect
On an empty yard
Sitting aimlessly awkward
With such high hopes.
And then thy heart stripped.
Forsooth, a voice sounded;
To gasp, even just for a brief moment
The complexities no shadows
Could reveal.
I Hide Dearly (day 1578)
You, the laws of existence
Shatter backgrounds,
Vignette my humble starts
Like an avalanche thrilling
The supine fingers of my soul
Reaching out from my spine,
Tingling my hiccups
And opening my vent
To ignite the glowing embers
Hidden deep within
My aching muddle of bones
Criss-crossing cavernous regions
I hide dearly.
Thug Dance (day 1577)
I’m an East Van thug
I’ve got dimes for your eyes
I wrote empty lines
For shoes your size.
Beats’n’bustin
And breakin signs,
I’ve locked this hood
On playing this rhyme
Crack crack
Break a ga-lack
Break your mother fuckin’ knees
Smack; my attack
From Hasting’s to Oppenheimer
To Railtown smokin’ crack
These pimps are all small time
Knock’n at my back.
I’ve got thugs in my pocket
From Strathcona to Clark
Commercial to Main,
Remember sucker, East Van’s the land
All you rebels cryin’ loud
My shit’s locked tight
Now strap on your booties,
Baby, let’s dance!
