I.
Patagosi
In the rings of morning tide, beyond
boundaries unlabeled, into forests above mountains
Languid birds begin to nest.
but these are not the idyllic places
that minds will come to rest
She wandered in, lost in a storm
begging for food and place to be warm
She lifted her lips in an honest gesture
“I am without meaning but humble in stature”
He listened intently, while standing at the door
His head hung low, standing in a shadow
as the lighting cascades into a puddle
of the rain that collected on the petal of a leaf
and gathered all the emptiness in spaces of need.
Far away he ran away from her broken eyes
as he left her pieces lying in the dust
She, in doing the same, walked away from the board
leaving the King and Queen alone to hold in check
Away from the wall and pulled like a plug
from a basin her heart tore into his chest
beating down his door and ripping his vest
Broken down by the side of the road
the ghostly apparitions of the dead and dying
filled the air and the stench of decay
wrought inside a stare.
In cities burning, made of silver and gold
the people praying to the papers that they own
The images they’ve bought and sold
and crafted in vanity that sooths a lusting groan
Pulled and pushed and stricken with guilt
He opens his pants and undoes his belt
and rides away till his pain is gone
and she bears him to the end until the moon
appears and lights her eyes and inside
Her once gold morals begin to die
and traded for a moment so unclean
His divinity running down her thigh
Her life bled out in screams from the sky
The moment ends, he turns to rise
but not before he sees her eyes
once they danced and shined with grace
fortunate in color and perfectly placed
Now they’ve fallen and doesn’t care
But it’s a part of her wily game
and there’s no crime for which she feels shame
Rising low, up off the bed, she takes his life
and cups his head – possessed by her eminence now
He thinks he’s won, but she has now.
Now inside her prison mind
the vines began to grow
choking off his very wrath
placed gently upon the snow
white hills that sloped down to the river
and above the trees and down the valley
The farmer plows his field.
He reaps upon what he sows
and there is no love from which he’ll grow
but rows and rows of promises bred
from the blood of all the men instead
They’ve given up their empty lives
Sold their homes and left their wives
Gone to the mountains and held to pray
Listening for god on the sunny days.
Blaming the devil when the sun is black
and cursing the angels for taking him back
They’ve read so much from a book of man
and given up crucifixion for a functional plan
Blood for my body, my life for Christ
he came to this earth in a vessel of flesh
he was tested and weighed and hung like the rest
Denial of rite and passions expire
in the face of children they seek desire.
Confused by masses and taught by fate
driven by worth that is too deemed to hate
Herded like sheep and rampant like goats
lusting in secret with hands on their throat
Throttled by passion and hammered by mire
The young boys cycle begins to perspire
The scent of the women permeates the town
and suddenly the blue turns to red
with the noise from the shed
The actions repeat over and over
and over again.
But we cannot listen, nor will they ever
understand.
So, beyond the trees and through the hallways
the image and fantasy always calls them
away from the truth and down towards the need
Addictions to pain with many mouths to feed
Quelled in sorrow, but joyous in guilt
Opened the sadness and wallowed in filth
we’ve run aground in Patagosi and lost the map
and this place is stranger than fiction.
But it’s over the hills and down the river
And it’s warmth and light still make me shiver.
II.
The
Tarantella
Outstretch you hand, and put in mind
count your steps to three.
A twirl, you gypsies and faggots
can’t keep up with me.
Three out of four and
four out of three.
Time waits for no man
but she waits for me.
Return, return, but stop yourself – it’s unmantled.
You’ve come unhinged; please step away from the
floor.
This space is reserved for beggars and thieves
of which you seem to be neither.
So go a little farther down to
hang with those of your ilk.
Who is it you ask?
Why surely you jest?
You can’t be serious.
You’ve never been our guest.
Go visit with your ilk, I’m sure you know their
type.
It’s down there with the rapists and sodomites.
They’ll touch you and welcome you with
the foreign, familiar hands
and open up your mind and well
and they steal your band.
They don’t dance, they merely wander
with us
Count – again! One, two, three, four
Dance all you gypsies and faggots
Kings and Queens of old.
Our request of you is for nothing
less
Than Twenty Pounds of gold.
Purple scarves and velvet sashays
With open flaming vests
I
like the third hole in the wall
it always feels the best.
Don’t you dance? All of us here do?
One, two, three – no, not in
fours or twos.
I’m done with you; I’ve lost quite
all my hope
There’s nothing more to do; tie a
piece of rope.
One, two, three, One-two-three.
Why is the only faggot dancing alone
with me?
Is my language hard? I thought all you people
used the word.
No, it’s not like “nigger” – that’s
just absurd.
Socialites and debutantes and all
the snobby nobs
No one admits that they give blow
jobs.
High on cocaine, it’s my drug of
choice.
It keeps me going and finds my
voice.
So shut up and move with me.
Left foot open, one, two, three.
III.
The
Sermon on the Mount
She smiles at him, for now she knows.
In the latest hours of the midnight throes.
His scent wavers and lingers in the air
And her hands wander to caress his hair.
He begins to speak and she silences his profession
that he felt he owed, but she knew before
they reached this moment, her reassurance was needed
so now he enters and begins to preach.
He moves so deftly with what nature has taught him
and she’s unsure because it’s what she knows
she was once demure but now she’s open
Split up the middle; she’s still quite taken
until the moment that her bodies been shaken.
Freed from the shackles of the moral tide
he holds he down and soaks up all his pride
His bitten his lip and tasted her flesh
her eyes opened up and her tongue is wet
He courses what God has given
she takes what we know as grace
and suddenly the heat from the room
begins the quicken their pulsing pace
Faster they fly and the words seem to come
Screaming into the brain, but not understood
never coherent, they ruttle around
They’ve never been close
and meaning been found
The reason for living is quite within reach
God isn’t coming, but he’ll share in his speech
It flows like a river from tip to basin
and drains from his pistil and tamed by her stamen
Divine gifts that come in literal words
The English have granted for when it is done
What is to come?
Will we wait for God?
Is he in the magic that’s spent by a rod?
She flies to the boundaries as he preaches on
The sermon continues and the mount shoves on
Gritting his teeth and pounding her breast
He has not finished; but takes a breath
She’s still breathing with nothing unattained
Scared by her muscle and torn by his meaning
The lesson continues and he begins screaming
She counters with laughter and he presses on
But the lesson has ended; God has not won.
The sermon now finished, he rolls off the mount
and looks back up and the masses he gave
He wants her to listen, but she knows the truth.
The sermon was hers; the lost book of Ruth.
The dim light frames her smile and the sheets now
burn with din
He turns off the light; and she turns away within.
God is asleep now – and tired from his mass.
But she is just awoken; and gifted with the
knowledge
More ancient than the sex itself
is the reason behind it
that lies upon the shelf.
The power that he used up; she has taken in.
Now cannot contain it, she follows in her sin.
To give a recent service,
she preaches from her mound
the power of her allure and
the questions so profound.
But she hasn’t time to ask them,
as she tumbles to the ground
She wishes not to give today; she’s sick of
scriptured work
but the man she met today demands his catechism
and supple divine deserts
The sermon goes awry
when he fails to meet his God
and blames her for his shame
and she only wonders why
“She lured me in” he claimed
to the men that came and saw
His act of sodomy with a dispassionate and dirty paw
“She knew of what it was she was sent to do.
She’s the
guilty and she’s the damned, it’s her that pays
the
due. The process lies inside her eyes
and I cannot be held
at fault; I
was lured right in. She’s the one who
rolls around
and loves
to commit the sins.”
But his pleas hold sated in the minds of many
around.
And the legal madness that held him down
Still cast her whore-hood in the hidden halls of the
mind
and the people of the world
stood in line just to take a piece of her dignity
but she cannot be broken down.
She has seen her God between the boards
and seen his mighty wrath
That bored her down in a passionate swing
But alas, her story is over – but his has begun.
His God has spoken, and from his loins he sprung
a monster that ravaged the hearts of many young men
for it was she he unleashed from the power of the
dead
His God fell hard and silent upon deaf ears
and flaccid now, he prays for her spirit to find
rest
He left home and left his God and found a new one
instead.
A Franciscan Friar, he believes in a new God that’s
dead.
But maybe with enough belief and hope Yahweh will
resurrect
and bring upon destiny Her Majesties Scope.
But youth was forlorn and her thoughts have now
ended.
He never really touched her; and thus her thoughts
were offended.
She reels away again from a simple kiss and never
wants to think about
what she thought of God inside that simple moment of
duplicit doubt.
He’ll never know why she never tasted his flesh that
golden night
It was because of her imagination that crafted her
soul to fight.
IV.
The
Jaunt
The roadways that cut the woods in two divide
the night into a frenzy
hurried by commerce and tainted by oil
and viscous with traffic
Still beleaguered by the brazen soil
The night sky punctured with diamonds
Seems to seem wondrous.
A metaphor for time is all we have now
and a view of the Skyline
The highway spread the hills until it meets the city
lines
Buses fly by the railroad yards
and building reach for the skies
The traffic lights are alive with color
and flashing to signal my right
But they kept on flashing in rhythm
and lighting the sacred dark
The people on the sidewalk stare in shuffled
patterns
each one a person with their story
or a muffled tale of wretched excess
or a coffered patent glow
Off the barber stand to the magazine rack at
“Barney’s”
The corner of the block is tawdry, open and
Teeming with life that dare not speak it’s name
The hustlers, players, beggars and pimps
mix freely with the urchins that gather
in the alcoves where their parents first met
Smoked a crack pipe or a joint
and then fell two steps left
The cracks in the pavement hold the
blood of past upon their holy crevasse
The sweat of revolutions runs now
in rivulets of tired and beat up men
who die in a gutter for a hit of a fix
Their dignity stripped for a five dollar bill
A piece of paper and chemical
and now is their life spilled?
I get a come on from a toothless old woman
a good time promised but
she seemed to be drooling
I said no and chimed my sentiments.
She simply stared and continued her business.
I walked on and tried to find a bus
but soon I was lost
and my joints began to rust
The decay of the building filled my sensitive nose
and I trudge along wearily
and lost my other shoe
My first one was stolen
The second was a gift
I found my way down past York Street
and onto the avenue
Whereupon I met Luther
and asked “How do you do?”
He asked me for food, for love and for drugs.
I gave him some money and he tried to take blood.
I killed him, you see, because he attacked me.
I broke his brittle old neck and now he can’t see
how silly he looked when he tried to end my life
and how funny it was to watch him die.
He struggled for breathe when I broke his neck
and he begged for mercy as I held his head
and struck his temples to finish the job
his life had expired; I’d been caused to rob
He made a poor choice in who he assaulted
For I was in the ghetto for one reason only
to take the lives of those who would not be missed
for it’s the thrill of the hunt to things you’ve
been kissed
by death and granted his powers
by holding a congress over those you want
and passing out judgment and
dispatching their fire
I smile as I walk on out, it’s been another Jaunt
I am Death’s valued servant; I take what I want.
I walk upon the freeways and hold your heart still
because you know I kill because I really like the
thrill.
I’ve got a smile and a wish and an honest face
and I’ll come to you bearing little trace
of the killer that I have always been
But my smile shows quite honestly
the sadist I’ve become.
But it doesn’t matter.
It’s your hearts I’ve already won.
I’m smart, I’m funny and I’m very good looking.
And I’m good at hiding what it is I’m cooking.
I’m your neighbor, I’m your friend.
I will always be your bitter end.
Never trust me – you always look gaunt
and c’mon with me; we’ll take a jaunt
V.
The
Tower
He sat alone in his tower, Archibald Highwater III
and wrote with a quill dipped in India Ink
He carved out his letters in an ancient tome
bearing upon letters he would never send
His eyes had glazed over and his head sagged low
Browbeaten and weary with the soft candle glow
He loved once, very long ago in a different time
But he lost his very nerve and gave up
Now he lives alone in a tower made of stone
That he built upon his very heart.
The tower stands bold amongst a sea of waste
And it smells just like the acrid vinegar Tzu tastes
This is a tower no man can cross
nor woman can climb
Upon it’s Azure fences and down it’s steely vines
He’s waiting to let himself down, but he knows he
never will traverse the reverse of the stairs
He’ll die inside and never even care.
Her name was Elizabeth Kinabael and she was fair
with ebony hair and steel-grey eyes
set beside her perfect nose.
Her smile was fortune and her laugh was grace
Her slender hands could melt the world
but to him, she was just a girl.
The longest of walks and strongest conversations
He fell for her love like a strong libation
Drunk and intoxicated, Absinthe she was
but he was not to her; she never loved.
She never held his heart on purpose
nor delighted in the fact he did
profess his love and she could refuse
He was crushed for a moment
but these moments pass
and soon the girl grew to a woman, alas
and married she was to a General in service
whose body was requisite but mentally stunted
His body is cold now
and his fortune was squandered
in his will he left it all to his servant
Who now sits alone inside a pub
Waiting to talk to anyone, anytime, anyhow
And remembers The Tower that Archibald built
One laid in sadness; of his unrequited guilt.
VI.
God
God appeared on the face of a child
Lost down in the depths of the bowry
When I saw the child and her trembling lips
and tiny hands that grasped a simple toy
and an old homemade dress.
She smiled and asked me for help
“My mother has lost me, she’ll be cross
If she does
not find me, she’ll think I’m lost”
I smiled as I knelt to look at the child
but by now she was already gone
an Aparition in my head
I rose upon the cobblestone street
and tried to find where the twains would meet
but somewhere along the road to Damascus
I lost my reasons and I gained my madness
God has left me
I often thought
The bible verses have taught me naught.
Empty words; translated by fools
Who forwent deities for mortal rules
God has gained me
for I was his son
Hung on a cross and dried in the sun
Risen by friends and doubted my faith
Given to precipice and hurried wraith
God is dead to me
he choked on a bone
he ate up the world and called up my phone.
He’s risining again and calling my name
I pretend not to hear him, for I’m ashamed.
I saw God today
he was renting porn
He was oogling the covers and looking forlorn
Even he has given up on this sad, sad world
but not me, I’ll always give it a little whirl.
VII.
The
Horizon
The bitter ends of land, where the sky and trees
commingle
Is empty and lost to me
Where once stood cities so proud and monuments to
life
There is nothing more
but distance clawed between the soul and
it’s naked greed, wrought upon paper
with possessions that rake
Away the spirits that the people had long
since remembered to forsake
Replaced with fear
Astounded by my lies as I fit into the crowd
having only now realized
I cannot speak this grand rhetoric
and hope to every by happy
The preached upon
will never listen to me
Because I don’t look like them
I’m not what is wished to see.
Credibility aside, as cast as my love
abound from the empty cities
flying on wings of a dove
That died on it’s way
to a better place
and the children found him
in the park
They prod the body with sticks and glass
the carcass holds life in it’s morbid
state and yet they smile and laugh
and seem to be quite elate
as it’s eyes ooze in a torrent
of curious savagery
They spear their prize
on a cross made of twigs
and bow before it’s decadance
and hold it’s meaning down
But they’re just children
and with them
hate is never found?
But it is bred, unwittingly
and it will never end
it is a sad part of being human
Not everyone can see what lies
upon the horizon of man
The cruelty will always exists
it is part of the plan.
Never will it be eradicated
no matter what you preach
it’s a solid fact one instead to teach.
VIII.
Love
Love is a cruel game that holds it’s wiles for us to
view
in plain site, it seems as simple as two plus two
But in the addition under the equation it can be no
more
Less that one or equal to four.
Heartbeats lie encumbered by blackened lies
Thoughts were muddled by common jokes
Inside her heart there stood a gate
wrought with metal and golden spokes
A Danse of death; it’s implications macbre
and I wonder if my effeversecents makes me sob
From fortunes tales more stories spun
in valleys low; a petition is won.
She gave me less than I thought was more
and in her sin I just called her a whore
She called me a cad
and stroke my face
and clawed at the wall
with shame and disgrace.
I am mangled and euphoric
tangled and broken
My wishes have departed
and my eyes have soaked in
blood drawn by her loving hand
that plunged from my heart
and spread across the land.
----------- Steven Alexander – 11/11/03