insomnia

the clock in my mind
doesn’t really tick tock
it’s more of a low cruel scalding grind
like a rusty cog from an old Slavic car
i lay on my mattress the linen pulled tight big fluffy pillows to hold in my thoughts
the colors are sanskrit oozing in sunburst lotus in buds
every so often when my body shuts down
the beat of my arteries scats like old Calloway
from a past filled with poisons textured with scars
then the grinding is noticed by a runaway synapse and my eyes they go shut
the cat’s by my footstool and the dog’s by my side
yet it is lonely the spirit is gone
she hides in the closet
where her wings were cut off
diagnosis haven across the bookshelf
eating disorders sadness depression societal crud
the plant upon the dresser silver and wide reminds me of Warhol and incense and wine
then the phone pings and i go rub my eyes
i hear that new song sent from afar
i wonder about mother Hubbard and the Kennedys the story of pauper clowning the kings
so i get up to empty the voids in my throat
i walk to the kitchen and touch a tea pot then i look out the window and think of your mouth the back of your head
do i look for what’s final or do i trudge back to bed

my trip with Azrael

you know the time is nigh
you won’t need anything
would you agree


yes i’m prepared
while we travel can i tell you
how i loved the cool walks
the strong espressos and
the smell of fresh baked croissants over at Figaros
and when i was young
i loved the life that was
fast hard strong and brutal

was that when you felt invincible
Azrael asked

i suppose i didnt really feel anything
can i tell you about all of the beautiful people
dressed in all the colors and walk
step by step
and the children
they the true celestial thousand points of light multiply in God’s eyes forever

did you incur any regrets after all you’re just a human Azrael reminded

time lost revelling in my hatred and my pain first of self then of my nature of my sins and my enemies my inability for many years to feel with all of me
and seeing that i was about to cry Azrael lifted me with warmth and ease as my last breath sweet with smells of incense drew from me a soul unique and we clasp hands into the light of eternity

kleiner clown

stars twinkle quietly pretty shards of diamonds distorted by millions of eons away from my finger tips

surfing in my mind thinking of my mom Lou Reed starts to rise and my heart falls apart

the bitter melancholy comes in sputters black roses start to wilt

thoughts float about in icy sky line no snow or eastern blocks in California

my mother where did she go where was i left to the mercy of the gravity among the milky way

Klaus Nomi sits in shiny triangle black space to my right singing opera lullabies

the water from my eyes wells up but doesn’t spill instead it boils down to dust which i use to bury myself no more lingering on

reading books of talismans in the pitch of the darkest part of night purple pinks blues and blacks

with the soot from the bottom of my foot i draw a wide smile upon the center of my soul

where in daylight for your pleasure will always be radiant

the photo

there you are ever so elusive little girl in marching boots eyes full of emotions jaded and dry your face long hair going it’s own way and your lips couching words hardly ever spoken what happened to you can you tell me anything or do you assume i already know the pillow the dark room the old narrow bed sheets scratching and pricking like thorns and when it was over the negative processed in the infinite dark rooms of our mind days became stages of distortion where actors die to live but you exit right all the time the night’s cusp on your worried face the wider you smile the deeper the pain snapshot smile snapshot cry snapshot deny 

they

they too tumultuous for the human skin in the concrete castles of their heritage across seas and spirits children of the mental Gypsy of the skies buried standing up because of the way it had to be they modern ancients blood slow blue for bruising not for nothing else pain deep from marrow bone deafening in the soul of future fruitlings scrubbing out a filthy spot that wickedly came anyway woe upon no one else but the dueling ‘archs’ and pass the wine for sobbing

this thing

the thing it is fantastically big

dark with some pockets of rainbow

like an oil spill choking oxygen from the sea

this thing it creeps upon me

looks me in the eyes until my glance falls

to the ground beneath my bare feet

such a crazy thing it is comes when i need to rest

and like a vine above my dreams there it hangs

menacing the angels and their holy valor

the thing it swallowed my St. Christopher

when i was three it crush my compass too

ripped my maps to smithereens

left my raft broken in many places

now that i am old and sunken in

this thing still haunts me

it shakes me shrieks at me and makes me cry

i have tried to fight with fire water and dope

then i thought i’d be nice and slept with it

but to no avail this thing grew denser and denser

not even the sacred doves could pacify it

but like all who have come before me

and to those who come this way

i have learned to exist amongst it

this thing my fearful monster

i chained to it

both night and day