Author: Chris Robideaux

Ku-fan-ku,
Mindless mind, eternal sight,
Pedigree pulp of all in no-time,
The red ants remind me of first love,
Where I walk upon the broken stones
And know all things without thought.
My body is the universe my mind has made.
Ku-fan-ku, I give thanks up to what
At last, is me.
The sun is our healer-cauldron of life,
And this brook flows with tears of the
Great Forest;
Let us be quieter than
The whispers of summer nights.

Here’s a handful of
Fire-echo starheart diadems –
For ghost-framed, leaping Leviathans!
Photonic Ophelia ossifying, sleeping,
Guards my watchwell sweetly –
But what kind of echo has this fire?
When my starheart bursts with such vertiginous
Desire?
The self-framed soul sires this flame, leaping
From untenable windows
Into the unutterable boiler rooms of Time.

The gross yardstick of time, though,
Cannot touch it.
Neither manufactured catastrophes heed
The ripples racing outward from these lands
Like harbor swells.
Where beggar laughs
And tyrant drowns,
TV dies,
And music abounds.

The darkness of the sea
Spoils your whitewashed misery –
Too much in the devil’s pay,
Both sides in black, on the take
Inside the Age of Chaos, cracked.
Swimming in the dry tide of light,
Lost in ancient coves, lovers seeing with
Ocean eyes.
Wind will…surprise.
“I think we get better,” said the sweet
lover, motoring away from The City,
In her happy lover’s ear:
He’s as tall as the horizon –
The sea’s as cold as kicking junk,
With her arms like memories
In the wavy dunes, barren and soft.

We all love
And lose love
And cry for love –
Celebratory love!
Revelatory love!
As candor squeals in mayhem’s arms,
And the aging starlet laughs, unharmed,
Ripe aura flowering, dispensing,
Oraculating light languages,
Afterimage
In the veritable window of the sky
That guards the crawled-over earth,
ruined by blindness.

The catatonic miser rises, blank,
Her heart dead – to face the
Darkened day again
Just like the moon
And all the fish in their ponds
Or how strange tongues speaking
turn the radiant wheel.
Time, the great editor knows
The graceless snows
Of tired Purgatory
And the violet fire that grows
Like a child
In the waiting sun.

Madrigals, laurels –
First ones that claim my heart
Where the blond girls laugh
And the bays all shine
And blue-eyed angels remedy
The ailing earth
And feckless species howling;
Venetian funeral barge
Carries this memory’s lass away
Afar to Barbarian lands,
Or to Heavens superlatively fair.

Fountain of kundalini fire
implants strange desire –
Travels the Golden State,
Stakes a formidable spire
Where Laguna priestesses consecrate
Divine love in multitudinous ways;
Variegated as terns in these coves
Who sup the endless tide that roves,
Engorged by expedited love.

And behind the bloody snake wall,
On the tantric bed,
We aim our energy into the heart
Of the black-beast dread
And make magic reign,
Plucking the blood-eye out of the reptile,
To transmute the lingering poison cabal
Which strikes back with daggers ripping the sky.
Enemy gods, you have no quarter here!
Here by the magic sea there is no fear.
Where pelicans pierce the mellow tide, free
And the sun and sea tantalize us,
Hypnotize us, eternally!
Here, in the light will we forever abide
In the fruited promenade, spoked
With sacred-flame jubilee,
Smoked in Sun-Ra pedigree
Where the coronal visage smiles and disagrees
With the vicious pallor of false
Love & belief.

Happy birthday, Brutus, my friend of late
Whose Queen of Muses stands high, awaits
The happiest of happies hence, O Creator
Down my lover’s rabbit-hole ’tis better;
But crave or drive or worship or flee
Drink down the summer wine’s warm pedigree,
“The film noir queen steps down from the screen
and waters my orchids with her tears”;
I build skyscrapers in imaginary heavens
swarmed by gardens warm and mad;
I hear heavy metal saints singing to their
Battalions, and I dream what I never had.
And here, here comes the oily tide!
And the irradiated glow of sick wormwood.
Our Chernobyl, our stupid cataclysm,
Our complacent stare at the colored tube,
And banal peasant chatter filling the air,
As fetid lives await the black seas,
Wrecking Nature’s delicate symphony,
Au revoir, sanity!
Sayonara, fragilest Spring!
Kiss goodbye grasshopper-summers,
as Satan seduces the world again.
But here are there dancers, poets, and friends,
and here is there wine enough, and (as yet) no end.

What comes around goes away,
With rough sweetness she came to play,
now disappeared without a trace!
And I’m stuck in a Purgatorio’s train station
Strumming for the invisible guardians of fate.
What comes around always goes away
On the dark plank of uncertainties–
I see the angry storms mottle these
pseudo-tropical horizons, electric entities
prodding me till love leaps up into the
Firmament of a truer freedom’s kingdom,
Soaring ineffably around the blue realms
Like an ancient mystic returned
To reclaim his singing futures, quite like
the Romans–and I mean the poets–and quite
like the moments I polish with words,
for your mindgallery seasons you’ll carry with you
Throughout all your lives, in all the universes,
Though you die here and leap from the morass into the
Silver-lightning’d Infinity with a silken heart,
Riding a blue star of phantom grace.

She’s putting the pain in painter again,
and it’s not just ice, but fire, too –
& there are sperm sprouts in the mulch swamps,
& there are hotbeds of uncertainty awash in mercenary wine;
So watch a woman’s joy and strength in Music,
and watch her transform,
As your nights do you,
and what do I ride for?
I saw the Headless Horseman
glide across coyote lawns;
I saw false jewels sparkling in the hills,
I’ve drunk from the fountains of fear
Under gray ceilings incontravertable, and I’ve
sucked hot sounds from the seminal earth,
while playing python games in the mind,
playing with love and hate together,
trying to read the list of loves gone,
with eyes that drowned long ago.

I want to drown you in this blood

That spills hotly from me now;

I will baptize you in these sticky iron memories

Which have surged since my inception;

I will drown you in rich, scarlet blood

That in your lover once ran –

Dark rivers in his subterranean tunnels

Locked in fleshy circumstance,

As once he locked himself in you.

This blood that made the screaming man cry

In a room bereft of you, God well out of sight.

I recall, with the sickness I lunged

To the toilet and upward looked for him, to pray

But found only the mottled paint of a prosaic ceiling there.

Then in fits, I chortled, cringed, sang, sat and wailed,

Worshiping you who could so easily waste me, and

Leave me to the hungry zoo lions and parasites!

This blood that leaps and fountains up

And out now, out to stain the windows of love,

My love, once had, and not – no, never again.

You rivaled Delilah and Sheeba, Helen, Andromeda!

A flower every day for your finespun golden hair.

But now I leave this devil’s cesspit of a world,

Life a dead, atrophied cow, my golden world somewhere

Beyond these cares…