Category: Penman Lounge

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…

We choose the starling over the rooster,
the apricot over the plum.

In sum the tastes of one
are from long striving

to understand what composes
an identity to fill out as your own.

There are paintings I “enjoy”
though I know not why.

The compatibility of vision is
perhaps unknowable.

Describe this wine without
terms of preposterous stretches

of linkage to tobacco, slate,
the smell of burnt cloves,etc.

The skiff sits in the placid bay
as the sun sets beyond the harbor:

A scene of serene meaning
possibly beyond explanation.

Let me see you dive.
Call Friday if you have a clue.
Liquid refreshments arrive & peace reigns.

Nonflammable renovations hover outside.
I ponder where this goes in the stream of flings.
What to choose & when arrives.

Outside the cosmos wink at us.
Plastic cups are filled & the party
continues.  No way out it seems.

The batteries have died and pa
or ma in kerchief have fled the screams.
Help me, please, hold back your flight.

Johnny Stiletto a white boy from the ghetto rode through the streets
kicking his feet to a hip-hop beat.
Money is sweeter than honey dead presidents rule in the land of the free
but with no opportunity you get disunity
in the streets of the poor
as hurricanes blow in full symphonic roar.  
It was time for a change, to rearrange,
so scratching and mixing his words in rhyme    
Johnny knew this was his time
he pulled out a Les Paul guitar and walked into a free-style bar
played an hour long song about  Shakespearean hats
blew away the industry cats
He became the rage
a musical sage
a real super star this boy was going far.
Went to the top of the music chart but inside was breaking apart.
His slide to the bottom was ugly and nasty and really a pity.
They put the blame on his fame it drove him insane
so to ease the pain he snorted cocaine that twisted his brain
It ravaged his mind made him blind, brought him to his knees
his friends rolled up on him instead of down.
He started to pray to find his connection, change his direction,
be the next selection for a place in heaven
before the man with a business plan
bought up that property high in the sky
for a very low rate
then hung a neon sign on the pearly gate saying
better not trespass or we’ll burn your skinny white ass
Interpreted in tongues by a fat cat who sat in the back of a black Cadillac with a trunk full of puns
if you think that’s whack Jack listen to this
Leonardo Da Vinci an artist of might who painted by numbers but not by night
He spoke of infinity with such serenity
then he carved a statue of the mother Mary
in the perfect image of a naked canary
Chewing on half eaten bread
While singing songs by the Grateful Dead
Then recited Dante’s Inferno word for word with a bit of humility
Leonardo Di Caprio was another story not without it’s own sense of glory.
but it seemed like vanity to those in the know.
He sank on the Titanic, but the box office was gigantic.
His groupies roamed from town to town to tell of his tales
while the critics hammered him home with rusty nails
They gathered around him like Jesus Christ
turned his blood to wine then to ice
trudging through the streets in all their glory
making sure to tell his personal story
Meantime Salvatore Dali painted a mirage in Death Valley
as Albert Einstein made love to  Sally in a poorly lit bowing alley
then they met up at union rally  
Al took a political stance
Sal took off his pants
Together they danced outside a hall near the great Chinese wall
where the ladies in polka dot panties played with a blind midget’s left eyeball.
Without warning Einstein clutched his mc squared climbed atop a parking meter
screamed  “I want to be Rita the parking maid feeder”
Since he couldn’t be her or even see her
he rode off into glass onion
sounding like a character from a book the of Damon Runy

My heart has a feeling
To do good for others
Because someday it will all come back

It may take a day
It could even be a decade
But I’ll never stray too far

So please hold me close Lord
Show me your ways
And allow me to breathe another day

***Written after watching “My Name Is Earl” the one where he crosses off number one from his list.  LOL

The overnight low can get you high make you fly ain’t no lie you don’t need a weather vane to feel the hard rain and you don’t need a weather man to keep you out of Iraq or Iran . You just need a plan. The duly elected administration caused such frustration with their verbal masturbation. They stole from the poor gave to the rich ain’t that a bitch when they switch meaning in mid-stream. The men in control got not soul. They treat mother earth like a toilet bowl. They hurl their destruction in every direction then use our taxes for their reconstruction label every objection to their action as unpatriotic that’s very neurotic nearly psychotic spending time in a place that spills the blood and takes the lives leaving legions of young widowed wives.
The terrorist with his hooded head doesn’t give a shit if he’s wakes up dead because he believes in his own destiny, but the chances are slim that waiting for him will be twelve laughing virgins trying and vying to give him head on a heavenly bed so fill him with lead and make sure that he’s dead before he can kill and cause to maim doing more of those thing he’s done in Allah’s name.

WINTER

I lost my soul to the cold.
She was a bitter frosty girl.
Her shoulder colder than Minnesota.
Her pupils an icy swirl.

Lips of neon, breath of Freon.
And a jagged tongue of ice.
Hypothermia fills my cornea.
And the chills began to bite.

She once was Summer, Than fell to Spring.
Turned to Fall, and now she’s Winter.
I still search for the warmth she once had,
The sunny days I still remember.

Her painted strokes pointed like fangs splattering poisonous images across a subterranean canvass, soaking it with the smell of death. Unable to understand the betrayal forming inside the corridors of her mind, she carefully became careless while lust dripped from the cracks in her frailty, filling the floor below with torrid thoughts of temptation. In an instant she fled, a refugee of some maniacal malfunction of her subconscious.

We walk, blindly, dividedly, seperate. Thats why we can’t get together on the economy, people focused on hitting the lottery. Its sodomy on the society. We getting fucked on all angles, straight up strangled, chewed up and mangled by all these government organizations. Its hell on earth and wheres satan. Were facing a financial meltdown because we let all these companies be runned by clowns. What now? Attacks on Afghanistan instead of letting our soldiers come back home to the motherland. Catastrophies overseas leave us to lead the weak but were weak in our own goddamn country whose gonna set us free from our poverty stricken cities like New Orleans. Epidemic with pregnant teens. Another school shooting happened this week but not in America, overseas in Germany. At 17 you think you know what life means. I just want to live the American dream, kill, lie, cheat, steal, just like the Bush Regime.

So softly she stroked the sun as ripples of water washed white the weight of her weariness, her hands dripping tears. Suddenly slipping from the sky she turned back in time. Her sad sigh filled the dark night with worry, hovering like the bite of death. As dawn cracked light on her broken dreams, she sensed she was in a Shakespearean tragedy covered with the dust of time, dressed in rags and pointed French shoes, pondering a world without beauty.