For Hans
The patron saint of Lost Poets laughs
Smoke surreal in the sacred sun
Unmasking kindred madness
Recognizable from a subversive plane of my existence
(The soldiers are there for me, too)
Mystic grandfather of the underground prophets
I lay bouquets of phrases at your feet in gratitude and veneration
As we weave destinies and laugh into the void
i see stories in the stars while making mixtapes for my man
With perfect technicolor poise
Finger-to-temple (TAP, TAP)
My Neo-Loki turned to say,
I live in my own world; I drew a map on the back of a beer coaster but lost it in a dive in Talin, so it is easy to lose my way
At dawn, the only stirring sounds are of the air: planes depart, crows caw for breakfast, the last leaves rustle in the breeze
i unintentionally blow a smoke ring and think of Generation Zero
Tulips sleep in the snowy ground and continue to grow after they’ve been picked always arching towards the sun
This is enough to end the rampage
Death becomes Life
And i return to collect the serpent’s venom
i am lovingly fascinated with this storm as we try to tear Babylon down with battlefield remedies
The night belongs to poets, madmen, and my revolutionary pornstar Jesus who is crucifying himself on electronic versions of yesterday’s news
It’s been so long since i’ve been home that i’ve forgotten Mother’s laugh but
there lies a truck stop philosopher who once pointed to the psychedelic stars saying you can never go home again and
i can’t recall his laugh, either
The red dress i wore that day turned black becoming a Midwestern Classic loaded with
pomp & circumstance, stars & stripes, death & taxes
i’m on my eighty-seventh transformation cutting atonal chords and severing velvet ribbon ties
The gods return with different names; ancestral Valkyries reminding me of a warrior’s birth and a bargain struck for a drop of mead
Soldiers of Debauchery, we rebel on
As icons fall from grace in another nocha oscura
The Wise Men
from Lao Tzu to Kerouac
Seek Solitude on the Mountain
But those who laugh into the abyss
discover in the Dark Night
that the Collective is the key
to Enlightened Expression
Lightning Prayers can do no harm
as dragonflies and butterflies
prepare for METAPHORM
surpassing the SuperEgo
as three bleeding women
giggle at a nigger on a unicorn
Review:
We eclipsed in the name of Art
In my naïveté i lost Faith
While proving Love
i bow to the Father i tried to release
The Universe doesn’t agree to the Trinity
And i weep
feeling conflicted, this goes beyond the
you or i
cutting up the past, standing up to father figures (this means what?), starting our tribe
the animal in you i HATE but LOVE
bursts of physical not always kind
it’s the human in you that muddles my intellect
the revolution looks different than i imagined and without nectar/ambrosia the humor
gets lost
maybe sticking it to the man is better suited to the young
it is what we DO that defines us
and i don’t want to be trailer trash manifestations of nail polish names
“I could have been Somebody!”
as glass shatters and the air becomes putrid with hops
i want to cut through the cosmic bullshit and understand the connections but dharma is
often sidetracked by human drama
if i am not creating, what am i as
WOMAN
what must be unblocked to give a shit about something other than boys, booze, cigarettes
YOU have been MY mirror
at times i have not liked what i see
sit with it detach observe
sounding like a dirty hippie
why should one be ashamed of one’s roots?
the birds are silent after my breathing; the wind stills
sounds from my childhood gone save the freeway
she returns with a whisper but the answers have not come
the old poems were about running away
searching for home
20 years it still doesn’t exist
but i love you and that is as close as we are going to get
