Tuesday, November 10, 2009

escape 2

Let's not paint murals of horizons on our prison walls. Let's not decorate & get nice furniture. Let's not put others down 4 being negative..
Because they don't like the prison. Let's not visualize freedom & chant of love when the guy in the cell next to you is being raped & sodomized
Bread & circuses, little uplifting quotes to convince you everything is just peachy. Besides the prison protects you from the scary free world
Gentle explosions of truth blast the silence. Fat flabby faces shiver & shake like sails of skin fluttering in the wind as you play with your sleeve
Light sweeps through the toasted branches of the afternoon, swirling with rusted leaves in the air on their way to the ground
Paranormal sidewalks crumble down the road. Cracks in the concrete erupt with an exuberance of grass bursting forth for the sun. A prison break
Warped wooden fences smile almost toothless, soothed by the bath of the warm sun over splintered crooked poles. Awkward rotting posts leaning
The relentless pound of shoes, the roar of motors, a thick slab of concrete, buried in utter darkness...yet these thin blades of grass escape
The bulb of my head teeters on its stalk & there is no other thought than to follow the thin blades of grass that went before me
Others have painted murals of horizons on the walls of their prison cells, painting fluffy saccharine words of inspiration. This bulb is fired
Bloody, shattered like an egg, this skull must break up thru the surface. Time can't be wasted decorating the walls of our cells. Let's break free

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

This is 4 me, imagining crazy things. Not written for applause

she walks along
tempted by a sprawl of fence posts, like crooked teeth rattling in the wind,
and lamp posts, mail boxes, the cracks in the sidewalk and the movements of strangers.

her toes wiggle
bending with her weight, her shoulders, the bounce of her breasts and the heaviness beyond words that she carries in her heart
her toes redden, Mercury blood
and she moves forward

her neck rises up vertically
from a spine constructed
of vibrating scales and paper clips
she sways in the savage elegance of a rhythm of words & beer cans
smeared with goodbyes
and close misses

a language animal, living in the mind, vibrating, resonating with those things unseen
the verbal equivalent, an autonomous thing? It's possible
the objectified product of the imagination
existing in a parallel world

her knees are oiled up with butter
they slide round in chrome sockets
ripe oranges whirling
with the energy
set in motion by the word

she turns
frail threads of smoke
spill out into the air above her head
the skin on her face falls
in a solid pulsing sheet of whiteness

hot flecks of sunshine glisten
as her spine rolls through a spray of quite pops
until the scale reaches the inevitable conclusion
of its crisp articulations

she turns
her eyebrows awaken
and her eyebrows plunge forward
in a spill of gentle brrezes
through a gray sandy mist
and she is gone

constructed thru the imagination
can we breath passion into these characters
do the take on some thought form & exist on some mental plane

I like to entertain the idea