Knights

Insense

Strength lies under sorrow
Invincibility rides with pain
Where Heaven stabs tomorrow
This heart shall bleed again

Has purpose been supplanted?
Have the Virtues all been chained?
Hoisted up he ranted
A needle to stab the rain

No head is ever hidden
Nor guilty never named
The rider is also ridden
His heart through violence trained

No blood is ever borrowed
Nor yesterdays reclaimed
No hand embraces sorrow
No balm may cure these maimed

Resolution is the lance-head
These eyes but lies and shame
The cherub's height supplanted
The blood you drink the same

 

Faith is never taken
Distinction never gained
A sty of souls forsaken
Where hearts boil in the rain

No vein is ever open
Nor needle unrestrained
The sleeper hangs awoken
His eyes drowned in the rain

Strength lies under sorrow
Invincibility rides with pain
Where Heaven stabs tomorrow
This heart shall bleed again

 

Action-Reaction


Push my brain
Hard enough
And a poem pops out.

 

 

Do

The sharpness
Of one's blade
Does not affect
The mastery
Of the hands
That wield it.

 

 

Minstrel

No heart
Shifts
Without
A story.

 


Teach A Man to Fish


Salvation
Is temporary.

We
Invented
Heaven
To keep ourselves
From going mad
Saving
One another
Again
And again
And again.

Once built,
Every wall
Will some day
Be broken.

 

 

I Cannot Heal You

Accepting
The first thing
You are not
Is the first step
To the soul's
Liberation.

 

 

Pum-pa-rum-pum-pum!

 

I am

Marching

To Death.

 

It’s a good tune.

 

 

Time Machines

You can do anything
At any time

Age is irrelevant
All you have is time
And one second
Is no different
From any other
Except that it is used
Or wasted
Because you hubristically decide
That it doesn't matter
Or that
It's already
Too late

Now go
Kick Time
In the teeth

And when you do
  Be sure to smile

 

 

Take Command


The end
Of the Earth
Can always
be
Right
Where you
Are standing.

 

 

Waste, Unwaste

I needed
To be young
To have
My convictions;

I needed
To be old
To realize
They were right.

 

 

Why Not?

 

Believing
Whatever
You want
To believe
Be it
In spite
Of reason
Or evidence
Or the opinion
Of every voice
That clamors
In your ear
May be
The most
Human
Act
Any
Person
Can
Embrace.

 

 

Is This True?

Accept
That you
Already have
The joy you seek
And it is yours.

It is only when
You cease to seek
That you may be
Found.

 

 

Be You

Each of us
Is not
Merely
A representative
Of a god:

We
Are
The God
We choose
To represent.

 

Our every

Gesture

Founds our church

And populates

Our pantheon.

 

Movement

 

Roots uplifted

A farewell kiss

Where to go

Where to be

What to do

All questions

No answers

Only change

 

 

Sonance

Sunk beneath the lowly
Pressed against the sky
Flesh corroding slowly
Th
ose holy wings must fly.

 

 

Art is a Form of Energy

Life
After
Life
On
Display:
Souls
Splattered
Across
Six feet
Of wood
And nails.
"Here
Is what
I am,"
You scream
As we
Chat
Oh so
Politely
About
The minutiae
Of everything
You will
Ever
Be.
 

 

 

Intervention

 

I don't need

To be talked in
From any ledge.

            It's all a ledge.

       I just want you

     To come join me
        Out in the w i  n  d.

 

 

There is no Weakness in a Waterfall

 

I have learned
Not to turn away
When I weep:

For my tears
Reveal only my strength.


 

The Other Side of the Coin

We
Are
A system
Of beneficence
And rage:

 And is

 That not

 The definition

 Of a God?

 

 

Lobotomize Us

Being alive
And knowing
You are going to die
Is suicidal.

Eating breakfast
And knowing
You are going to die
Is suicidal.

Caring about anyone

And knowing

They are going to die

Is suicidal.

Letting time evaporate
When you know
You are going to die
Is suicidal.

 

 

A Sword to Your Envy

Let go of my ankle,

    You fool,


      And take 

  my hand.

 

 

Antitheist

Why is it
That those
Who profess
Offense
At the virulent
Promulgation
Of one belief system
Respond
So often
With the virulent
Promulgation
Of their own?

 



Aleksandr

 

        There are no Angels

Or Demons

       Who fight

 For our souls.

 

The line that shifts

       Within us all

Is not that

   Of Good

And Evil:

 

       It is that

                  Of Selfishness

                       And Selflessness.

 

              Look at anyone

               And you will see

     It is true. 

 

Choo Choo

 

The train of thought
Has no tracks.

 

 

Look After Yourself

Fuck
Securing
Your own
Airbag
First:

  Evolve
  Into a being
  That doesn't
  Need
  Air.

 

 

Simplicity

O
to be a crow
And just caw
In a tree
      all day 

 

 

Trite but True


Evil
Is what 
Occurs
In the 
Absence
Of love.

    

 

Quantity of Scale

Every life is beautiful
Just as is 
Every grain 
Of sand
On a beach

But put a thousand lives together
And how easily 
They may be cast

Into the waves

The difference
Is that
Of a lover in a bed
And a general
A thousand miles
Behind the lines

 

 

Reapotheosis


This morning
I understood
Everything.

Again.

 

 

Edmond

For those of us
Who are defined
By the vibrancy
Of our minds,

Peace of mind
Is something

We can never 
Have.

 

 

Tell Me

If the World

Hadn’t ended,

What would you have done?

 

 

Beast Slayer

 

It may be my job

To drive a spear

Through the heart

Of Humanity

And kill it

The fuck

Dead.

 

 

Sir Pellinore

I
Am the angel
Who would command
A circle of hell
To make it
Five percent
Better
  Rather than
  Serve
  The cause
  Of equal

  Justice
  Unchanging
  For all time.

 

 

Speak to Me

 

Sex

Is the explosion

Of every cell

Leaping desperately

To bridge the gap

Beyond the bounds

Of all that can be expressed in words.

 

I Command

 

Who gives a shit
If you
Go to heaven?
Get off your knees
And help someone
Get there
In your stead.

 

Absolution

 

Those who help
Do not need guilt.

 

 

Saturday

 

Today

A good soul

Was collected.

 

It is

The closest

I have come

To grabbing

God

By the throat

And asking him

What the fuck

He

Was thinking.

  

 

Hunter

 

For all the effort

We put into it

You would think

The expulsion of semen

Was the greatest thing

The human race

Could hope to attain.

 

 

It’s Not the End of the World

 

No,
It's not.

It's
The end
Of a way
Of thinking
Of a sense
Of security
Of a sense
Of value
In oneself
Or a sense
Of understanding
In the way
The world
Works.

Each of these
Is a world
That may
Collapse
At
An ill-chosen
Word.

It's not
The end
Of the world:

It's just
The end
Of the one
You were living in.

 

 

Open the Bay Doors

The universe

Is a bomb
Into which

We drop.

 

 

Cultural Divide

There are similarities
Among us
That splash through
All our little ponds
Of individual experience.

 

 

The Wall of Solomon

Iniquity herself
Must stand cautious
Before a razor mind
And a blood-fed pen.

 

 

Reaper

The sheep
Are yours
To keep.

I
Will claim
The shepherds.

 

 

I need to make things

Every
Thing
That
Emerges
From
Between
My
Fingers
Is
A
Breadcrumb
On
The
Path
To
Infinity.

 

To be
The single soul
Around which
The world pivots,
Even for an instant.

The Tragedy of a Moment

This swell of the heart
This sense of peace

This collapse of the breast
This vacuum within

This anguish of soul
This cry of despair


This gleam of the eyes
This embrace in the night


This saw on the mind
This flare in the flesh

This breath of comfort
This touch,

All shall pass

And no chain
Has the strength
To stop it.

 

 

Shimmer

Perhaps
What I say
Is not
The truth
:

But is it not
Better
To reveal
These dollops
Of light

And let you
Decide
Whether
You would like
To share
In holding
The candle?

 

 

Zen

Those
Who are right
Do not need
To enforce
Their truth
Upon anyone.

In the fullness
Of time
Others
Will find it
For themselves.

And those
Who do not
Are already suffering.

 

Dissonated

A girl
I was dating
Once introduced me
To the term

"Cognitive Dissonance."

When she told me
What it meant,
I laughed
For a long
Time.

"That," I said,
  "Is what I call
    Being awake."

Imagine
Having
A permanent
Awareness
That you are going to die
And nothing
You do
Is going to stop it.

Every breath
Should be a feast;

Every heartbeat
Should be a symphony.

I could suck the air,
Savor it,
Chew on every
Molecule,
Roll it
Under my tongue,
Press it
Against
My
Cheek:

I could live
  Like a pyroclasm

And I would be dead
In seventy-two hours.

So I live softly
To prolong.

But why?

When my time ends
In twenty years,
Or fifteen,
Or five,
Or tomorrow,
  The eternity
  That follows
  Is no less permanent
The later it comes.

Will those extra seconds
Spent simply
  Not
    Being
        Dead
Count for anything?

All that I do—
Every bead of sweat from my brow,
Every tear from my eye,
Every word scrawled on a page,
Every dab of color in the dark,
Every act of consolation,
Every embrace—
Changes
Nothing
For
Me.

God.

I must live
For others

Or I cannot see
A reason
To live.

There is nothing in this for me.

It must be for you,
Or it is for nothing:

Just an eternity
Without me.

What good is that?

 

 

Out of Telescopic Range

The greatest failure
Of our system
Of education
Is that it installs in us
The illusion
That there is someone
Watching
Waiting
To hail our successes
And push us
Toward our greatness
Where we fail to achieve it

When the truth
Is that
Our teachers
Watch
Because they know
Nobody
In the real world
Of day-to-day concerns

—Of dishes and laundry,

Of bills and hours clocked—

Will ever have the time
To do
Just
That.

O Sun,
You must ignite Yourself.

 

 

Pellinore Rides

Do not hunt
That magical beast
You must slay
To find
Satisfaction.

Rather,
Find the joy
In polishing its scales
And sharpening its fangs
As you ride together
Into glory.

If you look
At your reflection
You will find
Its haunches
Already coiled
Beneath you.

 

 

Prophet 

I share these words
Only because
I am their mother
And I cannot allow them
To die
Gasping
In my arms.


Good Morning

Atheists
Are the most
Selfless
People
On
Earth.

They must be.

For they
Acknowledge
That there
Is no
Value

In self-
Redemption.

If we take
Nothing with us,

Not even
Our
Purified,
Enlightened
Souls,

Then the only
Value
Of our time
Beyond the womb

That is not
A closed
And masturbatory
Circle
Of
Self
For temporary
Self

—Of a mote
    Of dust
    Edifying
    Its own
    Gunk
    As it
    Blows
    In the wind—

Is to leave
An impression
In the heart
Of another.

Any religion
That aims
To perfect
The soul
Is ultimately
Self-centered.

In the name
Of self-
Perfection,

—Or in that
  Of abstract
  Adulation—

We have been
So
Selfish
For so long.

Is it not time
To open our eyes
And see
The people
Standing beside us?

Bring a smile to your brother;

Touch the heart of your sister

And you
Have already earned
Your eternity.


A Prayer

Have you never looked at the vile:

The purveyors of guile

The spewers of bile

The predators

The haters

The have-time-for-you-laters

Because it’s all about them

And your neck is just a trough

For them to fill their maws,

And cringed when you think

As you stared down the sink

That you just filled with spit in your rage

That nothing is done:

No hand is raised

No defiant voice praised

Nor legislation in place

To make them suffer

For the awfulness that they breed?

 

And do you not take comfort

In the thought

That one day,

When the chips are down,

When all those thrones made of bones

And the homes and the jobs

Squeezed from the sweat of poor slobs

Like you

Crumble to the ground…

And the day

When the man who spat in your eye

When you just wanted to try

To lend him a hand

And lift up his back

That much closer to the sky

Has to fall on one knee

And plead…

That day

The vile

Will rely

On the kind

And the generous

And they will

At last

See

Their folly?

 

But you know that they won’t.


For the kind

And the generous

For all the wings on their backs

For all the millions of stacks

Of books

That could be filled

With the names of lives they have saved

Even just for one second of some black-eclipsed day

No, not even they

Can overcome

Their own kindness

And generosity,

 

Even for the vile.

 

When those chips are down

And those great thrones built on their backs

Come tumbling from the sky,

With the spit still in their eye,

They will not

Withhold their hand

From a fallen brother or sister

Even when their finger can still feel the pulsating blister

On the palm

That held the whip

That lashed a man’s fellow man.

 

No.

 

They work on

In the hope,

And they know it’s insane,

An embolism in the brain,

To even entertain

The thought

That one day

The vile

Purveyors of guile

You spewers of bile

Who have hated

With such ferocity

Will see that their kindness

And generosity

Is not a weakness

To be exploited

But a strength

To be emulated.

 

Even though

They know,

For some,

That day

Will never come.

 

Ebenezer is fiction

And we don’t live

In a Christmas Carol.

 

And even so,

I have a simple, stupid dream:

That with every generation

With each imitation

Within every year

And every hour

And second

And each warm breath

Of generosity

That we grant one another,

Every coat we lay on the back of a brother,

Every time we do something as simple as just tell our sister

How much our heart has missed her

In her absence

Or in her sorrow

Or in her agony,

When she was lost even to herself,

We pump coins into that miniscule chance

That the next generation

Will dance

In a world

Where parents

And friends

And politicians

And teachers

And those wonderful, charitable

Bully-pit preachers

Play music

That is just that much

Kinder

And more generous

Than the music

That was heard

Only an hour ago:

 

And one day

No child will see reason

Faced even

With vileness or treason

Confronted with whatever iniquity

Whatever force of desire or greed

Or gut-burning need

To be anything but

Kind

And generous,

 

For what else is there to be?

 

And in a world that is sunned

By that impossible gleam

Every man and each woman,

Each normal, beautiful, simple human being,

With all the same fears

And identical hope for themselves

That things will just be better

Can look what is wrong in the eye

And simply say, “But why?”

 

And predation will be seen as the aberration it is.

And predation will be seen as the aberration it is.

And predation will be seen as the aberration it is.