“Messenger of Peace”

while walking home
i saw
a white dove
land
dab smack
in the middle
of a four-lane road,
on-coming traffic
on both sides

and none of these muthafuckas was tryin to slow down

the dove
took off,
swerved,
barrel-rolled,
dodged,
fluttered and flapped and soared
towards
the horizon
unharmed
and glorious

i guess even
a messenger of peace
needs
to look
both ways

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“Fractal”

i am shiva, destroyer of worlds
i give birth to suns and spin galaxies
on my finger
i summon heroes from out of
the Abyss
and give them shape,
give them life
they are mine
to do with as i please
i set their path before them
and stone that path
with many obstacles
i terrorize them
with flood and fire and death
i fashion them anew through trial
if they are to die, they shall do so
according to my design
if i want you to laugh at them
i’ll make them into
perfect fools,
and do so
with
perfect impunity
for in this
world
i have no equal
and i answer to
no one

but

when

i put down my pen
and look up at a sky
i did not make and
shield my eyes
against a sun
i did not forge, i
shudder
to think
what secret horrors
my
author
has
in
store

for
me

“Plea Bargain”

you will have to bear
some of this madness.
i kept the knife
and held it
at bay
held it to my
own throat
shouting
“Back, back,
you devil!”
but now
you will have to
bear
some of this madness.
i am too tired,
too lazy
this flesh is frayed
the leaks too many
yes, I’m sorry,
but you will have to bear some
of this madness.
let your mountains
take
the brunt of it
let the sun melt it
let the wind
scatter
the load
and let the iron branches
of your oldest trees
brace themselves.
even the birds
can carry their
fair share
of it
take tiny bits
of it
on their light wings
the squirrels can stuff it in
their cheeks
and the roaches should
eat what they can

but you will have to bear
some of my madness

and what
you cannot
bear
you will have to dump

there’s room in your oceans

there’s room in your rivers

there’s room in the bowels of the earth
deep underground
There’s room in your alleys and your gutters
in your crowded restaurants
in your boardrooms
and think tanks
there’s room in your seminars and social gatherings
there’s room in the blackness of space
above the earth
where it can make its way from star to star
and swirl in
the outer rim of a galaxy
till it’s pulled toward the center
like shit down a toilet

please,
would you be
so kind
as to bear
some of my madness?
then
I can bear yours
a little better

“Karma Yoga”

i nurse myself
on you
adoring me
I nurse myself
on senseless metal
placed in my hand
i nurse myself on
mics in my face
and flashing cameras
and questions about
my process

i nurse myself
on wallets
filled to overflowing
and fine wines
I can identify
and steaks that are well-seasoned
and a car that comes
to get me
no matter where I am

i nurse myself
on an endless parade
of pussy
marching through
my bedroom
classy girls who know how to have a good time
girls with fat asses
girls that know exactly when
i want them
to leave
and do

i nurse myself
on the opening
night party
of my play
a heralded hit
i’m leaning casually
against the bar
i look good in my tuxedo
i’m a little bored with it all
all the acclaim
because it’s all the same
day in, day out
i’m just drunk enough
to keep things interesting
but not so drunk
i can’t stay upright
a woman walks in
she moves
like she was made
for moving,
her eyes –
they’re not like
mine
she’s unstoppable,
and so am i
i walk over to her and say
“I wrote the play
you saw tonight.”
And she says, “I didn’t see it.
I overslept.
Was it any good?”
John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman
are playing
“You Are Too Beautiful”
and she lets me have this dance
i know this is fate
this is destiny
because I have been nursing myself
on this dream
and here it is
come to life

i nurse myself
on the cool
breeze of the beach
i nurse myself
on a log cabin
in the woods
i nurse myself
on the image of her,
belly full of child,
snoring in front
of the fire place.

and my Muse
pulls this tit
from out my mouth
and sticks a finger down my throat
and OUT IT COMES!
OUT IT ALL COMES!
my dreams
“These will make
good kindling,”
she says.
and into her furnace
they go
they go up like dry grass
they go up like curtains
hanging in my
log cabin house
in the woods
near the beach

they are gone
forever now
in fire and in smoke

I breathe a sigh of relief
and a sigh of grief

now I can write

“Dilemma”

i sit down to draw
because even though
i’ve started
too late
i want to be able to draw
as well
as Basquiat
or Van Gogh
or Picasso
which is why
i picked up
this drawing book
to teach me
to teach me
how to draw
as well
as Basquiat
or Van Gogh
or Picasso
but today it is teaching me
i have no patience
because the drawing
i’m supposed to draw
is all
out
of
proportion
very much like
the intense
hatred I’m feeling
towards myself
‘cause I’m starting
so late
and can’t yet
draw
like Basquiat
or Van Gogh
Or Piccasso

and part of the reason
it’s all out of proportion
is because I can’t concentrate
and part of the reason
i can’t concentrate
is because a golden eagle
is sitting on my head
sinking its talons
into my skull
she wants to take off
but I want to stay
so it goes on this way
she fighting me
me fighting back

finally I give up the drawing
and try to read
but that escape route
has been cut off
too
the eagle is still there
her talons haven’t moved

and I’m slipping away

“Fuck it,” I say
and let go.

the only place I can really be
at this point
is the point
at the center
breathing deeply
staying in the center
while the golden
eagle flaps her wings
and we fly past
grand words and images
and I know this is
a tricky time
because if I dwell
on any  word
or image too long
it will stick to me
drawing more like it
unto itself
and to me

and that’s how people go mad

but the eagle will sometimes
take me
to
THE PURE PLACE
and beyond
and that’s not so bad
no, that’s not so bad
at all

and so I wonder

if the golden eagle
belongs on my head
that is
the question

because
if she
is a part of me
as much of me
as my kidneys
then I have no choice
but to surrender
and to keep taking this trip
even if it leads me
into death
or madness
or both
that may just be
my dharma
as much a dharma
as Romeo and Juliet
or one plus one
equaling two

if she doesn’t belong there
i need drugs and  a white room
i need drugs and a white room in a white building with white fluorescent lighting
where I can share my thoughts and feelings
“without judgment”
“in a safe space”
they may even have
“arts and craft”
time

Oh.

that would be nice
“arts and crafts”
time
maybe while I’m there
i can learn to draw
like Basquiat
or Van Gogh
or Picasso.