this morning is the morning

This morning is the morning
that comes while I'm asleep
dreaming my inexcusable dreams.

This morning is the morning
of the day when I will finally
not let my habits
orchestrate and direct.

This morning is the morning
of my twenty fifth year (some days in)
and the steel train tracks
of my mind are being lifted
and pointed north.

This morning is the morning
when the human mind
witnesses how it spends time--
cyclical pattern, magnetic suggestion,
gain and rewards sufferings.

How many ignore the insanity
and try to make sense of the constant
and keep going? Perhaps this is how
we separate and redeem ourselves.
Maybe it is choice and suffering
that when they end, the mouth to the river
will be found and followed inland, to find
the steel tracks and move them a little.

allen ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg wrote so many filthy poems,
                                       Jesus Christ...
You could tell he wasn't afraid, wasn't waiting (couldn't wait).

There is always somebody needing to be shown something,
and if you write long and strangely enough
you can find yourself finding yourself
and never once worry about going to hell. (Hell is where
people wait to be shown
without any room in their hearts
to show others)

my lady is a project

My lady is a project,
such sweet progress to be made,
who when layeth down at night
dreams of lying in a grave.

So at night I'll tinker with her,
sharpen her body like a glaive,
and in the day perturb her mind,
to begin the leaving of the grey.

she is so casual

She is in one of those moods
that I can't resist
to tease out and elongate,
and many things I can't resist,
like how she grabs my wrists
and eats my lips, but it is
in how she acts against me
when I am run completely through,
as she acts herself, lives and loves
and ignores her many parts and plays.
     Her parts and plays... her believable beautifuls,
she watches not what she does,
but participates in her own easy plot
as written by a master play-write
who turns actors into characters forevermore, and
her set and setting is where I want
to be sat and settled, living, breeding,
everything filthy, unexpected
and twisting at the end.

bepaint

This morning the sun,
the base of a gradient,
takes the air of space
from its cold existence
and soaks the many billions
of molecules with a hue
of many million shades.
Then the earth turns hill
upon hill into color
after color of black and light,
greys and browns
and by the river
evergreen and sand alder.
In this way,
the true matter of earth is cloaked
since no eye can see
what the night does to nature,
character or elsewise,
since the morning contrast
allows the dark
to keep secrets by the acre.