It felt like Autumn
on this morning’s run
I want it to be fall
with its syllabus of vibes
I’m signaling a stance
I’m autumn’s undoubted champion
wearing my choice like gangland colours
- I could give my all to fall -
summer only ever had my subdivided attention
Summer’s just too needy: it demands relaxation,
bare legs, sun block, beach plans, hydration,
barbecue, and relentless fun, with scant variations
I want the visual promise of leaves falling
the flattering autumnal colour palette
my whole devotion crowns shortening days
fall always serves as a competent stylist
complete with venti pumpkin lattes
and mornings with a costume of frost
Unbind the theatrical heats of midsummer nights
and let the season's advance revive us
show us falls slanting golden afternoon light
let crisper darknesses harbour counterfeit witches
and lengthening dusks warrant winter wishes
Let fall assume her russet throne
and give us autumn’s cool agenda
without the influenza
.
.
Songs for this:
Ping Pong by Dimie Cat
Messy by Lola Young
subdivided into pities and regrets,
radiating dark pain of disappointment,
on the face semi plastic caustic opaque
already smeared blood and venom.
but isn't everything the same?
I mean, our usual acid,
like the gray word clothed with edges,
or eyes that have given up the light,
our heavy presence in this fragile environment...
we already know very well
that the elliptical orbit of amazement is eternal,
a gravitational loop that attracts us
and then throws our self steem space away,
leaving us naked as savages,
clinging to the heat of lies
that warmed the ice of our failures.
(and is this endless walk through the sphere bathed by photons right?
this is the destiny, crossing all equators with bitten nails,
bloodshot eyes of someone who forgot to sleep and dream in the last century?
anger has only one facet and it is a deep black wound,
it scratches the sky and is a vertical and dizzying curse,
it is spear and dagger that stabs the air and draws tears from the dirty stars.
the universe was right to not allow me to fly
because I would be a kind of swift tragedy,
spewing radioactive sunflowers over every naive life like mine).
Gods Country
Gods country as a whole
Is a whole country united
A whole continent un-subdivided
Without senseless violence
In any shape or form.
Unlined
with barbed wire strung tight
Spanning the Pacific to the Atlantic.
Simultaneously
all of it, and none of it
private.
The half-eaten, rotten remains of a culture
Still tastes like success to a ravenous vulture
To his chin, a sparkling teardrop drips
Into the abysmal from their slipping tight grips
Atop the tip of a sunken continent
Stands a risen giant monument
Under the growing weight of sadness
And the crushing pressure of darkness
Subdivided scatterings of a united mind
In the palm of a blistered, quivering hand
Shaking fists of fresh ideas punch the air
Revived from the coma of stifling fear
Unsheathed from an embryonic oil of riches
The face of a stillborn dug from mine trenches
Muddled from eons of a dysfunctional family feud
Blindsided by camouflage to fall to a poacher's foot
Lead by the neon glow of a golden tooth
Into the gaping jaw of a lion's mouth
To walk in our sandals of pride
Into the distant, eyes open wide
A nation built on slogans
The cost was sure at a bargain
And the growing waves of black and white fellowship
The returns of the struggle are in the townships
What was this unarticulated joy
that beat inside my chest?
That which was expected and is past
reflected numens chanting to my spirit,
as if subdivided in my superconsciousness,
I may not bear them as a whole
though holy they may be...
one mystery selects a lifetime as its drum
and makes the years crescendo
poco a poco from its infancy
unto the crashing storm of age
when breath itself implodes.
I think it is too much--
a joy the mind at quest must know
and not to be endured.
I think a man must shake his fist
in protest as Beethoven did,
unable to sustain it to the end.
It is the depth and height of ecstasy
of which its single aim
is to expire.
~
I'm living in a wayward town
spawned from the the
Lehigh's past days of
exporting and trading.
A past where railways and
waterways soppourted
a nation.
Now ,a somewhat shallow
river winding past
unused old grey,
weathered, steady canals.
The boats stopped here in
decades gone, to
recieve rest and repairs.
There's not a single
boat shop in this little
town anymore.
The first settlers were a stock
of stat Germans, Swiss , Irish
and Scottish.
Their houses, once
home are now subdivided
apartments.
Soppourting the welfare familes,
the young, the starving artists,
the poor.
Once a walk of carriages,
cottages, hotels, markets
of early American granduer.
Now, a winding ghost town,
a village,
with cracked sidewalks.
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