to pay for a drink and then walk out

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two brothers wrestle in

twelfth century sweden and then

in mid century manhatten.  One says to the other

that they had left a grudge

with heavenly creatures, with seraphin, waiting back in the north

of the atlantic.  one says that they

must agree to disagree before

they can safely defend from the moslem

horde. one with red hair

talks about what the angels

looked

like and the other disagreed with the

turns of phrases, says that he blacked

out at the sight of ceremonial discord.

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there is power in the flame

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well to be honest, I was working around

the corner and there was a giant

fire, I thought that it was a terrorist, but

there was no reason to be afraid, because my

neighbourhood, all the people in my area, we

were so beyond hate.  I turned to the cobblestone

streets and I saw a boy, a teenager, on fire

drifting to his knees, opening the door to his

blue car.  a shop keeper steps through the

glass, ignoring the pain and loss of the

shards, of the theft, of the

blood.

there is no absence in the

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i need to move away, the

stone walls smash too hard and the

pelicans drawn on the walls

scream too loud, crashing into my

eardrums like paternity rushes

to the bastard.  the followers of

the lord of the house wake me when I’m

dreaming of a future where

the deserts are deserted and the

the palm trees know no more wind.  when i see them and

know that my life is in danger, I cannot move, because

they have sung to me so sweetly.

my blue eyed backwards man

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i remember way back when, when you

penned a manifesto about

the post war architecture to follow.  you didn’t

have any ink before the fighting, but

you gathered around with your

friends and showed kindness in silence.  there were

loud noises after and burning bodies, but alas,

you’ve known structures and you will build

buildings, generations after will

know you as the crocodile.

 

tha wisdom of tha fame

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he takes off his gangster clothes to pick up the

bejeweled chalice, the video

screen cracks, a little.  the red and green

spices pop out of the screen.  a woman

with purple stockings

tells him that

there is gold around the sky and the

shadows give him a strong effect

of courage.  There isn’t any counsellors

in the audience, but he reaches into

the lungs of the earth and pulls a

new voice of the lord, a new potion

for youth.

dropping a rope for the foreigner

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your two sisters are running fast

around the house, the younger of the

two trips and begins to wail.  she isn’t crying

many tears, but there is a definite

colour to her face that makes

it clear that her eyebrows will raise

and there will be dances in

the barnyard,

music in the

cotton field,

shoot outs

in the giant valley

beyond the open

gates.

after the hour will change

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today is the day that the 23rd

white key on the top

of a piano forte is struck.  It signals

the explanation of a man, the one

who was toppling empires, long

before he knew who to woo. there were gold

mines full of wood, thrones made of cedar

and spirits made of

stardust.  when the next key is

played, it becomes a summer in

his youth, before the rumours began,

when there were large soldiers, too

large for the musicians.

there is meaning in language, but only in mellifluous type settings, etc

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a villain moves into the

foreground, but he represents the potency

of nature.  the favours that you have made for him

are not extravagant, but the vermouth

has lost it’s power.  there is a knock at the

door and

you run to answer, he doesn’t let anyone speak.

he doesn’t want anyone to talk.  there is purple ooze coming from the

outside and allegories being made, to no

use with

loud pop music bringing

a favourite kind of meaning.