Sewn Into The Earth

I will sing for you into the quivering nigh
as we have always yearned to sing
where the ocean blossoms
like a cosmos in its endless swirling
ring,
upon the elk and vibrant green-
these virgin feet touch
your golden shore where
sweet swells of tide break
against the skin
pulling
me in,
drawing-
expanding its breast
exhaling, crashing
from its chest to mine,
brief glimpses of endless time

I am yours,
I am yours,

my feet massage the soils;
sand, grass and sea,
the world is gloriously orchestrasted
and I
imagine becoming one with you
so that we
may always sing;

our white-capped islands,
half-submerged into our watery blue
are stones we leap from;
at the last
we’ll dive
and submerge into we
absorbed by the sea
in what the forever drew

the sweaters I have worn ...
have they become useless?
as you are more than warm,
so what’s the use of sweaters
when all I need is you?

you’ve embraced my heart
and you’ve set it ablaze
your words have struck me harder
than being hit by a bolt in the rain,
my love for you is endless
like the millions of city lights across
the cities in the endless fireflies
as a billion zippo lighters
decorate their populous eyes,

scattered,
amongst the never ending
highways
that flicker and glitter in the dark,

that dazzled in our eyes
as did the rooftops
that fused our hearts together
among the tallest of towers
where glorious appetites
arose,

escaping with our lives
from its gates
to then spill our words
with like-minded folk
to sing poetry
and discuss mad politics
among a face of fame (unknown
to us
was Kev Spay)

so let’s go into the night
and be fused
among the phallically flowing white Coit Tower,
chalk buildings
taken
needed
loved by this city,
let’s go mad with furious glory
and wreak havoc to the calm
still of night
shouting rhythms
to the dripping street lamps
and steep avenues,

sparkling our passions
with others
and ourselves,
arouses the glorious appetite
in our bellies
for the jazz of the world

-much the way
repeating waves work-
hit against the watery skin
a moonlight glitter
of silent light
against the receding chest of beach
grazes against our flesh
enlightening the spark
in the dark

I am yours,
golden shores
I am yours,

so neatly are we knit
as though we had been sewn
into ourselves all this time
into the earth and into the light;
discovering you
is like no other miracle
as a sweater I lost at sea (back in ’97)
has returned to keep me warm again;
since my recent finding,
you’ve projected an eternal wave
in the endless vast of my mind,
we’ll have ourselves warm
with our victorious flames
in our hearts,
welded into the deepening souls,
giving off
an eternal warmth

aren’t we a broad breasted breed‽
from all the words we have weaved?
come beating from the chest
from the heart
through the lung!
helplessly!
instinctively!

we paint the night
with endless stars,
for the farthest reaches
to Monterey’s beaches

I am yours,
San Francisco
I am yours,

PARIS OF THE WEST!!
you’ve given me more
than I could have ever dreamed,
from your cold fog breath
we’ve drawn in by tugging
at your curtain’s shoulder,
to the walks
and to the tops
of your bosomy breasts,
how can I simply
rest
sleep
dream
when every waking moment
is an infinite orgasm
of splendid opportunity?

I want to join your orgy
and fall endlessly in love
with your redwood limbs
your deep valleys of delicious honey
your mad supermarkets
your parks full of wine and cheese,
the strangled martini dog faces owned
by the elitist regimes
the million hands of narrow and steep streets
with some waving hat
or cup
or hand
or skull,

and nights at the Conservatory
where I met the finest explosions
of beautiful words words words words!
where all I want to do
is dive into you;

Ah, sweet Paris of the West!
the way you move me is like no other!

through the desert
I found you
like the traveler is to an oasis
who has fallen into the trance
of your imaginary mirage,
and since you’ve raced down my spine
through my canal
and have summoned my milky white
ejaculating over your city lights
birthing the starry maplights
in all its orgasmic
cosmic splendor!-
I’ve formed the milky way;

that fine touch of lightning
which strikes the lip
has since played the electrical current
and all I can do is sing:
ever since I met you-
Eye to the Universe-
I’ve never felt so alive,
when I’m with you, I grow stronger
our nights will make us younger
and ever so bright,

when I’m with you
I’m sewn into you

feeling us

feeling we,

we’ll paint our bright blue earth
with a waterfall of colours
and live in its harmony
underneath the eucalyptus trees
and redwood,

when I dream
I dream of tomorrow
and every day I must spend
on hills saturated with golden dew
that become islands
surrounded by a white,
cotton cloth,
and soon I’ll open its curtain
revealing the fairest of flesh
behind this wholly fluff

a body far and wide
and bosomy,
so when I’m struck by the light
I will sing what we have sung,

I am yours,
victorious earth,
I am yours,

I have opened your windows
I have opened your doors,

and when the hourglass begs
the universe
for endless, infinite sands
give it the teaching as you have done
for woman and man:
that love is a senseless act of giving,
much as the waves
are to the shores,

you’ve opened my windows
you’ve opened my doors
and have swept my into
your glorious abyss,

the fog curls in the sweetest light,
softly dipped into the horizon-
I cup the sweet honey
from its shimmering thigh,
swallowing,
cleansing gullet,

blushing from the heart,
spinning wheels of sparks
across the roadways to nowhere
where the Sun’ll rise from anywhere
while running on empty
in the heart of New Mexico
sweetly
your melody
blossoms from the radio,
drawn by the way you pull me closer
driving me in to an intoxicating sea
abyss of the heart I've always dreamt

of a pleasure fever
dripping wet
where all I want to be
is in your arms!

we’ll paint this earth with lips,
dripping cuts of clouds
falling Gracefully
warmly Quivering,
sweet ribbons of highways
connect to the first stitch
of Big Sur lore,

your swelling breasts
crash against my skin,
the floor erodes beneath my feet
and I’m pulled in
and succumbed
by the world’s largest protein shake,
peacefully dragged
into your body,

I step into you
and I become you.

I am one’s own ocean,
now;

I will carve into the wave
as I’ve done so in air
with wings like an albatross-
the wind through my hair
painting
without discretion
the Monet sky
we have always wanted,

I am yours,
I am yours,

we’ll watch the chorus dawn
from these golden shores
singing unforgettable rhythms
"we aren’t afraid anymore"

sure, we’ve wondered where all this is going,
but what else are we to do
when you're unemployed
and cash in the pocket-
would you rather suffer and mope
or would you harpoon the fleeting steer
and seize only but the proudest moment
in time?

we've all been slaves,
but shake those shackles until they break,
because once you exit
that open door
you’ll have a window
always yours,

forged by great, forgotten hands
that highway cuts
straight through the sand
ongoing,
clouds skimming;

my bristly beard
against your pale neck
feels as warm as train wheel friction-
wholeheartedly bursting
into the atmosphere;

a wildflower, unbuttoned
blessed bird
singing sweetly
like you are
Saint Francis of Assisi

whispering words to the dawn
in the science
of your heart
beneath your inhaling
exhaling
breathing apparatus
accordion breath,
with your eyes staring at mirror
the same way we did
in the backseat
of a ruby red convertible
eyeing the blood-red mountains
in the far distance
that lay bare,
bathing
in New Mexico
after we decorated cacti
with sombrero and stache;

cradled in my arms:
this notebook,
which I’ve scribbled
all sorts of gibberish
is not something that’s meant
to be consigned to any flame,

when I’m with you,
Paris of the West,
everything becomes sacred-
City Lights
rocking chair
2nd floor
clothes torn from the fire escape
to the alley’s hall,
every sock is a leaf
to the river
calm and still
below,
branches hugged by copper wire
sing the splash to the pavement
only to be swept up
and be discarded
like most things
we’ve hung on trees,

trembling flesh
this city
quivering,
lusting for the need
to keep holding on
to the quenchable thirst
of your
dripping sea,
swallowed whole
on every street,

I love you
like no other,

you’ve opened my windows

you’ve opened my doors

the invitation of your fog breath
has drawn me to your arms,
the pillow of your shoulder
is where I’ll weep
as I would fear to miss your voice;
the way
so soothing,

I am yours,
I am yours,

you’ll always be
the one that soars
in the wilderness wind
over the mountains
rivers
and oceans
with our hands
over a glowing bright blue dot
fingering San Francisco-
North Beach in particular,

know that I’ll always be with you
even if I’m not there,
sewn into each other

knit together and
joyously weaved,


we’ll sing
on the shore,
I’ll point to the chorus of dawn
for you to see eyes deep
so remember from my breath
when the light breaks a tune:

I’ve never met a sunset
that wasn’t meant for you.

Start. Finish. Rebirth. Start Again.

READING AT THE GREEN ROOM

Hippolyte aka Milo Brokenshire and Caroline Szpak will be reading their works @ The Green Room on Saturday, November 26 at 7:00pm

Come early if you'd like.


http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=288542634500025

Unbreakable Kite

The hawk has its dance
with endless ease,
unbreakable kite.

State, Ohio

At last I see the moon

slicing through the trees

wherein fireflies

paint its air spilling
fluorescent gasoline,

beneath the canopy

setting flames

above the dew

of grass
that everlasting
wholly mast just
for me to grasp,

where I sleep

is here in Ohio
wholesome in the heart
for an endless tomorrow,

that west I've sought for
is to be mine at last
steering from the stern
into the unending vast.

Images from July

all shot with my Holga CFN

Wherever You Are, Afar.

i had seen you in a dream-

on hills

swelled

soft breast,

who's hair ran wild

with wind & curl

& hand near sewn to chest,

who's heart of mine measured

no matter which height

grows like wild flowers

these eyes at your sight

& warm at dawn

the crisp of light

which glows my heart

in wholesome might,

our blushing gold fields

that fade when I wake-

will never once be washed

when the tide pulls its wave,

know that I love you

no matter where you are,

my heart is there for you

in the wind

wherever you are, afar.

2 Haikus

Evil Hell-Beast haiku

her lips are the wound
stay away or you will die
she is venomous.

Ant haiku

O shoe, please spare me
You killed my whole family,
Don't be an asshole.

The Night Is Calling Out

Written on December 5, 2010

In Night, saints sweep through the houses,

to those who near the shade of whispering shrouds-

in tied up blouses;

slipping words through to rooftops

for ghosts to catch in nets,

to prance upon the topsail winds,

below the eyes of Van Gogh skies

for rest.

A sincere extinguish of the candle’s final flame,

that everlasting wish, wholly

from the lover’s name,

to dance as the ghost

to know the newborn heart,

to love the night at most,

to soar as if a lark.

The games one has lost

are the games one has won,

the sting of Winter’s chill

turns to Springful Sun,

that love one has longed for

will be warm as Summer rain

to drop against your skin

to ease the weary vein.

To those who’ve kissed their loves

left ‘lone

on the tomb of one’s gravestone,

where all but faint whispers

echo the voice you once knew,

so fondly felt,

someday it’ll shake like dew;

one’s love is strong, no doubt,

and in turn, your heart,

the strongest flame that’s never put out.

They will lay a hand to breast

close their eyes, to bless

with rest,

to harpoon the cape

with a lasting brooch;

paint the last kiss

on the ancient lip,

draws out the final breath, swallow,

sinks deep through the chest.

Ghosts will prance

from rooftop to rooftop,

sailing through the milky white

with warm content in every flight-

under Van Gogh skies

where we’ve questioned the road

of its maplight glimmer,

it will grow dim

and fade,

just as is the candle,

that will put itself out.

When there lay imprints

in the snow,

one may want to retrace exactly

to that ancient, youthful glow;

but youth is always with us,

buried in our hearts,

like the candle that never fades

it will always remain the same,

what we leave behind us

makes us immortal all the same.

A Modern Joan of Arc

written on May 2, 2009

she stands there

at the corner road,

skin worn and cut

her clothes

much like her weathered skin,

she looked to the sky,

she spoke to the sky,

a hand to her chest

eyes as large as a whale,

among the people, no one

would care to think

that she might be

somebody different,

no one cares for her words,

as they are only voices

voices voices

that none would care

to listen,

angled over the head,

perhaps a halo hovered?

angels to be weathered

as relics would be covered,

reincarnation never existed.

10 Years Ago

Ten Years Ago, sometime after 9/11, I wrote my first poem.

It was a small haiku.

What spawned from that poem came a great bounty of literature- reading, writing and finding beauty in words.

It was perhaps unintentional that it should coincide with that terrorist attack, but thinking on it now, I realize just how important it was for me to witness tragedy and feel pain in my heart that changed my life completely.

A relative died in Tower 1...

It was the most terrifying feeling in my life.

Ten Years Ago, I was 14, attending a school that eventually led me to be President of its Poetry Club I called "Deepest Fools".

The amount of writing I produced was phenomenal.

I'd stay up for hours, spilling out words, forming lengthy stories, plays and poems.

When I look back on all the years from that point, I became exactly what I needed to be. The most pivotal moment for me was having the privilege of meeting the teacher and great friend, Nick Probst.

He taught me about flow and voice. I wrote a poem and read it in front of my class. My voice was soft- eventually becoming louder and louder to the point of screaming.

The last words of that poem was: WAKE UP GO BACK TO SLEEP - WAKE UP GO BACK TO SLEEP - AND DREAM THE OCEAN IN THE BEAT!

When I won my school's poetry award, I eventually found out that Nick nominated me for it.

I never received any award before that.

His kindness and generosity has stuck with me still and I've never been more thankful for his kindness.

An inspiration.

My heart is with my relative,

with the words I've forged and the people I've met.

I love every human being and only wish for people to forge dreams- not war.

Ten Years Ago...

I became who I am today and will never forget that horrible time.

My heart is for the people of that day.

Holding back your own tears is the hardest thing to do.

Photos from the west.

Meditation

Should the moment arise-

sink your body

in lotus,

fall alone as a gentle leaf

collapsing only with the wind,

divide body from mind

and float

into the between

and dive

carelessly

carving into the air

as a wing,

to slice the water

as a knife,

finding only that one

becomes an ocean
from time to time
blossoming
at the shore
with shoulders arched
diving into the sand.

Sonora Review is Sad

Way back in November I submitted to the Sonora Review, patiently waiting for a response. Only until now do I receive an e-mail stating the winner was selected earlier in the year.

Perhaps I'll submit my work to something with a shorter period, something monthly.

Walked most of the way from Berkeley to San Anselmo.

Was it crazy? Yes.

Should I have done such a thing? Yes and no.

Last night was fantastic.

First reading in San Francisco.

Groovy.

Whales of the Desert Sea

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So long, Nevada

There are endless fields

that seemingly span

forever,

covered in a blanket of gold,

Pastures patched

around in rows spread

about

beside the road,

Great hills in the distance

are the breasts of California,

pouting toward the skies,

their brassiere tits perked poutward,

Down this ribbon,

vacant houses, wells,

powerlines bare

as the oil swells drawing

out black honey,

Motorcyclists roar by-

some spooned like lovers,

this kid tries to grab a bike

in the middle of the highway

an invitation to die,

Crosses in a single row

form one great line,

a single thread connecting each,

The moon of the afternoon

is as big as Texas,

that silver dollar shining

over Nevada mountains,

People have spat out undesirables,

leather seating

and

U.S. Maps,

all to get to California.

Bursting Colossus Chorus

My hands cup sweet honey

from Big Sur sea

running through my hair

dripping from the Sunrise

spilling red velvet warmth

all over my body-

a dawn chorus

saturated by a golden hue

aroused by crashing waves

rising further up my legs

sand receding under my feet

the breeze a gentle degree

touched by ancient hands

who’ve drowned in oceans

from fish to airmen

to mammal to seamen

ancient protein shake-

whirls of wild winds

who’ve molded into shape

the canvas of Big Sur coastline

shoreline

all mine

for the taking-

I will drink your waters

and indulge

in your intoxicating fluid.

Some things to be lost at sea.

They'll fall out of pockets

to disappear

in snow covered fields

along the highway

on an interstate,

cars lose control and slide

on far stretches of ice sheets,

to be lost and forgotten

as are the items that fall from pockets

to be buried in frost

to erode,

to be hidden in thought.

Forget the burned finger edge

from the fastened cigarettes,

the loose life crashes against you,

waves smell of burning rubber

down highways covered in white,

Some nights the highways are empty canals

with frostbitten roadkill

waiting to cross to the other side

few hoping to be delivered a number of feet

from the hopeless rush

of midnight light.

There are nights

like wild rushing rivers

that sweep along the countryside

through dreams of wild slivers

sitting on the carcasses of washing machines

watching colours erupt

in firework lights down the interstate- in the distance,

emptied serene flights.

Waiting for the endless engines

to stop in the dark

holding the breath,

not knowing when to dream

where the Fall weathers the skin-

you'll feel it beside burning trees

as they, too,

die at times

but burn within many dreams.

We've been lost

as yesterday's snow

rushing down the roads

past hopeful

down

to cover the ground, where-

in night, through a park-

birds

whistling

over a patch of paper:

letters to hopeless love,

now hidden to vanish

underneath the pale moon,

just like the snowflakes in New York state.