Alive the city
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Alive the city, history and electricity flows in poured cement lamented and assured with Gas lights and clear windows dead eyes and callused hands growing from strong arms; this never was my city. Alive the streets, a rapid river of loud roaring traffic below and the highways warm trembles with the fear of the farm boys trembles at the power of the prostitute trembles at the prodigy child The future. Alive the death, a great man stands bronzed in the park remembered only by the pigeons as a place for them to shit; the homeless man the wisest man lay below tattered cloths news paper pillow remembered only by society as a place for them to shit. Alive the jazzman, on the corner below seeps his soul through brass valves his weight held only on one reed he stops… silence he don't wanna think no more and I like the jazz man don't wanna think no more. Alive the seductress, slender legs and w o b bl y heels selling her soul for 100 dollars an hour hating hating Hating A master of her own filthy power I put binoculars between her kneecaps and I can see where Empires have fallen. Alive the man with the briefcase, the superior man of today the man of limited feeling whose education consists of education consists of ready made actions to ready made situations. Alive the young poets, out their sex hungry trying to act tough trying to act like men but really closer to their mothers nipples than to a true evaluation of existence. Alive the men who make the city, with dusty hands and moist brow behind brawd shoulders that stand taller than the towers who's hats and heads are harder than the hammers they swing. Alive the people, the thick headed bullbrained mob hard on attitude already forgotten; the dead of Normandy and Lincoln's stringy beard. Alive the city, and its marvelous sound pulsing from concrete humming from street lamps and the millions of voices imbedded in graffiti taxis art and faces flowing with culture color and race room after room and building after building of people with stories of pain and prosperity. A rain will come and clean the streets clean the buildings clean the filth and forever the raging river of chaotic Roaring traffic will flow and the soul of the city will live eternally not just in my mind but in the graffiti prophesies in the voices and hearts of the people and with the strength of concrete Alive the beginning Alive the birth Alive the life Alive the love Alive the soul Alive the death Alive the never Alive my self Alive The CITY roaring Roaring ROARING |
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To be them
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They were so beautiful I wanted to be them I forgot my vocabulary to be them I judged to be them I burnt a hole in my chest to be them I ran from my parents words to be them I denied my God to be them I numbed myself to be them I fell from my sky to be them I died to my past to be them I marked my self to be them I ran from all that was true to be them I Was Them I looked in their mirror I saw nothing but blind masochists And fashion was the sadist They were a desolate beauty And their insides were so ugly so false I saw their eyeless eyes and proud hands I hated them I stepped back wards to try and find me but I only walked in to some body else |
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Step out
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I step out into the street I step out into the night I step out to be pushed back Filth has personified And it stumbles through : The shadows The alleys The minds The children The silence… quiver at the scared faces all looking to hate you… listen Past the engines to the sound of the Ocean… Know But don't think, know you are Blind Then just Step out or back in If you are wise. |
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Companion
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I've bled on art I've bled on poetry But tonight I bled in my guitar just my loss just for me and no one else my fingers are charred I exploded my eyes are wet, I saw music I melted into it and it pulled me Closer Deeper I was possessed and every birds last song and every sincere note played to no one I herd I was I knew I Felt |
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Barista
Coffee? We can talk art?
Wine? We can talk life?
Kiss? We can talk passion?
Love? Talk nothing of it. We agree.
With our mouths we say this
Not with our hearts or hands
They sing a different song
Coffee. She gets me.
Wine. Hearts turn to speak.
Kiss. Like nothing so right.
Love?
And the heart and hands
laugh and sing about
another situation
they have
gotten me
into
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