Sunday Morning, After My New York Recital

Drenched—yet again— in failure
I rise from the ashes in holy strength
White, and red with determination
to untangle the beauty inside me.
I arise to be a Me I don’t yet hear or see.

Dead Flesh Erected on Walking Sticks

Click…
the sound of robots


Click, click…
the sound of imagination suffocating

                                                           
Click click-click…
the sound of existence waning      
     
                                              

Clickity-clickity-clickity-clickity-clickity, click…
the sound of brains decaying

Offices cloistered, phobic with
Bugged-eyed, severed-wrist zombies
Erected at electric boxed screens
Paying fruitless homage to unfulfilled dreams
Eight hours a day—eternal damnation. Stuffed

Between dingy-white pillars perch, as peacock tails,

The ignorant learnѐd : mere regurgitations of previous
Regurgitations of the esteemed regurgitated, feasting on incestuous
Vomit, segregated from society by empty, meaningless puffs,
Not knowing they are dead flesh erected on walking sticks

Pieced together with insanity’s glue

Click…

                                     

(1 John 4:18 "...But perfect love cast out fear...")

He lives in me like heartburn—
constant.
His seething chemicals clog
my air’s passage way;
all colors
turn gray.
His seed dominates
my emotions’egg;
together,
we conceive
Anxiety.
Come, Love,
sever this cord:
exorcise my demon-child.

Backstage: before my new york recital

Sometimes we dance together
tippy-toed, teetering
on cement ledges
high
up
in
Night

She draws me
into her
bosom
with a
motherly
embrace;
i am
covered.

i
ache
to swaddle
my black body
in her
midnight tapestry, and

fall
asleep (forever)
where

fears
can’t
torment me.

i reject her
embrace, and
embrace the
scorching, Bright
Scorpion.