The inevitability of innocence.
Since every moment’s
Novel and unprecedented
(Everything is change)...
Then won’t it be best
Just to marvel
As the stars all
Rearrange?
You can classify it
It will pacify your
Mind
But maybe, having tried
To classify it, you
Have been unkind.
I have been too kind to try
To impress upon the world
What Nature holds, presuming them
To have seen what it did unfold.
But as I said, some doors are closed
To many not as far ahead as I.
And so the best composed
Of poems will appear, to dry eyes,
Dry.
But I’ll maintain my stance
If vainly fighting for a chance
Than sanely one day they will see
And fuck them if they don’t agree.
But I will not accept the compromise
The contexts stuffy men devise
Stuffing it like leaves into a pipe
Leaving us to sit and gripe.
The door is unlocked for you, but
It isn’t open yet.
You have an excuse and
You have nothing to regret.
But as for me, having had
The daring, having been prepared
To open it and wet
My tongue
I am among those
Who cannot forget.
Your sad resolve and pity
Cannot touch and I would be
Mad if I should let your witty
Tongues become a crutch
To me.
Since every moment’s novel
And unprecedented
Then to marvel is a better way
Than anyone man has invented
On a prior day.
And so those of us who can do it
And those who cannot
Still remain within the stew, it’s
All in the same pot.
What is innocence? It’s not
Naiivete or childishness
But childlike wonder, that linch
Pin of existence
That few can confess.
For every novel mess
Will not conform to our old
Order.
And so we’re always pushed
Onward to progress
Across our border.
We are thus always innocent
Only a victim in a sense.
Be it with or without consent,
You can’t escape your innocence.
Novelty is what we face
With each passing moment.
Marvel with me in this place
It will get better, won’t it?
Dm.A.A.
Since every moment’s
Novel and unprecedented
(Everything is change)...
Then won’t it be best
Just to marvel
As the stars all
Rearrange?
You can classify it
It will pacify your
Mind
But maybe, having tried
To classify it, you
Have been unkind.
I have been too kind to try
To impress upon the world
What Nature holds, presuming them
To have seen what it did unfold.
But as I said, some doors are closed
To many not as far ahead as I.
And so the best composed
Of poems will appear, to dry eyes,
Dry.
But I’ll maintain my stance
If vainly fighting for a chance
Than sanely one day they will see
And fuck them if they don’t agree.
But I will not accept the compromise
The contexts stuffy men devise
Stuffing it like leaves into a pipe
Leaving us to sit and gripe.
The door is unlocked for you, but
It isn’t open yet.
You have an excuse and
You have nothing to regret.
But as for me, having had
The daring, having been prepared
To open it and wet
My tongue
I am among those
Who cannot forget.
Your sad resolve and pity
Cannot touch and I would be
Mad if I should let your witty
Tongues become a crutch
To me.
Since every moment’s novel
And unprecedented
Then to marvel is a better way
Than anyone man has invented
On a prior day.
And so those of us who can do it
And those who cannot
Still remain within the stew, it’s
All in the same pot.
What is innocence? It’s not
Naiivete or childishness
But childlike wonder, that linch
Pin of existence
That few can confess.
For every novel mess
Will not conform to our old
Order.
And so we’re always pushed
Onward to progress
Across our border.
We are thus always innocent
Only a victim in a sense.
Be it with or without consent,
You can’t escape your innocence.
Novelty is what we face
With each passing moment.
Marvel with me in this place
It will get better, won’t it?
Dm.A.A.
A last homage to spirit and Nature.
Something in that
repetition
steady madness...
lends a sense
of constancy
justifying every
(man'made not by God) sadness.
Like a heartbeat
lending resistance
to the wind of ever
novelty
as the drummer, crippled
slips, in defeat
from existence.
Something in that
repetition
steady madness...
lends a sense
of constancy
justifying every
(man'made not by God) sadness.
Like a heartbeat
lending resistance
to the wind of ever
novelty
as the drummer, crippled
slips, in defeat
from existence.
It All Adds Up.
People act so strangely
You look around, you
want to say hello....
They don't, and it's Strange, you know.
Stranger than the stranger danger
what persuades the mind to see
Step one, a man
who has a gun within his hand
step two, who knew?
And then me at step three?
Condemn me for wearing
a beard or sitting alone
and being weird or
acting like I'd known
you all your life
As though I were prone
o pull a knife.
I'm spiraling out of control
I am enjoying the fall
You may think you are the captain of your soul
But that's not all
you are
If one plus one is two
And one plus two is three
If one equals one, then you
And I are equal, and you
equal me.
And though two may be greater
than one, that does not dissuade
the disparateness of their properties.
Nor those between
the two and three.
Two, as a dividing agent
Leaves you half a healthy numerator.
Whereas one does not divide
Though the two are greater,
One does not seek to be on
the even side
And though zero is less than
one, still
it's the same, it runs
to show us the same lesson.
For though the one is greater,
that one is still divisive
Wouldn't be nice if
we could all be zero
wouldn't it be nice if
We could all be
that hero
without a cent
to his name. That gent who
says to us, Hey
we are all the same?
You can't divide by zero
Without seeing
infinity.
And so, though zero may be queer, oh
(S)he hath my affinity.
dm.A.A.
People act so strangely
You look around, you
want to say hello....
They don't, and it's Strange, you know.
Stranger than the stranger danger
what persuades the mind to see
Step one, a man
who has a gun within his hand
step two, who knew?
And then me at step three?
Condemn me for wearing
a beard or sitting alone
and being weird or
acting like I'd known
you all your life
As though I were prone
o pull a knife.
I'm spiraling out of control
I am enjoying the fall
You may think you are the captain of your soul
But that's not all
you are
If one plus one is two
And one plus two is three
If one equals one, then you
And I are equal, and you
equal me.
And though two may be greater
than one, that does not dissuade
the disparateness of their properties.
Nor those between
the two and three.
Two, as a dividing agent
Leaves you half a healthy numerator.
Whereas one does not divide
Though the two are greater,
One does not seek to be on
the even side
And though zero is less than
one, still
it's the same, it runs
to show us the same lesson.
For though the one is greater,
that one is still divisive
Wouldn't be nice if
we could all be zero
wouldn't it be nice if
We could all be
that hero
without a cent
to his name. That gent who
says to us, Hey
we are all the same?
You can't divide by zero
Without seeing
infinity.
And so, though zero may be queer, oh
(S)he hath my affinity.
dm.A.A.
Another letter to Jean.
I always wonder what impels
Men and women to suffer
these hells that they themselves imposed...
On a mind that could be better
rehearsed, well-versed and well-composed
And, on the whole, unfettered.
That would be quite better than
The mind being a stopper
for the soul.
I think binding others to one's
destiny
is on the whole
A much more absurd predicament
That is, to want to control
Rather than having the courage
To love, to seek consent
And to console.
And I suppose that to console
has fallen to my charge
If not for all
of humanity
as a whole
than society at large.
Tell me: What impels the mind
that questions its own sanity
to have half a mind to find
some solace in its private vanity.
What, I ask, could be a greater threat
to one's humanity?
Did that mind, in the same breath, forget
the charge it's put upon its sanity?
Craziness arises out of lazy compromises
between methodical illusion
and periodical confusion.
Spiraling out of control
But perfectly calculated
A fibonacci sequence
improvised and orchestrated.
So why do you question me
If you do not trust yourself
Why is it, in my eyes, you see
A threat to your own health?
Do you distrust the world around you
And find solace in your own aggression
Would it just astound you
too much to see your own obsession.
As it is: Your world and his
To see your own transgression clearly
What if sanity had found you
Searching for it so sincerely
in a quarry, knees half-buried
Married to your curse?
When the world is all around you
And above you
When the world wants only
to love you
It is scary
And you make it worse.
dm.A.A.
I always wonder what impels
Men and women to suffer
these hells that they themselves imposed...
On a mind that could be better
rehearsed, well-versed and well-composed
And, on the whole, unfettered.
That would be quite better than
The mind being a stopper
for the soul.
I think binding others to one's
destiny
is on the whole
A much more absurd predicament
That is, to want to control
Rather than having the courage
To love, to seek consent
And to console.
And I suppose that to console
has fallen to my charge
If not for all
of humanity
as a whole
than society at large.
Tell me: What impels the mind
that questions its own sanity
to have half a mind to find
some solace in its private vanity.
What, I ask, could be a greater threat
to one's humanity?
Did that mind, in the same breath, forget
the charge it's put upon its sanity?
Craziness arises out of lazy compromises
between methodical illusion
and periodical confusion.
Spiraling out of control
But perfectly calculated
A fibonacci sequence
improvised and orchestrated.
So why do you question me
If you do not trust yourself
Why is it, in my eyes, you see
A threat to your own health?
Do you distrust the world around you
And find solace in your own aggression
Would it just astound you
too much to see your own obsession.
As it is: Your world and his
To see your own transgression clearly
What if sanity had found you
Searching for it so sincerely
in a quarry, knees half-buried
Married to your curse?
When the world is all around you
And above you
When the world wants only
to love you
It is scary
And you make it worse.
dm.A.A.
The More it Changes.
The more it changes, the more it’s
The same day...
I was starting to begin to wonder
If the undertaking that had been Afghanistan
Had changed you
And if something like that ever can
Estrange you
From your common man in your
Attempt to help them God
Knows anybody can
Commit that error
And God help them.
I met Ali, who knew a terror
That even surpasses it
Now he teaches classes
At UCSD.
And yet I meet him on the corner
Of a Starbucks on the plaza
Looking like we share in some disorder
Of the cosmos.
And he tells me, looking at me
Clearly and sincerely,
Don’t forget that Life is not
Beside you
It’s in front of you.
And the recognition
Couldn’t have appeared more dear to me.
And I (had) hope(d) that that same recognition
(had) come to you, too.
But maybe it had been your own rendition
Of your own condition
Left you wishing
To drink more
Of the world
Than you were ready for.
And maybe it was your ambition
To go, like a saint to war.
Knowing, eyes alight
Cheeks creased
Imperishably
Radiantly glowing
That this was what you
Were fighting for.
Erasing the visage
And replacing it with a
Collage of memories.
But the more it changes,
The more it stays the same.
What estranges us
From what we were
Makes what we had been
Plain.
The more it changes, the more it’s
The same day...
I was starting to begin to wonder
If the undertaking that had been Afghanistan
Had changed you
And if something like that ever can
Estrange you
From your common man in your
Attempt to help them God
Knows anybody can
Commit that error
And God help them.
I met Ali, who knew a terror
That even surpasses it
Now he teaches classes
At UCSD.
And yet I meet him on the corner
Of a Starbucks on the plaza
Looking like we share in some disorder
Of the cosmos.
And he tells me, looking at me
Clearly and sincerely,
Don’t forget that Life is not
Beside you
It’s in front of you.
And the recognition
Couldn’t have appeared more dear to me.
And I (had) hope(d) that that same recognition
(had) come to you, too.
But maybe it had been your own rendition
Of your own condition
Left you wishing
To drink more
Of the world
Than you were ready for.
And maybe it was your ambition
To go, like a saint to war.
Knowing, eyes alight
Cheeks creased
Imperishably
Radiantly glowing
That this was what you
Were fighting for.
Erasing the visage
And replacing it with a
Collage of memories.
But the more it changes,
The more it stays the same.
What estranges us
From what we were
Makes what we had been
Plain.
People with high IQs
with more in their garage than cars
Who do not need
a barrage of pyrotechnics
to see the stars...
WHo think technically
And morally
Balancing the odds
Who see GOd
in every face
Please
keep them away from this place.
It was all over the news
Someone with more in his garage
than cars
sent a barrage of bombs
to college
You could see it all from Mars
Now the girls avoid the gaze
Of every quiet freak
Who wanders into diners all alone
And sometimes dares to speak.
It was all over the news
A quiet boy of kindly nature
Took a gun to someone's head
You can see him in the paper.
BUt how this happened
Is more than the casters will let you deduce
How a good, smart boy had snapped and
Kept the cycle of abuse.
dm.A.A.
with more in their garage than cars
Who do not need
a barrage of pyrotechnics
to see the stars...
WHo think technically
And morally
Balancing the odds
Who see GOd
in every face
Please
keep them away from this place.
It was all over the news
Someone with more in his garage
than cars
sent a barrage of bombs
to college
You could see it all from Mars
Now the girls avoid the gaze
Of every quiet freak
Who wanders into diners all alone
And sometimes dares to speak.
It was all over the news
A quiet boy of kindly nature
Took a gun to someone's head
You can see him in the paper.
BUt how this happened
Is more than the casters will let you deduce
How a good, smart boy had snapped and
Kept the cycle of abuse.
dm.A.A.
The looming threat of
death it threatens
to consume me
in each breath.
...
I want to succumb myself
to ecstasy
but it does not befit
my station
Sanctity will lead me through
A course of imitation.
A tour de force of how to scrape away
the cover that had made
the lover the romantic.
what had hovered in their minds
the disruptor that unloved their
kind
the flesh-eater
who could pick a needle
from the hay.
And the spirit of the
Mountain that would not
obey.
death it threatens
to consume me
in each breath.
...
I want to succumb myself
to ecstasy
but it does not befit
my station
Sanctity will lead me through
A course of imitation.
A tour de force of how to scrape away
the cover that had made
the lover the romantic.
what had hovered in their minds
the disruptor that unloved their
kind
the flesh-eater
who could pick a needle
from the hay.
And the spirit of the
Mountain that would not
obey.
Lighthouse.
Oh, the curse
Of being alone
Upon this lighthouse...
Long forgotten.
As I have to smell
the sea-besotten
weed
What rotten luck
To be alone in musk.
Prone to hearing
Voices from the distance.
Prone to seeing
vessels dotting the line
of the horizon.
I try again
I leave my station
taking some unsteady
vacation.
Visit the village Pillagers
and Forkers and Old New
Yorkers.
And I try to tell them what I've
SEEN. If I'm lucky
I leave within the day.
I am always fucked
If I stay.
ii.
The lock me up in houses
I cannot get out.
They douse my soul in vinegar
Hoping that I'll be devout.
By the time they've scratched
My head apart
And hung the threads
From cracks in floorboards.
They tell me they're bored.
And go upstairs.
And, all this happening,
tired of being so adorned.
Trying hard not to subside to scorn,
I extricate myself
And flee their glares.
I don't want to masturbate
Onto their window sills
While they watch.
But I would kill
for just a blotch
of paint.
But they will wash it off
their quaint windows
and then scoff
at my complaint.
Why should I aspire
to set fire to their homes
of fear and shame?
I know that
if I were there,
I should feel the same,
Exactly the same.
For after all, their world in all
its intricacies and breakdowns'
just a game.
I have to let them play.
Like children
all bewildered
Every day.
It feels so hurt to say.
But what else can I do? The alternative is
blue. What could you know
of eternity?
All the windows point to something more
inane: Modernity. MODErnity. MODERNITY.
Some doors I hope they'll open soon
But until they do, what's the use?
I can't let them know what I had seen.
They could not deduce.
But since I, myself, have seen the light
Behind, I have no excuse.
What would just distract the blind
The seeing would to sanity reduce.
dm.A.A.
Oh, the curse
Of being alone
Upon this lighthouse...
Long forgotten.
As I have to smell
the sea-besotten
weed
What rotten luck
To be alone in musk.
Prone to hearing
Voices from the distance.
Prone to seeing
vessels dotting the line
of the horizon.
I try again
I leave my station
taking some unsteady
vacation.
Visit the village Pillagers
and Forkers and Old New
Yorkers.
And I try to tell them what I've
SEEN. If I'm lucky
I leave within the day.
I am always fucked
If I stay.
ii.
The lock me up in houses
I cannot get out.
They douse my soul in vinegar
Hoping that I'll be devout.
By the time they've scratched
My head apart
And hung the threads
From cracks in floorboards.
They tell me they're bored.
And go upstairs.
And, all this happening,
tired of being so adorned.
Trying hard not to subside to scorn,
I extricate myself
And flee their glares.
I don't want to masturbate
Onto their window sills
While they watch.
But I would kill
for just a blotch
of paint.
But they will wash it off
their quaint windows
and then scoff
at my complaint.
Why should I aspire
to set fire to their homes
of fear and shame?
I know that
if I were there,
I should feel the same,
Exactly the same.
For after all, their world in all
its intricacies and breakdowns'
just a game.
I have to let them play.
Like children
all bewildered
Every day.
It feels so hurt to say.
But what else can I do? The alternative is
blue. What could you know
of eternity?
All the windows point to something more
inane: Modernity. MODErnity. MODERNITY.
Some doors I hope they'll open soon
But until they do, what's the use?
I can't let them know what I had seen.
They could not deduce.
But since I, myself, have seen the light
Behind, I have no excuse.
What would just distract the blind
The seeing would to sanity reduce.
dm.A.A.
Has it been four years?
I can't believe it
Though I'd tried to calculate it
Though it had seemed queer...
To investigate it.
But sure as fact and there it is
It has been four years
And now it seems imperative
To be sincere
Lest my despairs and cares
Leave me in crumbling fear,
Summer of two-thousand nine
The second-to-last time I saw you.
And it may seem asinine
But I never thought we'd fall
through.
I wanted to date a girl
You told me to go for it.
As we waited for the waterwhirl
The autumn would have
something more in store, it
Told me you would disappear
To college
And that Ally would replace you.
But it didn't lend the knowledge
I'd lose face and time erase
you.
Come summer of two-thousand ten
Ally did depart.
If by chance you'd seen me then
You would have (seen) a broken heart.
But really a conniving mind
Striving just to orchestrate,
For that villain – time – to unwind
To blindside unkindest
Fate.
But the summer came and went
As had Ally's once consent
And I found a number heart
The journey down the hill
Did start.
The year of eleven brought
A reverence for scary thought.
You had been very distressed
For me,
But shedding me was best.
Two-thousand twelve had been the
third
Year. How queer and how
absurd.
You had been so dear
to me.
I had fears, but never
could
Guess someone so dear
to me Could leave me
stranded,
empty-handed
I can't stand it.
More than Ally could.
The fourth year was a new
device. I knew
I thought of
You, oh
Once or twice.
I didn't know
How I'd grown
number,
Till I saw
you on that day
After the end
of summer.
And it was upon that first day
of Autumn I remembered.
All the things – you probably forgot
them – that you'd told me last
September.
Not that you'd ever hold me
as you would another man.
But that you wished me to go boldly
Forward
with your luck
Holding my hand.
dm.A.A.
I can't believe it
Though I'd tried to calculate it
Though it had seemed queer...
To investigate it.
But sure as fact and there it is
It has been four years
And now it seems imperative
To be sincere
Lest my despairs and cares
Leave me in crumbling fear,
Summer of two-thousand nine
The second-to-last time I saw you.
And it may seem asinine
But I never thought we'd fall
through.
I wanted to date a girl
You told me to go for it.
As we waited for the waterwhirl
The autumn would have
something more in store, it
Told me you would disappear
To college
And that Ally would replace you.
But it didn't lend the knowledge
I'd lose face and time erase
you.
Come summer of two-thousand ten
Ally did depart.
If by chance you'd seen me then
You would have (seen) a broken heart.
But really a conniving mind
Striving just to orchestrate,
For that villain – time – to unwind
To blindside unkindest
Fate.
But the summer came and went
As had Ally's once consent
And I found a number heart
The journey down the hill
Did start.
The year of eleven brought
A reverence for scary thought.
You had been very distressed
For me,
But shedding me was best.
Two-thousand twelve had been the
third
Year. How queer and how
absurd.
You had been so dear
to me.
I had fears, but never
could
Guess someone so dear
to me Could leave me
stranded,
empty-handed
I can't stand it.
More than Ally could.
The fourth year was a new
device. I knew
I thought of
You, oh
Once or twice.
I didn't know
How I'd grown
number,
Till I saw
you on that day
After the end
of summer.
And it was upon that first day
of Autumn I remembered.
All the things – you probably forgot
them – that you'd told me last
September.
Not that you'd ever hold me
as you would another man.
But that you wished me to go boldly
Forward
with your luck
Holding my hand.
dm.A.A.
Retarded.
I can just begin to wonder
What if I should undertake
With patience treatment of a patient...
With his sanity at stake.
But if he or she was so
disabled that he or she could not
Or was just unable to
Oh wait I forgot.
What If they were so unstable
Creampuff Lactose intolerant
Or maybe
Baby then would I be able
No I can't. I can only rant.
But What IF I SHOULd get a paranOID SCHIZO
PHRENIC ON THE OPERATING
TABLE CLOTH
WORN BY INDIANS IN
THE MIDDLE AGES.
All of that seems frightening, and I will not bullshit you
That few I've seen have found it enlightening
a job to do.
Lightening the load for others
Who are overboard.
Being a light behind
A locked and airtight door.
But I swear to Bob or whoever
else is listening
I will go about
this endeavour
Shining eyes all
glistening.
And if for just one moment
I can see the light
permeate the glow of some poor soul then
I will know that I've done right.
If I could extend my reach
to breech the old consensus
That divides the sane
from the insane
As one would the vain
from senseless.
Then I'll make it plain, by Jove
That sanity's a subtle thread.
The only constant in this world is Love
and that's beneath the head.
If I have to teach a young boy
How to count from one to five instead
Of sitting in the office of
some headquarters upon
my head,
I would run right in and do it
Not for them, but you, Sir
You who seem so perfectly, pristinely sane
So self-assured.
You who lends authority
to money and of course his voice.
You whose voice is never (or seldom) Sunny
Whose eyes do not rejoice.
You, my friend, you may pretend
That you have all your marbles
But by the end, you'll find, my friend
Your mind's totally startled.
For counting just from one
to five is fine and all
But by the end you've wasted seconds
worrying about something
more small.
And once, my friend, you can begin to Feel
with Others,
Life has started.
You, sir, are the Real
true quandry.
Emotionally
retarded.
dm.A.A.
I can just begin to wonder
What if I should undertake
With patience treatment of a patient...
With his sanity at stake.
But if he or she was so
disabled that he or she could not
Or was just unable to
Oh wait I forgot.
What If they were so unstable
Creampuff Lactose intolerant
Or maybe
Baby then would I be able
No I can't. I can only rant.
But What IF I SHOULd get a paranOID SCHIZO
PHRENIC ON THE OPERATING
TABLE CLOTH
WORN BY INDIANS IN
THE MIDDLE AGES.
All of that seems frightening, and I will not bullshit you
That few I've seen have found it enlightening
a job to do.
Lightening the load for others
Who are overboard.
Being a light behind
A locked and airtight door.
But I swear to Bob or whoever
else is listening
I will go about
this endeavour
Shining eyes all
glistening.
And if for just one moment
I can see the light
permeate the glow of some poor soul then
I will know that I've done right.
If I could extend my reach
to breech the old consensus
That divides the sane
from the insane
As one would the vain
from senseless.
Then I'll make it plain, by Jove
That sanity's a subtle thread.
The only constant in this world is Love
and that's beneath the head.
If I have to teach a young boy
How to count from one to five instead
Of sitting in the office of
some headquarters upon
my head,
I would run right in and do it
Not for them, but you, Sir
You who seem so perfectly, pristinely sane
So self-assured.
You who lends authority
to money and of course his voice.
You whose voice is never (or seldom) Sunny
Whose eyes do not rejoice.
You, my friend, you may pretend
That you have all your marbles
But by the end, you'll find, my friend
Your mind's totally startled.
For counting just from one
to five is fine and all
But by the end you've wasted seconds
worrying about something
more small.
And once, my friend, you can begin to Feel
with Others,
Life has started.
You, sir, are the Real
true quandry.
Emotionally
retarded.
dm.A.A.
We could be friends or
we could all be movies
It doesn't matter
If there's a happy ending
...
All of the time we
spent doing our duty
Was all time we
Shouldn't have been spending
When we first met you
Told me I was weird, so
I didn't know that
I could be sincere though
But I regret we
didn't meet for several years since
But that's okay
Despite all of the queerness
When we met again, you
had your first boyfriend
He was a friend and
You were full of joy then
But as the summer
Came and we all parted
It was a bummer.
He left you broken-hearted.
We could be friends or
We could all be movies
It doesn't matter
So long as you're with me
All of that time that
We had all wasted
I think that I'm quite
Ready to replace it.
When we hung out you
Wore yellow shades
As he drove us down
To the suburban palisades and
You said 'Dmitry,
we're hanging out!' And
It has been years. I've
Not forgot about it.
Then we all went and we
three got ice-cream.
I had a friend and
You told me very nicely.
Then he broke up with you and
You were broken-hearted
That was when the trouble
Between you two had started.*
I saw him in Berkeley
I wonder if you thought then
'Did he deserve me?'
You probably forgot, then.
It has been four years and
You've barely spoken
I suppose it's queer but
By the same token,
We could be friends or
We could all be movies
It doesn't matter
So long as you're with me
But there's a chance that
You will reject my
Humble advances
And that would be a pity.
I saw you again, you
were getting some tacos.
There wasn't time then for
You to really talk, though.
You saw an old friend but
I guess I sort of scared you.
But maybe then you
were unprepared to.
Like back in high school
It took some months for
You to be nice so
I won't be bummed nor
Will I succumb to the presumption
That you hate me
Even if it happens
You don't want to date me.
You were abroad
In the Middle East, and
I wouldn't know
About that in the least, friend.
But I suspect the
Experience did show you
How to select the
friends who really know you.
I had been working
At a house of fabrics
Never was a jerk enough
To say that I had it.
But while you were
In the Middle East
My poetic fervor
Had all but deceased, and
Now I suspect that
You're a student teacher
I miss being connected
with such a prudent creature.
It was upon that
Day I got your number
Each day you don't respond I
grow a little number.
We could be friends
Or we could all be athletes
It doesn't matter
We will be dead soon.
I will stop rhyming
Time is of the essence
I want you back, I
Miss you, D.M.Z.
* Author's liberty.
we could all be movies
It doesn't matter
If there's a happy ending
...
All of the time we
spent doing our duty
Was all time we
Shouldn't have been spending
When we first met you
Told me I was weird, so
I didn't know that
I could be sincere though
But I regret we
didn't meet for several years since
But that's okay
Despite all of the queerness
When we met again, you
had your first boyfriend
He was a friend and
You were full of joy then
But as the summer
Came and we all parted
It was a bummer.
He left you broken-hearted.
We could be friends or
We could all be movies
It doesn't matter
So long as you're with me
All of that time that
We had all wasted
I think that I'm quite
Ready to replace it.
When we hung out you
Wore yellow shades
As he drove us down
To the suburban palisades and
You said 'Dmitry,
we're hanging out!' And
It has been years. I've
Not forgot about it.
Then we all went and we
three got ice-cream.
I had a friend and
You told me very nicely.
Then he broke up with you and
You were broken-hearted
That was when the trouble
Between you two had started.*
I saw him in Berkeley
I wonder if you thought then
'Did he deserve me?'
You probably forgot, then.
It has been four years and
You've barely spoken
I suppose it's queer but
By the same token,
We could be friends or
We could all be movies
It doesn't matter
So long as you're with me
But there's a chance that
You will reject my
Humble advances
And that would be a pity.
I saw you again, you
were getting some tacos.
There wasn't time then for
You to really talk, though.
You saw an old friend but
I guess I sort of scared you.
But maybe then you
were unprepared to.
Like back in high school
It took some months for
You to be nice so
I won't be bummed nor
Will I succumb to the presumption
That you hate me
Even if it happens
You don't want to date me.
You were abroad
In the Middle East, and
I wouldn't know
About that in the least, friend.
But I suspect the
Experience did show you
How to select the
friends who really know you.
I had been working
At a house of fabrics
Never was a jerk enough
To say that I had it.
But while you were
In the Middle East
My poetic fervor
Had all but deceased, and
Now I suspect that
You're a student teacher
I miss being connected
with such a prudent creature.
It was upon that
Day I got your number
Each day you don't respond I
grow a little number.
We could be friends
Or we could all be athletes
It doesn't matter
We will be dead soon.
I will stop rhyming
Time is of the essence
I want you back, I
Miss you, D.M.Z.
* Author's liberty.
Dana.
Dana Mohammad-Zadeh
Blossoming
Awesome and constantly in...
bloom.
More than any thought
cast back into
the past could ever hope
to presume.
More than Men's forlorn resolve
to doom
The Sun is always
in the room.
Dana Mohammad-Zadeh
Blossoming
Awesome and constantly in...
bloom.
More than any thought
cast back into
the past could ever hope
to presume.
More than Men's forlorn resolve
to doom
The Sun is always
in the room.
Statement.
Loneliness, it comes undone
as simply as
letting go....
Knowing that you
Know.
Opinions are superfluous
Not every piece of furniture
that needs to be assembled
Has an instruction manual.
Evidence unnecessary.
Statistics make the soul sick.
Reality.
Reality.
What you know has nothing to do
with what you think
Even if you prove it
logically,
it makes no difference.
What you know
Comes from somewhere
deep within.
YOU KNOW.
Don't think you don't.
Don;t think.
Loneliness, it comes undone
as simply as
letting go....
Knowing that you
Know.
Opinions are superfluous
Not every piece of furniture
that needs to be assembled
Has an instruction manual.
Evidence unnecessary.
Statistics make the soul sick.
Reality.
Reality.
What you know has nothing to do
with what you think
Even if you prove it
logically,
it makes no difference.
What you know
Comes from somewhere
deep within.
YOU KNOW.
Don't think you don't.
Don;t think.
By virtue of projection, members
of a society find corroboration
for their views.
So that, dismembered...
They can just remember
The ornate sensation
That was childhood
Warthogs in the wild woods.
Having never just
to choose.
And in this very strange endeavour
Everyone that plays will lose
Walking away from the river
Stalking day by day, confused.
A ray of sunshine permeates
the bog but no frog
sees it
Even if it should
warm it over
to insane degrees, it
Sits and thinks upon the water
And its own refection.
Leaving always that great glowing Other
apart from all of selection.
By virtue of projection,
We avoid rejection
and are never flawed
Always perfect children
Our days numbered
by God.
But the members of this world of thought
Grow number every day.
As they grow in numbers, each grows dumber.
All of them having naught to say.
Zombies pace and recognise each other
But the face of God
is not the face of loving mother
And it is quite odd
That in name of heaven we have sacrificed
The only refuge that we have.
And it's strange that change that once had
made us children, full of Good
now makes us mad.
But to be a child was always
Just to grow and to know
What is right.
And so adulthood
Doesn't look to others
for corroboration.
For to ask that of brothers
and sisters is done just in spite
Of seeing them as they see them
Free of imitation.
And so I would say to the frog
Turn away and see the Sun
Sometimes you will be the fog
in the bog, but do not run
Back jumping, hearts just blindly thumping
to the safety of the water.
You are an amphibian.
If this burns down, you're off the charter.
of a society find corroboration
for their views.
So that, dismembered...
They can just remember
The ornate sensation
That was childhood
Warthogs in the wild woods.
Having never just
to choose.
And in this very strange endeavour
Everyone that plays will lose
Walking away from the river
Stalking day by day, confused.
A ray of sunshine permeates
the bog but no frog
sees it
Even if it should
warm it over
to insane degrees, it
Sits and thinks upon the water
And its own refection.
Leaving always that great glowing Other
apart from all of selection.
By virtue of projection,
We avoid rejection
and are never flawed
Always perfect children
Our days numbered
by God.
But the members of this world of thought
Grow number every day.
As they grow in numbers, each grows dumber.
All of them having naught to say.
Zombies pace and recognise each other
But the face of God
is not the face of loving mother
And it is quite odd
That in name of heaven we have sacrificed
The only refuge that we have.
And it's strange that change that once had
made us children, full of Good
now makes us mad.
But to be a child was always
Just to grow and to know
What is right.
And so adulthood
Doesn't look to others
for corroboration.
For to ask that of brothers
and sisters is done just in spite
Of seeing them as they see them
Free of imitation.
And so I would say to the frog
Turn away and see the Sun
Sometimes you will be the fog
in the bog, but do not run
Back jumping, hearts just blindly thumping
to the safety of the water.
You are an amphibian.
If this burns down, you're off the charter.
That part of your brain that makes
sense of things is also
I think the part
that makes make believe.
...
And so it seems quite clear
to me and many others, also
Why that part
of the psyche
Always seems
to deceive.
It feels overwheling
That the others feel the way you feel
It makes all of this insanity
somehow appear more real
Imagine please a world without
phones, tv's, and cars
Where people were not such devout
believers in statistics
And where you didn't need a lens
by which to see this stars
Remember when the world was more
than either Romantic or realistic.
Remember when you didn't compromise
(was it just childhood) Lies(?)!
Remember when you bled
and were ashamed.
And it was all okay that day
Everyone you knew would play
This game and it was great
It was fated that people would be the same.
ii.
People are the same today
Gathered about a steeple, they
would rather chat the day away
bratting in dismay.
Than converse, they would play
every song that they'd ever rehearsed
Never improvising thinking
childhood lies are worse.
And seldom realising
That the wild wood of that time
was not at all worse.
"The death of one man's a
tragedy, many a statistic," said
the man who wanted everyone
to be realistic.
And wear a hammer and a sickle
or a flag with fifty stars
Who told you fantasy was fickle
Who invented cars
And kept a photo of the Fuhrer
in his office, it's well known
Who had a fervor and a fury
And made sure he was alone.
Only to be judge trial and jury
But you know no soles
Were exempt from his inquiry
The hope is in the proles.
dm.A.A.
sense of things is also
I think the part
that makes make believe.
...
And so it seems quite clear
to me and many others, also
Why that part
of the psyche
Always seems
to deceive.
It feels overwheling
That the others feel the way you feel
It makes all of this insanity
somehow appear more real
Imagine please a world without
phones, tv's, and cars
Where people were not such devout
believers in statistics
And where you didn't need a lens
by which to see this stars
Remember when the world was more
than either Romantic or realistic.
Remember when you didn't compromise
(was it just childhood) Lies(?)!
Remember when you bled
and were ashamed.
And it was all okay that day
Everyone you knew would play
This game and it was great
It was fated that people would be the same.
ii.
People are the same today
Gathered about a steeple, they
would rather chat the day away
bratting in dismay.
Than converse, they would play
every song that they'd ever rehearsed
Never improvising thinking
childhood lies are worse.
And seldom realising
That the wild wood of that time
was not at all worse.
"The death of one man's a
tragedy, many a statistic," said
the man who wanted everyone
to be realistic.
And wear a hammer and a sickle
or a flag with fifty stars
Who told you fantasy was fickle
Who invented cars
And kept a photo of the Fuhrer
in his office, it's well known
Who had a fervor and a fury
And made sure he was alone.
Only to be judge trial and jury
But you know no soles
Were exempt from his inquiry
The hope is in the proles.
dm.A.A.
Do you find yourself obsessing
Over matters you'd resolved?
Do you find yourself stressing
Where others are involved?...
Are you prone to be possessed
By rapid shifts and rifts in mood?
Intent on being alone, lest
Others change your attitude?
You may suffer from empathy
A most rare disease
Yet one that could bring most of these
well-meaning people to their knees.
The method that you use to solve your problems
Will not work when the fly's outside the glass.
You have to find another way to solve them
Or otherwise allow it all to pass.
Empathy's distinguished
By the following symptoms:
Vile flames that cannot be extinguished
However that you may resist them.
You may suffer from empathy
There is no known cure
But immunity is prevalent
Of that you can be sure.
Over matters you'd resolved?
Do you find yourself stressing
Where others are involved?...
Are you prone to be possessed
By rapid shifts and rifts in mood?
Intent on being alone, lest
Others change your attitude?
You may suffer from empathy
A most rare disease
Yet one that could bring most of these
well-meaning people to their knees.
The method that you use to solve your problems
Will not work when the fly's outside the glass.
You have to find another way to solve them
Or otherwise allow it all to pass.
Empathy's distinguished
By the following symptoms:
Vile flames that cannot be extinguished
However that you may resist them.
You may suffer from empathy
There is no known cure
But immunity is prevalent
Of that you can be sure.
Obvious Facts.
Poetry's the sister
of insanity but thankfully
they rarely speak...
Until the latter
sneaks downstairs
and pilfers from the former's
platter.
[Everything within my psyche
seems to be inviting me
to substitute for love
a kind of hateful seed.
And to recede
into breeding more
machines.
Blind again to the workings
of my mind and
the Unseen.
Resolved to the unkind
and the obscene.
(But people can smell
revolution in the air
Every institution
has a second pair of laws.
The haunting fear of retribution
in every person's eyes
A paranoia
Avoiding the most heart
breaking of flaws.)]
My heart will not be kept
in a broken grate
resolved to fate.
If I only I knew not
that it slept
like a kitten behind every glass
in every jewelry shop
And behind every counter
At the coffee stop.
The cunning mind discerns
every flaw
in fiber
But the wise one's running
always
with the horses
And so poetry seem to be much
more than a desire
Nor a force by which we cloister
ourselves from other forces.
Voices ring in all men's ears
So wait before you call it madness
Lest I think that you're sincere
In your resolve and in your sadness.
One man's madness is another's
great delight
and since every moment is eternal
who gave you the right?
Poetry's the sister
of insanity but thankfully
they rarely speak...
Until the latter
sneaks downstairs
and pilfers from the former's
platter.
[Everything within my psyche
seems to be inviting me
to substitute for love
a kind of hateful seed.
And to recede
into breeding more
machines.
Blind again to the workings
of my mind and
the Unseen.
Resolved to the unkind
and the obscene.
(But people can smell
revolution in the air
Every institution
has a second pair of laws.
The haunting fear of retribution
in every person's eyes
A paranoia
Avoiding the most heart
breaking of flaws.)]
My heart will not be kept
in a broken grate
resolved to fate.
If I only I knew not
that it slept
like a kitten behind every glass
in every jewelry shop
And behind every counter
At the coffee stop.
The cunning mind discerns
every flaw
in fiber
But the wise one's running
always
with the horses
And so poetry seem to be much
more than a desire
Nor a force by which we cloister
ourselves from other forces.
Voices ring in all men's ears
So wait before you call it madness
Lest I think that you're sincere
In your resolve and in your sadness.
One man's madness is another's
great delight
and since every moment is eternal
who gave you the right?
I went looking for brotherhood
But I found a computer
I always thought the Other would
When I was a commuter
...
I wonder if my progeny
Should feel indebted to their lies.
I keep waiting for somebody
Come up to me and yell, 'Surprise!'
However wooden they may be,
However that they may insist
You compromise,
I hope you'll see
The Good in Life
is seeing with a pair of open eyes.
dm.A.A.
But I found a computer
I always thought the Other would
When I was a commuter
...
I wonder if my progeny
Should feel indebted to their lies.
I keep waiting for somebody
Come up to me and yell, 'Surprise!'
However wooden they may be,
However that they may insist
You compromise,
I hope you'll see
The Good in Life
is seeing with a pair of open eyes.
dm.A.A.
I remember yesterday
I spared the ego yesterday
They see no reason to see it that way
But that's okay,
...
I recall today.
I did not go to the mall
today.
I told them
Scoldingingly
I'm not going to hold you
I remember
today
I killed the ego
today.
I see no reason
I should be upset.
There is more within this, yet.
Yet I still feel like a child
Living in a world that's wild
Seeing it slide by
it fills me with regret.
But I'm not fit
and egoless enough just
yet to cry
yet.
I spared the ego yesterday
They see no reason to see it that way
But that's okay,
...
I recall today.
I did not go to the mall
today.
I told them
Scoldingingly
I'm not going to hold you
I remember
today
I killed the ego
today.
I see no reason
I should be upset.
There is more within this, yet.
Yet I still feel like a child
Living in a world that's wild
Seeing it slide by
it fills me with regret.
But I'm not fit
and egoless enough just
yet to cry
yet.
The Madrigal.
The idealised Madrigal
singer sung my friend
of several years...
was at that point only
(and still is)
a beginner
Full of fears.
She had claimed to be a sinner
She saved face among the saints
But she was a sixteen year old fanatic
Leaving no complaints.
The idealised Madrigal
singer I hadn't realised
was mad.
That was the beginning
of the quickest fall
from Grace
I'd ever had.
Now I am in love again
What will become
if I proclaim it?
Someone coming back from
desert plains would claim
you shouldn't name it.
Will she see that I'm the same?
Or will she hear the stories?
OR will the ghost of war
haunt her more
and fill her more with worries?
Probably
but little things are big
as big things can be and vice versa.
She may feel adverse to me
BUt that will not make me less versed, sir.
Dm.A.A.
The idealised Madrigal
singer sung my friend
of several years...
was at that point only
(and still is)
a beginner
Full of fears.
She had claimed to be a sinner
She saved face among the saints
But she was a sixteen year old fanatic
Leaving no complaints.
The idealised Madrigal
singer I hadn't realised
was mad.
That was the beginning
of the quickest fall
from Grace
I'd ever had.
Now I am in love again
What will become
if I proclaim it?
Someone coming back from
desert plains would claim
you shouldn't name it.
Will she see that I'm the same?
Or will she hear the stories?
OR will the ghost of war
haunt her more
and fill her more with worries?
Probably
but little things are big
as big things can be and vice versa.
She may feel adverse to me
BUt that will not make me less versed, sir.
Dm.A.A.
Allergy season.
Writing is like breathing
It goes never out of season
Except sometimes it stays in...
from allergies
Although the smokers
disagree.
Inviting youth to just get wasted
Let the truth remain untasted.
Waste baskets and basket cases
strewn across the place.
Sewn into the heart is suffering
Because it's popular
And it seems the latest thing
To offer up one's life to sin.
I don't know where I should begin
What frightens you more?
Vampires are crafty ones
Whose intellect surpass their hearts
But zombies march in numbers
Through the city
Numb to any kind of pity that
threatens to start.
I am bigger now than I could
ever remember
And the dreams that I could fathom now
are more novel than I could endeavour
Yet my cleverness will bind me
to a fatal error
Trying to find the
bomb to assuage the terror.
All the joy the world could bring
either from Earth or Aether
Couldn't make another sing
Or bring to dancing, either.
The flies now buzz outside the glass.
I need a new approach.
Yet then I see the opportunity has passed
A pumpkin, once a coach.
Writing is like breathing
It goes never out of season
Except sometimes it stays in...
from allergies
Although the smokers
disagree.
Inviting youth to just get wasted
Let the truth remain untasted.
Waste baskets and basket cases
strewn across the place.
Sewn into the heart is suffering
Because it's popular
And it seems the latest thing
To offer up one's life to sin.
I don't know where I should begin
What frightens you more?
Vampires are crafty ones
Whose intellect surpass their hearts
But zombies march in numbers
Through the city
Numb to any kind of pity that
threatens to start.
I am bigger now than I could
ever remember
And the dreams that I could fathom now
are more novel than I could endeavour
Yet my cleverness will bind me
to a fatal error
Trying to find the
bomb to assuage the terror.
All the joy the world could bring
either from Earth or Aether
Couldn't make another sing
Or bring to dancing, either.
The flies now buzz outside the glass.
I need a new approach.
Yet then I see the opportunity has passed
A pumpkin, once a coach.
On his deathbed, U.G.
Krishnamurti said that
enlightenment
was a myth.
...
I remember hoping that
had been the truth
Observing the back of a paperback
novel by Stephen King
wearing baseball attire
in the cover photo.
dm.A.A.
Krishnamurti said that
enlightenment
was a myth.
...
I remember hoping that
had been the truth
Observing the back of a paperback
novel by Stephen King
wearing baseball attire
in the cover photo.
dm.A.A.
The sky is blue
on Maria's first day
of high school
The birds are...
in the trees
as though to spite the leaves.
Your point
of view will pretty soon
be sharpened
Time to taper
what you may believe.
The Sun is white
on her first day
of high school
As the night breaks
to dawn and I'm
Thinking of when I first went to high school
Seeing it first,
once upon a time.
on Maria's first day
of high school
The birds are...
in the trees
as though to spite the leaves.
Your point
of view will pretty soon
be sharpened
Time to taper
what you may believe.
The Sun is white
on her first day
of high school
As the night breaks
to dawn and I'm
Thinking of when I first went to high school
Seeing it first,
once upon a time.
Absence.
He has
a nostalgia
for...
the absent
Mother's teat.
And he will
clutch that
rope
like a
crutch
Climbing
up an
icy slope.
(Hopeless
defeat
beneath
his feet.)
dm.A.A.
He has
a nostalgia
for...
the absent
Mother's teat.
And he will
clutch that
rope
like a
crutch
Climbing
up an
icy slope.
(Hopeless
defeat
beneath
his feet.)
dm.A.A.
Relativity.
My advice before
I can depart
preserving sanctity...
of heart
No need to thank
me from the start
This tactic was
a frantic Art.
And I will do it
service Even
if you don't
deserve this
What I've observed,
unnervingly
perhaps it is my
purpose
to impart and so i'll
do my part.
Sanity is merely a
religious issue. I wish you
could see it clearly
and sincerely. So
you'd take it with you.
Like God, you find it
for yourself
and no one else can show
you.
However they may
try to preserve
your health and
know you.
All mountains seem
small from a distance.
Children always knew
this since they came
into existence they
named their task, Let's
Do This.
And if you ask me
if there's anything
to help us through
this, it is this:
Though from even the
peak of one mount others
may seem small,
Go down, seek to prove them
meek and you'll find
They are just as tall.
Don't be blind to change of
tone or stripes
from one snake to another
Even if you stand alone,
it is better yet to suffer
For the details of one life
Than the free trails of
another. Better
To find glory for
yourself
Than to blaze the trail
of mother.
Subtleties will always
seem to be
small and annoy you.
But by the end,
when big things
go all up
in flames
They will destroy
you.
And so, to save yourself
from Hell
don't try to avoid it
For no one but the spirit
of the wind can tell
if you have sinned.
And once, faced with the house
of your logic, Fire has
destroyed it,
You have nothing
to desire
But to chase
the wind.
For sanity is vanity
You cannot hold a wave
in place. If you would
be so bold as to smear
the Sun about your face.
Your time is wasted
on the future
It'll be a sorry story, won't it?
Never having tasted
your Heart's sutures
Or the Glory
of the moment. dm.A.A.
My advice before
I can depart
preserving sanctity...
of heart
No need to thank
me from the start
This tactic was
a frantic Art.
And I will do it
service Even
if you don't
deserve this
What I've observed,
unnervingly
perhaps it is my
purpose
to impart and so i'll
do my part.
Sanity is merely a
religious issue. I wish you
could see it clearly
and sincerely. So
you'd take it with you.
Like God, you find it
for yourself
and no one else can show
you.
However they may
try to preserve
your health and
know you.
All mountains seem
small from a distance.
Children always knew
this since they came
into existence they
named their task, Let's
Do This.
And if you ask me
if there's anything
to help us through
this, it is this:
Though from even the
peak of one mount others
may seem small,
Go down, seek to prove them
meek and you'll find
They are just as tall.
Don't be blind to change of
tone or stripes
from one snake to another
Even if you stand alone,
it is better yet to suffer
For the details of one life
Than the free trails of
another. Better
To find glory for
yourself
Than to blaze the trail
of mother.
Subtleties will always
seem to be
small and annoy you.
But by the end,
when big things
go all up
in flames
They will destroy
you.
And so, to save yourself
from Hell
don't try to avoid it
For no one but the spirit
of the wind can tell
if you have sinned.
And once, faced with the house
of your logic, Fire has
destroyed it,
You have nothing
to desire
But to chase
the wind.
For sanity is vanity
You cannot hold a wave
in place. If you would
be so bold as to smear
the Sun about your face.
Your time is wasted
on the future
It'll be a sorry story, won't it?
Never having tasted
your Heart's sutures
Or the Glory
of the moment. dm.A.A.
Fire.
You know that girl
in the carpet
who hides...
Who beckons you
into the tarpit
where she abides
Reckoning
she can
vandalise
Art.
Wrecking the forest
Divorced from
the start.
And you know that
Goddess who
is on the floor
of the store
And then more
And you come through
boldly carrying gold,
she
will take you by both wrists
torn from
the other
girl's grasp.
Scorn may elapse
But the forlorn old
witch will collapse.
The other will take you
And show you
That you are alone.
The sister would have
you persist
as a prisoner
Resolved to the
comforting
hiding place
She's made her home
But you and the goddess
know
That this place isn't hers.
You can bring
forward gold
boldly
They can't distinguish
between it and pyrite
But you know quite well
that all of their
private Hells
Cannot diminish
you.
Inwardly, always,
you're still in
your shell.
dm.A.A.
You know that girl
in the carpet
who hides...
Who beckons you
into the tarpit
where she abides
Reckoning
she can
vandalise
Art.
Wrecking the forest
Divorced from
the start.
And you know that
Goddess who
is on the floor
of the store
And then more
And you come through
boldly carrying gold,
she
will take you by both wrists
torn from
the other
girl's grasp.
Scorn may elapse
But the forlorn old
witch will collapse.
The other will take you
And show you
That you are alone.
The sister would have
you persist
as a prisoner
Resolved to the
comforting
hiding place
She's made her home
But you and the goddess
know
That this place isn't hers.
You can bring
forward gold
boldly
They can't distinguish
between it and pyrite
But you know quite well
that all of their
private Hells
Cannot diminish
you.
Inwardly, always,
you're still in
your shell.
dm.A.A.
One of My Rides, part ii.
I find it odd
They taped off the trees
I want to hug...
I've found God
But unfortunately,
They think I'm on drugs
I found God
Hiding in
a cassette bin
in a thift store
They don't accept my money
here
And i have to ask
What's it for?
One of my rides
Is nowhere around
When I need him most
All of my pride
is burnt to the ground
like bad toast.
Nobody wants
to feel or admit
What their eyes see
One of my rides
is waiting in the tarpit
for me.
In some carpet
at the back of the store
is where I'll find
Something that meant
Nothing more
than the light
to the blind
Yet something that
was worth living
for
for twenty-two years
Tucked in a carpet,
Everything knows
I'm sincere.
And this moment
is the same as when I was
five
And nothing's changed
Even my ride
will look at me
And find it strange
They've rearranged
the carpet of
the streets
a million times.
Yet bow towards defeat
BUt at my feet
I can see
myself smile. dm.A.A.
I find it odd
They taped off the trees
I want to hug...
I've found God
But unfortunately,
They think I'm on drugs
I found God
Hiding in
a cassette bin
in a thift store
They don't accept my money
here
And i have to ask
What's it for?
One of my rides
Is nowhere around
When I need him most
All of my pride
is burnt to the ground
like bad toast.
Nobody wants
to feel or admit
What their eyes see
One of my rides
is waiting in the tarpit
for me.
In some carpet
at the back of the store
is where I'll find
Something that meant
Nothing more
than the light
to the blind
Yet something that
was worth living
for
for twenty-two years
Tucked in a carpet,
Everything knows
I'm sincere.
And this moment
is the same as when I was
five
And nothing's changed
Even my ride
will look at me
And find it strange
They've rearranged
the carpet of
the streets
a million times.
Yet bow towards defeat
BUt at my feet
I can see
myself smile. dm.A.A.
Life doesn't give us time to test it
By the Scientific Method
Life did not give us rhyme to be arrested
By our reason
...
This world rendered divine
in every form
is not invested
in some future or some norm
And to distrust its truth
is treason.
When the seasons of your mind
Align with maddening proximity
to The fibers of your heart, don't start
to second-guess divinity
Presuming all intelligence
to be confined within your head
Blinded to the kind that rests
outside your mind instead.
Life will not have us sit cloistered
from the world in labs.
Picking apart pieces of truth
Like we pick our scabs.
The Youth that follows us til death
would always have us fly
down the hill discovering the laws
of gravity with every breath
And never knowing how it could have been
or why.
When you are astounded
by how profound the truth is
you will not accept a lie
Or to be ruthless
to try to deduce
or double-check it
with your proofs.
And revelation cannot ever
be recreated
So what can experimentation
leave you but frustrated?
By the Scientific Method
Life did not give us rhyme to be arrested
By our reason
...
This world rendered divine
in every form
is not invested
in some future or some norm
And to distrust its truth
is treason.
When the seasons of your mind
Align with maddening proximity
to The fibers of your heart, don't start
to second-guess divinity
Presuming all intelligence
to be confined within your head
Blinded to the kind that rests
outside your mind instead.
Life will not have us sit cloistered
from the world in labs.
Picking apart pieces of truth
Like we pick our scabs.
The Youth that follows us til death
would always have us fly
down the hill discovering the laws
of gravity with every breath
And never knowing how it could have been
or why.
When you are astounded
by how profound the truth is
you will not accept a lie
Or to be ruthless
to try to deduce
or double-check it
with your proofs.
And revelation cannot ever
be recreated
So what can experimentation
leave you but frustrated?
There is no alternative to truth.
When you know something,
There is no ignorance.
I had spent all of my youth...
Continually shedding my innocence.
I must have lost my virginity
More than a million times
Which byfar surpasses the mates in my classes
Not that it matters and not that it flatters.
There is no way back from a fact
To retract from it; that is delusion
And those who know not how to act
Will condemn you in their own confusion.
But they cannot see what I’ve seen
They cannot be where I’d been
And it is simply obscene
To conceive of my truth as a sin.
As though all my youth would begin
Upon some authority’s say so
But I know him better than they who do sin
It is he who speaks when I do say no.
When you know something,
There is no ignorance.
I had spent all of my youth...
Continually shedding my innocence.
I must have lost my virginity
More than a million times
Which byfar surpasses the mates in my classes
Not that it matters and not that it flatters.
There is no way back from a fact
To retract from it; that is delusion
And those who know not how to act
Will condemn you in their own confusion.
But they cannot see what I’ve seen
They cannot be where I’d been
And it is simply obscene
To conceive of my truth as a sin.
As though all my youth would begin
Upon some authority’s say so
But I know him better than they who do sin
It is he who speaks when I do say no.
If you admit something
embarassing, I'll admit
something embarassing.
My heart has been...
bleeding
since the day it started
beating
If you want to know what
dogs me
it is my own sincerity
Trying to keep an open eye
to the Universe's clarity
If you want to know what
scares me
it's the unbearable burden
wondering, 'Are they aware
of me?'
and never being certain.
And if you want to know the cold
hard truth
I'll parrot your own frankness
I can't bear it should I ever see
the world in your own blankness.
For a mind that's been refined
Like a lens in the galaxy
seems never to mind
when the brain commits a fallacy
If you want to know how callously
I overestimate this Universe
in every human gesture
Everything
as though it's been rehearsed.
If you want me to make clear
The girl that sat down right
beside me
with only you so near
it seemed to coincide so
that I wondered if you had been so
sincere
as to inform her
-- in passing, as she'd come
to me in passing --
I had feelings for her.
But that I would admit
only embarassedly
and in verse
that seems, as people seem
to agree
Much better and not worse
than writing a letter
for a poem even as a lie
is so rehearsed that all the words
together
could make anybody cry.
How many see a child is harmed
but wouldn't think to change it?
Despite being wholly alarmed
And yet I find it strange that
To be immersed in such a fantasy
and of such adolescent zeal
although the very galaxy
seemed to make it appear so real
It is embarassing only
this life that we've selected
Although we sing at night, lonely
we never once respect it.
At least sing for the dying child
it is no more or less a fallacy
Although the sentiment seems wild,
I'm siding with the galaxy.
And also I'll say in post-scriptum
Though I originally thought
that I had fallen victim
to your optimistic plot
Although I'm standing by my theory
I will append that it was flawed
Although you, too were sitting near me
All the credit goes to God.
embarassing, I'll admit
something embarassing.
My heart has been...
bleeding
since the day it started
beating
If you want to know what
dogs me
it is my own sincerity
Trying to keep an open eye
to the Universe's clarity
If you want to know what
scares me
it's the unbearable burden
wondering, 'Are they aware
of me?'
and never being certain.
And if you want to know the cold
hard truth
I'll parrot your own frankness
I can't bear it should I ever see
the world in your own blankness.
For a mind that's been refined
Like a lens in the galaxy
seems never to mind
when the brain commits a fallacy
If you want to know how callously
I overestimate this Universe
in every human gesture
Everything
as though it's been rehearsed.
If you want me to make clear
The girl that sat down right
beside me
with only you so near
it seemed to coincide so
that I wondered if you had been so
sincere
as to inform her
-- in passing, as she'd come
to me in passing --
I had feelings for her.
But that I would admit
only embarassedly
and in verse
that seems, as people seem
to agree
Much better and not worse
than writing a letter
for a poem even as a lie
is so rehearsed that all the words
together
could make anybody cry.
How many see a child is harmed
but wouldn't think to change it?
Despite being wholly alarmed
And yet I find it strange that
To be immersed in such a fantasy
and of such adolescent zeal
although the very galaxy
seemed to make it appear so real
It is embarassing only
this life that we've selected
Although we sing at night, lonely
we never once respect it.
At least sing for the dying child
it is no more or less a fallacy
Although the sentiment seems wild,
I'm siding with the galaxy.
And also I'll say in post-scriptum
Though I originally thought
that I had fallen victim
to your optimistic plot
Although I'm standing by my theory
I will append that it was flawed
Although you, too were sitting near me
All the credit goes to God.
Peers.
In youth, there were always those peers
Who'd giggle at each novel thought
And there'd be those kids who would sneer...
At every Marvel that you got.
But in truth, you pitied them (and should)
Standing on a wooden stake
Sprouting from the Earth that would
Everyone, regardless, take. dm.A.A.
In youth, there were always those peers
Who'd giggle at each novel thought
And there'd be those kids who would sneer...
At every Marvel that you got.
But in truth, you pitied them (and should)
Standing on a wooden stake
Sprouting from the Earth that would
Everyone, regardless, take. dm.A.A.
Every moment spent in freedom
Is a step away from servitude
Who cares for critics? You don't need them
And you know your mood
...
Is like weather, it gets better
If you let it steadily improve
But don't let yourself get fettered
While the clouds are slowly on the move.
You will rarely see the outcome
Until well ahead
But how slowly it may come
Or how readily instead.
Careful not to succumb
To temptation; impatience is
Sometimes the only enemy
And you can wait for this.
Every moment spend in freedom
Is a step away from bondage
Every day you're not a victim
You become a hero.
So don't let the changing battles
Rattle you or take you hostage
Take your stand, until the sand
In the clock returns to zero.
Is a step away from servitude
Who cares for critics? You don't need them
And you know your mood
...
Is like weather, it gets better
If you let it steadily improve
But don't let yourself get fettered
While the clouds are slowly on the move.
You will rarely see the outcome
Until well ahead
But how slowly it may come
Or how readily instead.
Careful not to succumb
To temptation; impatience is
Sometimes the only enemy
And you can wait for this.
Every moment spend in freedom
Is a step away from bondage
Every day you're not a victim
You become a hero.
So don't let the changing battles
Rattle you or take you hostage
Take your stand, until the sand
In the clock returns to zero.
The Temptress.
Eventually you'll meet a woman
With your open arms
Who'll threaten...
To consume you in
Her apathetic charms.
Go Beyond It
Don't accept her offer
Ot her gift
of guilt
Lest you wilt
Like a flower
in her power.
That is Not how Life is built.
Eventually you'll meet a woman
With your open arms
Who'll threaten...
To consume you in
Her apathetic charms.
Go Beyond It
Don't accept her offer
Ot her gift
of guilt
Lest you wilt
Like a flower
in her power.
That is Not how Life is built.
She can't admit she's crazy
She needs some sad excuse
And mired in her lazy days
She secretly desires no use.
...
Strangely she attempts to change me
Like a mother goose
I look at her strangely
She tells me, Don't look at me
Like I'm crazy
What's the use
She knows that she's not crazy
Absolutely sure
She welcomes every baby like
she sees it crawling through the door
Over the counter, each encounter
Makes her envy babies more.
"I don't have to do anything" but be lazy
she says
Life is but a chore.
ii.
She knows she isn't crazy
She's taken all the steps
Making it seem perfectly
content to all the outside world
She's God's little girl
In a godless universe
Riding a tilt-a-whirl that has been
has been.
Perfectly rehearsed.
She knows she isn't crazy
And frankly she's insulted
She never even bothered
to thank me
Leaving me unconsulted.
I know I'm not crazy
But what can I do?
If I am sane, it must be plain
That she is quite sane,
too.
She needs some sad excuse
And mired in her lazy days
She secretly desires no use.
...
Strangely she attempts to change me
Like a mother goose
I look at her strangely
She tells me, Don't look at me
Like I'm crazy
What's the use
She knows that she's not crazy
Absolutely sure
She welcomes every baby like
she sees it crawling through the door
Over the counter, each encounter
Makes her envy babies more.
"I don't have to do anything" but be lazy
she says
Life is but a chore.
ii.
She knows she isn't crazy
She's taken all the steps
Making it seem perfectly
content to all the outside world
She's God's little girl
In a godless universe
Riding a tilt-a-whirl that has been
has been.
Perfectly rehearsed.
She knows she isn't crazy
And frankly she's insulted
She never even bothered
to thank me
Leaving me unconsulted.
I know I'm not crazy
But what can I do?
If I am sane, it must be plain
That she is quite sane,
too.
Did mother trip over your eyes
When you saw a button
in the sky? Did you
For lone
For love forlorn...
Were? You Yes. How
For the sake.
When you saw a button
in the sky? Did you
For lone
For love forlorn...
Were? You Yes. How
For the sake.
Sanity one day
is vanity the next
insanity by night.
Who can claim, this way
to be always in the right?
is vanity the next
insanity by night.
Who can claim, this way
to be always in the right?
To Afford a Saviour.
Sometimes I feel
like a healthy fruit
on a sick tree...
Can the fruit heal the tree?
Maybe not
Maybe it can only cast seeds
And trust the wind.
We are all heroes
But we are heroes of our Own lives.
Were it not every individual's responsibility,
Then perhaps everyone
Could
afford a Saviour.
dm.A.A.
Sometimes I feel
like a healthy fruit
on a sick tree...
Can the fruit heal the tree?
Maybe not
Maybe it can only cast seeds
And trust the wind.
We are all heroes
But we are heroes of our Own lives.
Were it not every individual's responsibility,
Then perhaps everyone
Could
afford a Saviour.
dm.A.A.
Letter to an Old Friend and Shaman.
The burden of humanity
Seems always to transcend
The overbearing vanity...
Of a man without a friend
So stop trying to be a Titan
Carrying the World alone
Find your friends. Invite them
As guests into your home.
They might appear as pests at first
Crowding your clever mind
But give it rest. Become immersed
And pretty soon you’ll find
Even the best of thoughts are worst
When they are misguided
Locked up and overly rehearsed
With no one else invited.
Dm.A.A.
The burden of humanity
Seems always to transcend
The overbearing vanity...
Of a man without a friend
So stop trying to be a Titan
Carrying the World alone
Find your friends. Invite them
As guests into your home.
They might appear as pests at first
Crowding your clever mind
But give it rest. Become immersed
And pretty soon you’ll find
Even the best of thoughts are worst
When they are misguided
Locked up and overly rehearsed
With no one else invited.
Dm.A.A.
Life is a game
Prepare to be wrong
Because if you don’t play
Then the game can’t go on
...
But that’s not to say
That you shouldn’t try
To win when you can
But rejoice when you die.
Prepare to be wrong
Because if you don’t play
Then the game can’t go on
...
But that’s not to say
That you shouldn’t try
To win when you can
But rejoice when you die.
A Victory for Empathy.
If all my feelings were my own
Not only would I be terrible
But also I'd be all alone...
And that would be unbearable
But thankfully they don't own
The house in which they're guests
And in those minds that they call home
They are suited best.
dm.A.A.
If all my feelings were my own
Not only would I be terrible
But also I'd be all alone...
And that would be unbearable
But thankfully they don't own
The house in which they're guests
And in those minds that they call home
They are suited best.
dm.A.A.
I (used to) honor these people
Each is endowed and entitled
Now I keep watch
Somehow I miss...
Being a lighthouse beacon
Yelling to proclaim the Soul
[I thought all of them climbed like snails to reach greater heights
They took me and castrated me
On one of those sacred nights]
Now I keep watch
Like a lighthouse keeper
In the winter frost
With the Sea frozen over
We, my friends, had never thought
To spend a winter in this splintered attic
Once our spring had been the thing
Our flings and swings were so sporadic.
And we venerated Mother.
And we venerated Mother.
What are they but bulls with suits?
HOW DARE THEY?
Who are they but trees unrooted?
HOW DARE THE
They are merely poets
HOW DAR
Of bathroom graffiti
HO
They paint the perfect picture in their minds
H
And it’s not even pretty
??!
Can you listen?
Can you hear
The water glisten
When it’s clear?
Can you see beyond the muck? Wood
You ever give a fuck?
How do you live? How dare you?
[Now we watch for villains in our streets
The masses like moss growing
On the city’s feet]
How dare?
Now we must retreat
To hollow towers cold
Waiting, as we had in winters past,
For powers to unfold
How?
They got us out to play
But I will wait inside.
I know what they’ll always say
‘IT IS JUST HIS PRIDE’
HOW DARE THEY!!!???
When so innocent and young
We were among those few
Who could afford to be adored
In knowing not just what to do?
How dare?
But no one even cares
If they shit children from their thighs
No one of them really cares
To raise one like a lion to the sky.
How?
We will raise them in this tower if we have to
Endowed with ever power
And they will find a path, too.
I (used to) think that all these people thought
And sought the depth
Of their own sink
But they were all content to rot
In their own shit.
I should have known but now I don’t.
I should have shown them but I won’t.
We’ll keep our eyes peeled.
We’ll keep watch.
Each is endowed and entitled
Now I keep watch
Somehow I miss...
Being a lighthouse beacon
Yelling to proclaim the Soul
[I thought all of them climbed like snails to reach greater heights
They took me and castrated me
On one of those sacred nights]
Now I keep watch
Like a lighthouse keeper
In the winter frost
With the Sea frozen over
We, my friends, had never thought
To spend a winter in this splintered attic
Once our spring had been the thing
Our flings and swings were so sporadic.
And we venerated Mother.
And we venerated Mother.
What are they but bulls with suits?
HOW DARE THEY?
Who are they but trees unrooted?
HOW DARE THE
They are merely poets
HOW DAR
Of bathroom graffiti
HO
They paint the perfect picture in their minds
H
And it’s not even pretty
??!
Can you listen?
Can you hear
The water glisten
When it’s clear?
Can you see beyond the muck? Wood
You ever give a fuck?
How do you live? How dare you?
[Now we watch for villains in our streets
The masses like moss growing
On the city’s feet]
How dare?
Now we must retreat
To hollow towers cold
Waiting, as we had in winters past,
For powers to unfold
How?
They got us out to play
But I will wait inside.
I know what they’ll always say
‘IT IS JUST HIS PRIDE’
HOW DARE THEY!!!???
When so innocent and young
We were among those few
Who could afford to be adored
In knowing not just what to do?
How dare?
But no one even cares
If they shit children from their thighs
No one of them really cares
To raise one like a lion to the sky.
How?
We will raise them in this tower if we have to
Endowed with ever power
And they will find a path, too.
I (used to) think that all these people thought
And sought the depth
Of their own sink
But they were all content to rot
In their own shit.
I should have known but now I don’t.
I should have shown them but I won’t.
We’ll keep our eyes peeled.
We’ll keep watch.
Slova.
All you need is Beauty, truth
And Love
...
And all that I can think of
Is you’ll love our samples
For example
And you know it’s the truth
And Beauty tips
And snooty girls
With crudely pampered
Hips
And it’s the youth
That lets it slip
That Love is cool now
Cool is hot now
Hot is cold now
And the words we had just rot
In our mouths
As the sodas
That we douse them with
Explode and rot our wisdom teeth
And seeth into our brains
All as we speak.
I’ll substitute for Love
That I adore
Although it is a shame
That whenever I have to say
So much more than I explain
I have to resort to naming
Truth a fact
And out of tact
I’ll call beauty pretty
And I think that it’s a pity
That the words that we’d reserved for Great things
Now, unnervingly, are used
For those that don’t deserve our waiting
For them, and thus those words are abused.
And the confusion comes
When we want to express true glory
And always our tongues must succumb
To telling some bad-worded story.
All you need is Beauty, truth
And Love
...
And all that I can think of
Is you’ll love our samples
For example
And you know it’s the truth
And Beauty tips
And snooty girls
With crudely pampered
Hips
And it’s the youth
That lets it slip
That Love is cool now
Cool is hot now
Hot is cold now
And the words we had just rot
In our mouths
As the sodas
That we douse them with
Explode and rot our wisdom teeth
And seeth into our brains
All as we speak.
I’ll substitute for Love
That I adore
Although it is a shame
That whenever I have to say
So much more than I explain
I have to resort to naming
Truth a fact
And out of tact
I’ll call beauty pretty
And I think that it’s a pity
That the words that we’d reserved for Great things
Now, unnervingly, are used
For those that don’t deserve our waiting
For them, and thus those words are abused.
And the confusion comes
When we want to express true glory
And always our tongues must succumb
To telling some bad-worded story.
The thing about all monsters is
If they get through, then they get through
And then the proper course
Is to forgive: It's all
that you can do....
BUt should you spart a fort
from the snare
of some hostile creature
Let it not fall
to the foe
As though it were a friend.
dm.A.A.
If they get through, then they get through
And then the proper course
Is to forgive: It's all
that you can do....
BUt should you spart a fort
from the snare
of some hostile creature
Let it not fall
to the foe
As though it were a friend.
dm.A.A.
Humanist poem.
Everything we do is merely human, so don't fret
you do not fall short of some standard that some diety has set
Caprice is what a stuffy man calls his passion when disowned...
And so omnipotence is merely rationality unthroned
and made into a Godlike figure, set against the backdrop of the sky
but we are merely human. Can we think to reach so high?
No, but it is not a height that transcends our minds
God, in this form's, only our inner light when we are blind.
And so, if all potential is available to grasp,
why should we surrender it for the sky to clasp?
For the sky, though knowing, has no eye
for what is human beauty
and Art, I think, is not a chore
What's more, it is no duty.
Art may not be even therapy
for the forlorn, unsatisfied
I could not compel my child to care for me
When I am not here at her side
And if art's not a child
but it is a wild romance
than i would not be mild
when it takes a fighting stance
And though even a lover can
be supportive to a broken heart
Still, she needs the other man
to be also, upon her, impart
his skills, his thrills, his overflowing joys
For that's what life is
Or otherwise, unknowing boys
are often left wifeless.
And a poem rushed, for when the heart reminds the mind too soon
Is a violation of the trust between the parents
And so the son is born, unintended, wounded in the woom
As though the son of alcoholics, its history apparent.
And so, I say, remember yet again
should you find some who'll tell
that your word belongs to Heaven
And to deviate is hell,
Hell is a choice, and heaven is your voice
don't lose it.
Screaming for God to pardon you
Life is not hardened; choose it.
Everything we do is merely human, so don't fret
you do not fall short of some standard that some diety has set
Caprice is what a stuffy man calls his passion when disowned...
And so omnipotence is merely rationality unthroned
and made into a Godlike figure, set against the backdrop of the sky
but we are merely human. Can we think to reach so high?
No, but it is not a height that transcends our minds
God, in this form's, only our inner light when we are blind.
And so, if all potential is available to grasp,
why should we surrender it for the sky to clasp?
For the sky, though knowing, has no eye
for what is human beauty
and Art, I think, is not a chore
What's more, it is no duty.
Art may not be even therapy
for the forlorn, unsatisfied
I could not compel my child to care for me
When I am not here at her side
And if art's not a child
but it is a wild romance
than i would not be mild
when it takes a fighting stance
And though even a lover can
be supportive to a broken heart
Still, she needs the other man
to be also, upon her, impart
his skills, his thrills, his overflowing joys
For that's what life is
Or otherwise, unknowing boys
are often left wifeless.
And a poem rushed, for when the heart reminds the mind too soon
Is a violation of the trust between the parents
And so the son is born, unintended, wounded in the woom
As though the son of alcoholics, its history apparent.
And so, I say, remember yet again
should you find some who'll tell
that your word belongs to Heaven
And to deviate is hell,
Hell is a choice, and heaven is your voice
don't lose it.
Screaming for God to pardon you
Life is not hardened; choose it.
The anger flavours
the beer
An angel savours
rage
A bath sweats out...
the alcohol
a fire set
to sage
reason inflames passion
directing its ascent
but only after rash
and unrestricted action
smashes through consent.
the beer
An angel savours
rage
A bath sweats out...
the alcohol
a fire set
to sage
reason inflames passion
directing its ascent
but only after rash
and unrestricted action
smashes through consent.
Description of a favourite scene from The Lord of the Rings.
Here’s to the fools
The trees uprooted
Ents marched...
Upon Isengard
And set on fire
Dousing their sorry solemn branching
Locks in the rush
Of the heart
Of the broken dam
Bless you
And damn Saruman
Who, given
A bit of foresight
Would have made of you
Greater fools
And turned you, by some broken
Magic
To replace his own ranks
Of orcs.
And goddamn the white wizard
Should we find him (omitted
From the film version) marching
About preaching
The nobility
Of the ents.
Here’s to the fools
The trees uprooted
Ents marched...
Upon Isengard
And set on fire
Dousing their sorry solemn branching
Locks in the rush
Of the heart
Of the broken dam
Bless you
And damn Saruman
Who, given
A bit of foresight
Would have made of you
Greater fools
And turned you, by some broken
Magic
To replace his own ranks
Of orcs.
And goddamn the white wizard
Should we find him (omitted
From the film version) marching
About preaching
The nobility
Of the ents.
No comments:
Post a Comment