Soul Armada

[my version of R.Peabody's 'Snug Harbor']

Gem Harbor

:

Using ink feels like opening weapons bay doors, 

dropping ethereal-petaled cloth into hearts like steel-spiked gems 

tempered by waltzes in a forest, and by the weight of despair.

Alarmed by Near-moon high bells, star swimming, 

both mirrored and darkened eyes, 

willing, they’re ready... harbored song-woLves are hungry...    

primed for the cloudbursts of spells.

Through day & night, float slow, float slow 

like an incense of lyrics..

where pens flow, sometimes explode, a cyclone of ohm...

in tone, in tone.

No one caught the untouched poems, like some conjured evidence.

They’re landing in waves, a nurtured caress,...

yet wounding through skin and earth.

draw in, draw in, the horizon’s pulling.

Breathe deep, stay anchored, there’s a monsoon wind of alchemy...

... flaring down into the bones.

My weathered, my wrought, my ink stained soul...,

Searching... and Searching...

...embrace it all, embrace it all, the miracles, the hexes, 

the joyous and the agitated,                                         

though you’re left waving... from the docks... 

with near-death knuckles,...

...with world-weary lips, but stay, please stay...

 in love with your own... 

near-death, story-singed... finGeR... tiPs.

You’re Home.

..

..

Like Spells sPun out of Nowhere

Mutilating Reality with Magic

Born of a spoken Word...

..Of a shy Glance fading Away

--Captured, Strangled... One Day Ignored.

Why do we smile in this ignorance?...

...running off until we SPEAK the Words too.

-- We All just want to be Adored

...Adored...

Like Love from the Sun on Skin through wind

Heat of the Beam in our stares

----intent over intense?

Scream, Wave, Approach,

Rising to the Clouds, uNconscious in Consuming joy...

Spot it. I spotted it! .. it's miNe...

But...

Did yOU just turn away from Rain?

Listening, Only Listening...

No Eyes in Gaze with tears...

Taking No Breath in,

You Cry, "Im a Voice. I Speak. I aM.", but...

You're a voice with No Mouth, upright & boiling with indifference,

Look, A Body with No hands Out... to understand...

these rainDrops are Songs, evaporating,

and mostly We're left, ...... you've left...

...in lightless thought...

...Missing the poinT...

...Like Androids Delivering FiNaL messages

...to the Last Surviving Humans...

WhO DON'T...... even......... CaRE.

...

...

...iT just Happens.

I admire my small ‘ring’ of friends, for we all- even in artistic glory- hover like smiling phantoms

who conquer the shadows at night, from alley to alley;

fallen stars who with burning thoughts wage a covert war against conformity. 

Suffering for having seen the chains of minds;

we seem to function best in torment,

inside raw visions of the truth.

Wild and high rips of in-between beats and hauntings, 

mocking gods with our animal-cry-musings,

animal-cry-tokes, animal-cry-bleedings

and animal-cry-strokes.

We’re woke, we’re humankind, and we’re not amused by things perfection

– there is no story, there is no rebel, there is no badass in their godliness.

My Brothers, my Sisters, creators, destroyers, all rogue benders of the time,

come inside, take refuge from the chaos, let’s engineer the all-sight weapons…we will weaponize the cries.

I admire them; they endure in their ‘awakenings’-

for in this ring we live forever and never die… no matter how much we scream for the serenity of death.

Agony is the shade of the enlightenment, it cannot be abandoned. Endure my good friends! Endure. 

/~..and as my eyes close, becoming, once again, the king of my soul's ancient ruins..i hold my hand up, fingers closed around sunflowers for you-- waiting, wanting that you’d want them before I'm gone;

you and I and everyone dash in time like flash-action jazz notes in the darkness, grainy with life, like rough-and-ready wood on skin, we are the music ....played once and then consumed inside the sinewy wet-work of the creeping night.

Close eyes,,Close eyes...take this sun-drenched, enslaved creature from me-- you see, your heavy hold is my exhausted lifeline to return. Let's hit the bricks, then stand in shadows, triple-fat-goose-flossin', Crooklyn-forged, double-agent-faced and primed to contemplate the why of US inside Old Fashioneds containing witch-crafted verse like hand-carved ice floating in the glass--

I hear the jazz, the cats they grimace, they dig the jazz, we audio-taste the moonlight then clap thunder with sharpened claws to break the edge of groovin' thump lakes-- we bangin', letting the gritty rivers flow --We are the music, PLAY IT! -it's like the purest potion, the finest beam of ME-

-.. now watch I......I me............. as..I..We............. slip........................ away. ~/

~Lo (Brooklyn, March 2016)

Wake up! You said the mirror’s here— deconstructing mother to construct a shameless father: degenerate, a smasher, twitter-retching Loud.

Wake up! There are a million men led by two million women, electric chested, blasting “CHOICE”, armed with voice and colossal pressure-- fear the thunder of the raised-up signs.

Wake up! I am. You said I need to hear the call. Demoralize-you bullets have been fired, let’s king the high-spots on the wall-- you’re goddamned right I’m up.

I’m up! awake for years— awake to see the soul-caustic wild wolves all around, to see the black snake handlers deceiving in slithers like ruthless force.

I’m up. I’ve been awake for most of this impending break, for the milieu-booming snap of the Republic.

I’m here, with everyone, covered in the shifting threat, reeling divergents we; hold on, my sisters, my brothers, because they’ve been feeding the masses AR-15 dreams--stars & stripes stocks and bolts etched with the crooked crosses of blind obedience-- hold on to the fighting instinct you never thought you had, it’s all happening so flash and I can barely think and I am no Walt Whitman looking at the bones, but I am the shadow atypical, I am the scream SCREAM of poetry—I’ll blow the bugles to plough the fray, to take the day, make no parleys and in the end we’ll own the clay, red or otherwise, we will excommunicate the drone.

I’m here,,,, in full blown panic attack, breathing heavy, eyes reaching, chest and soul vibing like I’ve been dropped from panic fear-wrought clouds—my voice is now a thunder rage, it is survival.

All because I know:                          WAR is Coming.                                         And the voices will beat: “Your vibe is a sick tempo, mr.prez, you who drinks the beastly alcohol of hate, golf swinging next to child-filled graves, tis the band-aid of your psychosis—so go into the black and expand until you’re nothing at the edge of the universe. And we’ll hold. We the armada, we are like the rain, you can try to punch and shoot us all, but we’re falling down upon you anyway. We will not take seats, we will persist! My name is human, and I’m here for warfare with the storm.”

They’re in plain sight now; they’re here to stare us in the eye while protecting black-heart monuments of moral pestilence-- we’re eye to eye, so do not turn away. It’s on the hill led by the fascist psycopomp declaring you must listen, because you’re lost--beware the blue-blood devils transmitting words of ear-worms to turn you, turn you to a low life. But the truth’s in the horizon. You’ll see the plumes of War, prepare for War, reinforce the foxholes of your intellect--we are the Soul Armada, We will RISE and not divide, HOLD ON for the rising abomination of battle. 

And we’ll stand in place, with our love, to the torn brim with dreams of dreaming once again.

Inside a seeming peace before the impact. I breathe, with a half-smile, knowing it was THEM who came to paint us black. We’ll pay them back at sunrise. 

So here I lie, under covers just before,

and waiting for the fight.

BECAUSE I WILL. ؑX

Love is just as burning as the pain.

Heart’s winter is now home, a gutted home where hearts hold little flame. Wounding hearts are wounded hearts propelling madness-love with piercer spikes, taking nothing of the blame—consume the things they touch, touch it all like toxic rain. They are berzerking metabeings in the darkness reaching out to eat the day.

 We are the rebels, in mid-rebellion, with Vali eyes, gripping movement- grinning beams to light the way. Journey-less yet moving, because stillness is a fall; it is a falling; it is a falling into nothing— So we document descent, the blood fading into thought to pen to breath, we formulate while falling, evading then outflanking the caliginous—the soul keeps formless, we are the Human instrument, a monolithic living death.

Fine-tuned into imperfect-- Décollage in thoughts from hearts to play with godly gems on planes, so... our sunshine is sharp memory

-- we take a stand; i’m Astro-savage, yet getting hooked into the drift— so we default back to memories, to a village in the rain where unwanted children lived-- who look for love through all the noise while holding legends in the flames, crying “Astro-Savage, I’m Astro-Savage!”, we cast the auras and story-tell with shadow eyes: Love burns, it’s just as burning as the pain.

 ...There, the “unwanted” grin again; bursting smiles, these love enfants left spinning in abandon, like sacrificed thieves, dancing upon clouds of massive sins. We roam in silence, then break the air to scream “REBELLION” from the chest—a life of longing, of not belonging, in life i’m howling, 

...where is MY weapon, i need protection from dying suns now 

that my howl is dripping wet, my laugh is dripping wet 

while in this FALL i’m dripping wet,,, 

Like my poems, like all pOEms: the unraveling, the unraveling—it’s all unraveling—the un+PLUS+threading soul is now a force like the devil’s crushing grip: sliding back into the drift, with revolution in our hearts, we wandering spirits, little furious silhouettes, ...

... crusading children professing secret alphabet, ...

... and from the leaves...

We look for fathers in the grass; we find him; i’m reaching down to wear his hat. 

We’ll Look for Mother in all things; continue spellbound to the West, along the way she’ll wipe my tears, as i search on... I search for shade... and for a place to sit,

... and for a Time... to Rest.

In twisted, very Brooklyn, tribute to William Carlos Williams’ poem: The Attic Which is Desire

Universe..whatever you are, please forgive the rent of my nakedly unused dreams. I am beyond the waiting; I speed while still, eyes closed, a stalking wolf electric, grasping into the expansive density of the night.

And into the darkening streets i stumble upon chattering pain and laughter, tourist indifference, hollow wink posturing, empty wassups, cold sidewalk glances reporting with I-can't-wait-to-go-home eyes.  Punk, Salsa, and Hip Hop wrath, soundtrack the open Nest hypnotic frenzy, movement and countermovement of hu-machines inside the multi-element; 

arriving home to contemplate why we’re one another’s offending torturers yet we enjoy each other’s fury- we should only speak in immersive, uplifting or furious music. We are the NYSeeeeds...falling in and out of concrete dimensions, and connecting in a LoVe smash as the others fly by...

Sometimes smooth-crashing into welcome home arms, disarmed by life’s dissolving charms; we breathe and cry and fight over the era’s fascist-like maladies while avoiding thugs and coppers embroiled in heartbroken dogfights--they reinvent their wargames daily-- it’s all an effort to trip-up my walk's jazz. 

And so, I abandon family, take refuge on the edges of crestfallen avenues, refuge behind discarded cardboard and crowds, refuge in bumming smokes from the Halo-high-wide-hairdo-tranny-in-the-skirt, she’s a golden pink flame smile behind a beat up howl- she haunts & slides with ease, with no carnations on these lonely streets; 

walk On.. and swim through tobacco mist mixed with the drenching buzz of neon lights, it cuts me down to agony, down to panther-like shoulder pop moving struts, into my nothing, into narcissistic fictions, to my middle-fingering smack of a laugh at the moon..

 ha!..At the mooN-- little, amoebic hopeless... Laugh at the mooN...

                                  illuminated trick-blade lacerations remind me:  I got kicked out of the club; slammed door, music muffled, hands on brick staggerin’; fading tunnel slow breath loveless into the night; half high, half drunk, on a safari home with a plastic bag full of pork fried rice and chicken wings-- 

creeping into and through my hallway at last, elbowing the mirror once again and hoping to pass out in time to skip the power of imposing stares and judgement.

Universe, all that I have now is this can of coke, cheap food and no desire-- look at me; I know i owe; but look!

                                           Look.

Forgive me,... but tonight,,,,tonight I can not pay your Rent.

..

..

“I’m on the hunt for a fight, with my fist clenched tight, always ready for a battle under darkening sky, and i’m searching for the truth but i’m surrounded by lies; I am the heartbreak thief, a soldier carrying knives, a universal knowledge rebel full of animal cries– i am addicted to LoVe, the moon, the sun, to broken bones of the soul- that have taken their toll- to the pain inside the power of really dark nights, to the streets to the desire, to the smoke and the rain, i am the flame startin’ LoNe Wolf -- I sweat poetic cocaine; i’m in a waR with God, throwin’ poetic grenades, screaming muthaFuck you and all your fake-ass kings…..and i howl into the winds  on a burial site ..– AND i’m addicted to LoVe.. like i’m addicted to FighT.”