I am trying to find god in my basement.
In my own house (well, that I rent) –
To tell you the truth, it’s money well spent –
But in this wash of club fog,
These hyperkinetic lights,
This irrepressible sugar pop sound,
It swears to me that life is sweet.
Maybe only in moments like these.
But in certain spiritual lyric coincidences
I detect some karmic, cosmic communication .
A certain wink from the vertigo;
A nudge in the ribs from my madonna.
Ridicule from the turntables
For not expressing myself and my soundtrack
Every moment I breathe.
Is it prayer to spin records
And cry out when the experience hits you?
Or is that reserved for holier orgasms?
King of my kingdom,
Finding that I am god
In my basement.
Posts Tagged ‘God’
Tags: Breath, God, King, Light, Madonna, Money, Records, Truth, Turntables, Vinyl, Wink
I am trying to find god in my basement.
Tags: Boar, Dog, Eight, Eye, Faerie, God, Island, Kiss, Laura, Light, Nine, Records, Red, Salt, Sea, Tree, Vinyl
Closing my eyes against this real light,
I see warm red through my eyelids
And if I stretch my hand out blind like this
I can imagine caressing your face,
Turning your chin up to taste your full lips
And the salt tang of the sea
That has faerie dusted them.
Hanging out in trees and lagoons;
Spray-painting abandoned concrete;
Stacking records on the autoplay spindle
And rearranging my room
To the crackle of spinning vinyl;
Romping pell-mell over islands
Chased by hunter dogs and fat wild boars;
Floods of experience wrapped in whispers of red hair,
The clickety-clack of eight wheels and nine inch nails.
I know that my every effort to erase what we’ve done
Has come to naught but a floodgate
Open wide of oh my god
I never forgot, only forgot to remember.
Tags: Adam, Animal, Belief, Dream, Dwarf, Elf, Eve, Faerie, Fruit, God, Home, Imagination, Life, Love, Magic, Man, Power, Satan, Story
Perhaps my only true loves
Are those that are inanimate,
Or are animated soley by my
They love me like a god –
I give them life, they give me
Love without strings attached.
They could attach their strings
If they ate from that forbidden fruit
That Adam and Eve partook of.
But that is the difference
Between mankind and animals,
Plants, minerals, Elves, Dwarves, and Faeries.
We know we do wrong – we still do it.
Some barrier was broken and we keep on breaking,
We made god to subtly blame for our position.
(We call him Satan)
We told him to forgive us because
It wasn’t in our own power
To forgive ourselves for evolving.
We are now the chosen species of the planet
And, collectively, we all want to go home.
So these inanimate things I animate,
Infusing them with imagination and belief.
I can believe in them because it was I
Who made them real in the first place.
God didn’t make me; I made him
Just like I make a dream a reality,
A story my existence, and item alive
And bounding to and fro with innocent excitement.
Icarus splashed when he hit the water.
I was there; I, too, fell
As he fell, when he fell,
Feathers flying all around me,
Sun hot, wax running,
Sweat beading my brow.
He said to me as he regarded the water:
My father wasn’t strong enough
To pump his arms
In those leather strapped wings.
Everything was perfect:
The buckles were tight;
The wax was the best.
And I would have betrayed my kind:
All of the poets, dreamers, and innovators,
The trashy lot who loved me
Because of who I am,
If I didn’t strain to see
The faces of the gods.
Icarus gave Bruegel his ankle
And me this feather.
Once upon a sky,
I saw, imprinted: smoke
from the pretty bonfire
of each lie, lie, lie.
I saw this thread from afar,
black and hanging from God’s suit:
my hair stood on end from the heat;
it’s burning bright like a star.
The twin scratches at my insides,
carving words in my skin,
inciting organ against organ,
organizing rebellions within.
Tags: Angel, Bear, Fear, God, Lucifer, Michael, Science, Sword, Wings, Zodiac
Scales and a sword and a pair of wings
Is not what I have –
I look at St. Michael,
My namesake Angel,
And I want to hug a bear in fear
Of being capable of such judgement:
Fair and exacting deeds.
I find I’m wrong or mistaken
Many times a day:
My own carelessness
Or oversight, usually.
St. Michael has no forethough to him,
Just perfect scales,
The means to weigh is science of judgement,
And a flaming sword to enforce the verdict.
Keeping the Garden of Eden
And throwing Lucifer from the vaults of Heaven:
St. Michael — it is he “who is like God”;
my tenuous relationship:
a shared name,
a Zodiac sign,
and a fascination with blades.
Tags: Angel, Believe, Candles, Children, Fountain, God, Human, Love, Magic, Man, Night, Science, Woman
a candle can
move its shadows
like the magic
of an angel
if you believe
that it might be so.
and it’s war
so I give up,
keep my mouth shut
from the inside
page after page
of meaningless meaning
to forget tomorrow
Love is no longer
a good enough reason
made to bow to religion,
made to bow to science,
and losing the battle
to the evolution of humankind
into the machines
the laws they build
lost is the love of man
and of God;
there is a love
for everything good:
if it is good,
then there is love.
some things that
have been found
to be good
are still used
their original use
love is what
Tags: Believe, Closet, Frog, God, Happy, Light, Magic, Science
People treat themselves like natural resources
(yes we are as part of the ecosystem –
we can be useful)
but expenditure like the burning of a ton of coal
to light one lightbulb?
I ask if this is necessary;
there is a chorus of affirmatives
from the millions who know no better,
who know nothing else,
who bought and will buy again,
who sell this idea.
Accomplishment is one great feeling,
but conversion of a ton of coal,
folding your diploma of success
into the paper airplane of your resumé,
forwarded into the next office,
the next buyer’s grabbing hands
leaves little room for meaning besides
fleeting appreciation and a closetful
of dusty awards that mean nothing.
A rusty mailbox doesn’t care if it rusts;
frogs don’t care where they croak from
or where they croak to,
or where they croak.
Life doesn’t seem to care
where it is going.
But I disagree –
Something knows and always has known,
and it watches
and has its own opinion.
God is dead or at best
holds appointments on Sundays,
priests just do their jobs;
it is a profession: their work.
God or magick or belief
is no longer a requirement
for happiness or success.
Tags: Angel, Blood, Car, God, Life, Point Loma, Smoke, Snake, Sword, Time, Trash
I used to roll spare tires
down alleys in Point Loma
to see how many streets they’d cross
against a trash can or a moving car,
a cinderblock wall or a pile of dirt.
Stupid things is what I thought.
Why’d they stop there; it could have kept going
I’m rolling and I steer myself short all of the time
and it’s coming; I can feel it singing and surging to life
in a tide, a god, an angel looking for a sharp sword
in his tongue,
fiery-eyed and furious,
smoking and snake-bitten.
But I can’t be touched by the fire I create -
burning myself won’t work anymore
- there is nothing left to burn but everything else
and it is to be smelted into my sword,
my pen, my tongue, my eyes,
my breath, my words,
my blood, my thoughts.
Tags: Dark, Fear, God, Heart, Scorpion, Untitled
sometimes I finger the scars on my heart
in the dark, all alone,
rough ribbons of hardened tissue;
they are braille lines of poetry;
railroad tracks to remind me of my innermost fears.
They feel almost skeletal,
and read like the scriptures of God,
and sting like the scorpions of God.
Tags: Fire, Fountain, Girl, God, Gold, Love, Man, Prince, Princess
for all of my twenty years
I have had one healthy fear:
that Love will find me cold and dry
for being a Prince and held so high,
but my heart longs for fiery blood,
wide-open eyes and Love, true Love,
not courtships played to gain the hand
of the Princess with the tracts of land.
for Love that fountains from my soul
for the heart of a girl who’s honest, whole;
someone to Love me and someone to share
all of my fears with; someone to care.
for I am no better than any man.
a Prince or a Pauper, the same we stand
in God’s eyes you’re worthy or not,
it doesn’t matter, the gold you’ve got.
Love is life’s most precious thing,
even for me…
…the Prince of Spring!
for I am the Prince of Spring.
for I am the Prince of Spring.
for I am the Prince of Spring.
Tags: Angel, Dream, Faith, Fear, God, Halo, Hate, Libra, Love, Man, Wings
no wings, no halo,
no beatific expression
of heavenly rapture.
on interviewing an Angel,
he scratched his head
and was most like any other man.
I’m five foot eleven,
one hundred and forty pounds
(give or take five for the season)
no, there’s no particular reason
I should be renowned
as an Angel from heaven.
by the way, I’m a Libra.
I just do the best that I can.
that is angelic.
I love and hate and fear,
I learn and hurt and feel.
but to the best of my ability,
with the tools God has given me;
other than that I’m just a man
struggling with the rest of my kin
to keep faith with the Angel within
and to dream.
Tags: Angel, Believe, Blood, Cry, Dreams, Faith, Firefly, Flesh, Friend, God, Heart, Man, Michael, Mirror, Monster, Night, Quality, Scream, Soul, Sound, Stars, Storm, Tears
I am still here;
encased in steel,
frozen in flesh;
I am still here.
the I, the me, and the one and only:
Michael, an Angel, this quality,
definitely the most beautiful man
regardless of position and opinion.
building and building my building,
my self: a tower of faith in feelings.
I’ve mortared each brick and laid each beam,
chosen the colors, welded the seams,
sweated past tears, made real my dreams.
I have constructed my cherished monster
and wobble like a weeble but I don’t
I doubt and I die
sometimes I cry
and fade away,
but I’m always stuck with myself
so I’ve chosen to stick it out
until the morning after.
I’ve got to strip and scrub and look in the mirror
I get misunderstood and filthy bad-mouthing myself;
the more I scrub the more I bleed, feeling clearer -
addicting, this hurting and cleaning myself.
in that soulless mirror
is my only true friend
and he’s true as far as you believe him.
weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.
I won’t scream anymore, I won’t make a sound
on finding my construction falling apart
snapping cables in the storms of my heart.
there is nothing that can ever take me away
I’ve done too much damage already.
twenty-one years old, a missile heaven-sent
and where god has thrown me I’ve made my own dent
to sit in and scowl or wave to my stars
as they streak by in the night, fireflies in jars.
he, long ago, was the dam-builder,
creator of landscapes in mud
with the courage to play
a God or an Emperor
to the hilt,
thinking plastic men had lives
to give and eyes
to see the wonders he had made,
the horrors of the floods
that would inundate
thousands of these men
buried under silt -
tons to them.
Tags: Blood, Bones, Dreams, Echo, Eye, Fire, Flesh, Flowers, Forest, Frog, God, Green, Moon, Orange, Parents, Purple, Rain, Red, Rhyme, Rock, Sand, Sea, Stars, Stone, Water, Wind, Wings, Yellow
I can wish as hard as I want without trying.
Maybe it takes a nervous breakdown
To examine the croak of a frog.
A rich man tapes his hands to his sides
Drowning in treasures but refusing to decide
Which pearls he wants to wear for eyes.
To the grey lands to search for the sunken man,
Glowering in the shadow under a rock.
“Come in under the shadow of this red rock -
“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”
Of ash, of bone, of moon, of stone;
Cadaverous, skin a dizzying kaleidoscope of veins.
I screamed, hands clenched to my eyes, alone,
Falling apart under that brittle stone.
pretending to have misplaced my watch,
I asked a current friend for the time.
she looked at me curiously, sadly,
then asked why I no longer rhyme;
walked away as I demanded an answer
from myself; I never saw her again.
time to find another friend.
Sweating and dirty from working,
I keep forgetting to steal some of the diamonds
I’m mining for other people.
At home, I’ve got this dusty blowtorch
Right next to my aspiration to smelt the world.
Been a long time since I burned anything
On purpose. Last time it was my wings.
Pushing the dirt around on my face
With the same oily rag, I promise
Again to go on a picnic in a forest,
Then pause, shaking my head slowly
To get rid of an echo.
O black soil, heavy and rich, warm
With the fires of life, thick and moist
Under my nails, in my eyes and ears,
Filling my lungs with blood,
Burnishing my skull with her coppery breath,
Arms sunk to the shoulders in the forest earth;
Black earth goddess.
A poem incarnate: thee, poet.
Vision, mind, thought, dreams,
Thinking in every sense of a word.
And a blackbird.
I came forth with a handful of seashells
(to the froggy applause
of the people’s jaws
creaking in their mechanical sleep),
Following May, who’s going home
To dwell with her enigmatic stone.
Placing shells to wait on the sill
And for her to discover
Like a faucet-spray of dry flowers.
Walking on the sidewalk I’ve
Empty hands in my pockets,
Imagining how she’ll find them
Over and over.
Flying through the rain on a wind of strings,
He flew with the ease of a soul,
Tall and clear-eyed with violins in his hair.
I saw him from the shore
And waved him out to sea,
Rushing over the water’s open grave.
they poured their hearts
out into the bowl of my fingers,
flesh and water and soggy stitches,
Lost and drowned
in the ashes of childhood,
the sorry sons-of-bitches.
I breathed into my palms,
Taking each by their tenebrous hands,
And throwing them into the darkened heavens:
stars like two flung shoe-fulls of sand.
Spinning around and around underneath,
Watching them swim, these stars, good-bye;
Constellations of the smiling faces
of my parents,
One on each half of the sky.
I ran through the stacks of cars
After him that flew away by the seat of his pants.
I, too, cannot answer the question:
“What is the grass?”
I can no longer remember.
Standing under a leprous moon,
In a field of strobed weeds,
In a circle of garish flowers
Heads trembling in a sort of gleeful fear.
Looking at my arms, my hands,
The vegetation was purple, orange, yellow, green,
turned pale by the light of the stone in the sky
shown bone by the fire suffused in my eye.
The moon grinned, sunken in the dust of a scream.
Tags: Animal, Blue, Eye, God, Light, Orange, Rabbit, Turtle, Yugguy
quality time with this animal:
Yugguy, rabbit and turtle combine,
transforming in the blink of an eye,
blowing bubbles through blue light bulbs
and the orange one in my reading light.
laughing quietly by myself
with all my animals.
he blows the bubbles well.
I beat a trash can like a drum
in the alley behind your house
at night when the stray cats gather
on the fence around my feet.
we are all going
to fly to the dark side of the moon.
I see the big sack of your skin,
hung up as if in a slaughterhouse
and God stuffs in your muscles,
your organs, your soul;
sews you up and throws you to earth
to land like a leaping antelope.
I curse the dawn licking the city skyline
clean of the octopus darkness.
I hold my rings up to the last star
and plunge back into the timelessness
of the dirty brick alleyways.
Imitation of The Hand
holding endless golden grains of sand
at arm’s length – my hand
sifts thoughtful each piece’s worth
feeling the elemental drums of the earth.
Imitation of The Island
alone on an island,
I build my own church
and it was nothing
because I’d rather have died.
we know this much:
you are ugly;
we have the gods’
word for it; they too
would be ugly if ugly
was a good thing.
I untie my belt
hoping to see you ream a sheep,
but still you don’t come
and I go on longing.
you are invincible!
window rattling monster,
I have no patience with your
fleshless screaming skull
plummeting meaningful to earth,
runnels of molten bone flayed
as streamers fly from a maypole.
gravel crunching beast,
I am alone with my artifacts,
my talismans, my treasures and
think little of your rancorous immaturity.
I sleep upon your doorstep to dream,
shrieking names of blind polypous gods
shambling aimlessly in realms of ether.
I grope shudderingly for the covers
to pull over my too-sensitive ears.
rubbery night walker,
Tags: Dark, Dream, Girl, God, Innocent, Lies, Paper, Sick
he didn’t need to be shown how to do
things; he was good at figuring
them out – taking them apart and
putting them back together. he read a
lot when he was innocent and
believed too much for his own good.
too many times he became impatient
and cursed himself for imagined
wrongs, blaming his insensitivity for
his lack of social standing. he tried so
hard he made himself sick with lies
and falsehoods, having to artificially calm
the turbulence of his stomach with
deadened-nerves ignorance. he knew,
or rather hoped (he didn’t allow himself
the luxury of self-confidence) that someday
he would be given the chance to show
another human being what he thought
love was. it was too big, too heady, too
encompassing to try to contain within the
bars of paper and ink, but he knew
exactly what it was and how he would
go about making it work and dreamed
handsome times and admirable occasions.
love would turn some special girl’s eyes
to his if only he had the patience to
hang on to the blades of grass growing
in the cracks of the snail-track laden
sidewalk. he secretly prayed to a god
he honestly doubted and looked for
some reason besides cowardice to not
get life over with and found that he had
matches of distraction at the bottom of
his dismal mind shaft. every time he went
into the dark and felt the slimy pitch
of the terror of being alone, he could find
another match to sputter and flicker
in the cold depths to keep his faith until
someone would come along to crank up
the bucket form the bottom of the well.
Tags: Ass, God, Life, Lightning, Thunder, Weather, Wind
Did you sense the urgency in the setting sun today
Did you hear the impatience of the wind this evening
Can you taste the excitement imported by the weather
Don’t the palms of your hands itch for solid steel
I’m hoping God will unleash the lightning riders
To rip my roots out of this ever composting life
And dump me on my ass in the middle of a thunderstorm
Soggy and brilliant and fiery and real!
In a field
Me and mud
In my toes
Tags: God, Sample, Sound, Thunder
How I love your sound,
The resounding slap
Of a Thunderclap
Even shakes the ground.
I always fright:
where does the bolt strike?
Even if out of town,
Tags: Clouds, Dance, Demon, Fire, God, Monster, Mountains, Night, Satan, Soul, Sound, Universe
From a fiery plateau in the midst of hell
Where all the fabled monsters dwell
Came a sound which split the night
A noise issued to God in spite
On the mountaintop within the inferno
Dance a supreme demon by the name of Mephisto
Or Satan or Demogorgon or the Father of Lies
By whatever name, he is one to despise.
Atop the mountain he gleefully pranced
And it was a mocking dance that he danced.
Below him on the burning plain
Writhed tortured souls without identity or name
Up, up, up towards the heavens they swirled
Lashed onward by the demon way above our world.
Towards the Lord’s throne, up within the clouds
While the universe shook with dreadful sounds.
But the Lord was forgiving and blessed each soul
And tore from them, sin, which kept them so cold.
The more Satan called, the more were rescued
And Mephisto’s stupidity cannot more be eschewed.
For the Lord is supreme, he made me and you
And not to be forgotten, he made Satan, too.