Monday, June 30, 2008

name-ism; on complexity and demands for explanations

name-ism ; on complexity and demands for explanations;

They carved a maze into the mountain

with locked fence posts blocking the right path

smeared with wax seals of gilded writing of codes

and conventions that drains the climbing text of its own persona

into a drone outdated by the time it reaches the peak

where the pied cow kicks him off the preaching ledge

to find that personae again, anima crippled, finds personae

scorn, smelted into the venerable

pied cow



eaves of the orchestrated                         o                         bligator

gourmet-rocked like  preying mantis

in the hollow glow                         does he still whisper

does he still flow                         where he stirs the stagnate

puzzled into                form            trodden path

tools and nimble fingers to keep you alive

my nose is cold and the frost is nipping at my chin

while the slug comes into my house, squeezes

through water cracks of cemented walls

dark, water comes muddy brown in slits

leaking wounds , dark water comes

through the tectonic plates of garden paths

where the stampede follows the red velvet psycho bunny

distracted by the black and white , in corset and garter belts, bunny


chorus of mountain nymphs;

I’m wasted      squeeze my creation

wasted             tension the sheep is wolf clothing

circus                         round and round we go

I’m wasted             think I’m gonna be sick

wasted                        I’m ok, I’m ok, I’m better than the test

circus                         spasm, spasm, go



these plants,  meadows, of  eyes

scream in brutal harmonies; waves of the seas that stains

the dream of what the I can be

that lifts beyond the tragedy, froths high exposing

corralled rock bottom , contagious

clarity between

the leaves of                                                  or                        chest-rated

clatter of the congealing ban-everything mob

my noose is warm and magnets are nipping at my chin

mind is hematite to the rigid moulds of metal society

metal monkey rides the wooden ox

chalk footprints of carbon headprints leaving

soulwrought ornate filigree symbols

to decorate our attended desires


chorus of desert valkyries;

I’m circus             plonking to mastication

circus                         of truth in media juices

wasted             eyes like ruins

I’m circus            think I’m gonna be bloated

circus                         inverted cripple shimmy

wasted             twitch, twitch, go


mind the cave                                     the  mountains hollow

here I can chip                        carve the stone  until

it exposes the neural roots that connects

the mountain to the ground

stalagmite fingers of petrified lightning

from the crooks beating of polar clouds

 here in the crystallized pockets of volcanic stones

I can see                                     circus

the eaves of the orchestrated                 ord                         ained

leaves of the book o the tree

the lemon tree where the masked child was crowned

stuck in the crown the hermit grounds the bark

snorts it and falls and parties by the roots

where he could see the geometry of the bridge

but fell in love with the river underneath

the same river that tumbles stones into orbs  ; balls

same river that fills up Mugabes wells and fuels

the Israeli war machine

river that creates the cusps where we can tie

our wooden rafts, hollowed logs and chromed body kits

together to watch the frothing rivers endless rage


chorus of toadstool fairies;

wasted circus                         transient is the spine

wasted                         magnetic she holds my joint

circus                                     voice like horizon

circus wasted                         think I’m gonna explode

circus                                      expand outside a  frame

wasted                         twitch, spasm, grow


their walls taught the birds-chest boy how to climb

with torn pads in his knees and a chronically aching shoulder

clouds of herbs buffering away the doctors pill serving tray 

their walls taught the boy how to climb

but never to build


                        build the spiral


                                    torsion; build the spiral


they never taught me how to build

every stone is a trial

                        build the trial

                                    stone; build the trial

those that look for the straight line                         will                         always get lost

there is no straight line                                                             normal is not normal

circus looks for the straight line                                                 looks at the surface 

attention is wasted                                                                         lost in the straight line 

want me to explain ?                                                                         lost in the surface

want to know the answer ?                                                             lost in the straight line

blind to complexity                                                                         lost in the surface

what you look for                                                                         should not exist

in art                                                                                                 and poetry 

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