Eventually, Everyone to the Feast (Following the Parade)

I don't have a list of feats accomplished, but I can dream.
I don't have a name to use for profit, but I can sing.
I don't even have a dollar inside my pocket, but I am free!

I am no more or no less
Than any and every. For
Each and every ending
Or beginning is a friend
To you in being, rest assured then, and get some grit-like friction.  Throw down chalk
                                                                                                   On top of pavement.
                     Bask on the breath of the dawn like a thousand dragons
articulated in
                     Existence, use that as your
trade-wind.

Now, to each his own good fortune,
I see all rocks but there's no wasteland!
And the water pours down very often!
Now here--A door for you to walk with,

Not a prize but you go out.
Choice is just the entryway,
Actions do commemorate (change).
Everyday is all the same,
Like a certain chord or accident
Against the curtains of refrain.
I'll say no more after this
But I will walk this way again,
Like how we can sit on the docks at eventide
And watch as the ships escape, eventually everything will fade, into
                                                 The sunset frenzy on the horizon,
                                                 Eventually, everyone to the place.
                                                 Following the parade.

Another Soliloquy

I love the scumfucks, the gutter-punks,
The street kids.

As I grew up sheltered I identified
With skaters, the ones who would

Do anything not for any reason
Other than to say that they did.

Troubled but makers,
The dreamers of dreams.

In these acts there is a
Spiritual communion.

It might be a bit confusing, but
That doesn't lessen the influence.

Now, don't get me wrong, I've
Long since got my fill of wanton

Amusement, but when I want I
Have a seat among these students

As a friend.  The ones who know
No life but exploding, Truly the same

Song runs through me, runs through them!
Constantly re-roaming no matter the state:

Montana,  Ohio, Missouri, and Maine.
Newark, New Jersey, Santiago y Spain.

Istanbul, Mogadishu, London.  Grey names
Upon grey names upon grey names, holding.

There is a secret medicine sent for those
Alone who have lost all sense of hope and

Direness permeates their entire being. Similar
To the speech first reached by Steinbeck's

Pen, I'll be all around.  Wherever there is
A fight so hungry people can eat, I'll be there.

Wherever there is a cop beating up a guy,
I'll be there.  I'll be there in the way men yell

When they're angry, and I'll be there in the way kids
Laugh when they're hungry and they know suppers prepared.

Wherever you are who feel broken
That is where I appear.

Fountainhead

Only one sight:
La Illaha Ila Allah Hu.

Only one sound:
La Illaha Ila Allah Hu.

Only this call
As I ferment.

Rolling waves to nurture me,
Last night I was lost at sea,

Only this call, as I remember,
Held any weight at all:

La Illaha Ila Allah Hu,

Who could contend? I know they do
But it is lost into the sand.

I could say:
There is no reality but God.

My voice would fall flat,
Infernal pit of logic: venom and spit.

I lay like a whisper on your breath,
Say Hu:

Contain and contend.

The Bright River

A river runs through me,
I can see/cannot see,
I will see/will not see,
I whoopsy, fell off see,

Every way is opened up to, eventually,
There is no wind,
There is only sail

And an open ocean as far as the eye can tell.
So far I plan on waiting around some
If only to see

How long it takes
This ship to truly sink!

I'm bursting open, breaking free—
Like an acorn, a light-husk.

All these plans are unimportant,
Watch my footprints gather dust.

A stern review reported,
Tell them all I send my love

But I've found the strangest appointment,
When this one stops it starts back up.

Existence/Non-existence,
All these words just cover up—

I haven't found a point yet,
I'd report back if there was,

Until then, draw the curtains,
Against all that is and will be

And all that has been done.
I wonder why it has to be

This way, why it has to be so
Tough.  If God makes souls

Only to suffer, I think I've had
Enough.  Tennyson is not the

Best, Lord Byron is, dear buff.
Au lecteur.

In Saying Son

Such a human form,
This love will cover us.

Searching a human form
This love lost interest
To petty crimes or deeper flaws.
An inquest relinquished,

Therefore,
I love your arrogance,
I love your gall.
I love your meanness,
Your disinterested yawn;

Your self serving speeches
And your pages in tune,
Your mornings, your evenings,
Your nights and your noons.

Wrapped up to the neck
And waiting with baited breath,
Directive held firmly,
Each step unto the next.

I see you running around to each of everyone's houses.
I watch you peeking through them, in sickness and in power.

As much as I wish to stay, as much as I wish to listen
I'd do well to walk away, only looking into within.

The fire's warm and bold, stories told and happening,
I do not wonder why you're so cold

You sleep so far from your own crackling.
You have a light-pail inside of your person,

Don't go around asking for love to put in.
Inside of you is a love that is perfect!

If you find some of that,
You won't settle for less.

You were born originally worthy,
Let's not compromise that for less.

A fish fits within the purpose,
It is easier to flow than to run against.

Some more chicken-scratch
Intoned in earnest,

Just like as a child
I looked up to Dad.

A Mischief-Bird

You see feathers.
Wash them, don't foster.

In this case
The wolves will make the quickest
Profiting.

Obviously the Rooster won't let any harm come to the flock
And then there is the fence for this business with dogs.

It's all talk.
There is no fence
And thankfully, these wolves are not dogs,
They have extra-ordinary senses,
All work, no talk.

Wait for tomorrow, and the next dawn,
Then we will talk.
No words, I will use pictures,
A bit more room to walk.

I will give praise as it is taken,
Not my hand, though it chalks.
Echoes only aching for that fresh breath, again
A friend of no-man.

The Rush

What is the extent
Of these groves half-sullen?

Vines wrapped up in
Messy mountains—stolen, accosted.

Ramble, Granted the Gravel and
Dirt don't Hurt like The City

And Hail Mary full of Grace
I watched as men fell down, men took their place.

Full of heart yet heavy,
Pumping chests and shooting lead.

Howling veins of fury,
Roots dug down among my kin.

Brothers all around me
But my bed of roses is just a bitter cup,

My day is started and yet my day is done;
What dire weather fosters in the hearts of us.

I have heard those shots, half-fired if not in anger
And I have heard their replies deafen us.

Neither God nor King or Country,
The modern war is as modern does.

I'll mention Eisenhower
And the military-industry, all for what?

I am merely a child
In a company half-strangers

While empires rise up
And decline as the sun.

What I will say right now
Is change your course.

What I will say again
Is

Resh

And if you want to understand that
Then you have to throw out everything

I mention.

Now I will just try to say
Something about the sun

Relative to your perception,
Said in myth a chariot pulling it

On and on round the heavens
Relative to all of our senses.

In this pen there is no deception, now then,
Do you think the sun can care a hair

About your perception?  No and with good reason,
It is there just existing and you're allowed

To think about it as anything.
Do you think the Truth cares a hair

What you believe in?  With the same proof
It is there just being

And you're allowed with the same reasoning
To believe in whatever the hell you have reason to believe in;

The sun doesn't move relative to us
We move relative to the sun.

The truth indeed gets covered up
But it screams beneath all varnish.

I cannot refrain, in truth, I love.
Tell me anything half-hearted, or hold

Up some deception there-of,
What shines bright, imposed against that backdrop

Like a diamond in the rough?
I am only moving, relative to what?

Distance, envelopes half-opened
Relative to what?

Priceless, sister, what elegance is effulgent?
I tell you everything is love.

I am the ear of a patient listener
For the sound of echoed guns.

Make your self a careful center, you are a taste-tester
Relative to what? Opening each and every morning

Everything is love, my dear, and everything there-of
And on and on forever and always,

All that will be, all that can be, and all that was.
Fuck, what can be said of it?  Any semblance

Seems to get in the way.  Shining innocence
I'm parting, dearly departed, give them all of my love

Again and again and again, half-open,
These shimmering plays are wrapping me up.