Old Friends

T.S. Eliot and Allen Ginsberg
Speak to me as if old friends
Who knew me well.

The secret will knows no presumptions,
Perpetual angelus,
The familiar function.

What could bring me back again?
Who can really tell?

I've fallen gently forward,
Sit in time
And time be still.

I'm a traveler,
Future foraging
For something

I would say,
Can only mention.
The truth speaks louder still.

I laugh for attention
And marvel at my inventions
Like a headstrong child.

If only I could be quiet and uncaring,
The way to move a mountain.

Querry,

Speak to me,
Tell me anything,

Truth-speak;
You know, and I know
Exactly what I mean.

For Love of Men

As time slowly turns and bends and winds,
I am become more and more like wine.
It is as if I am here just to ferment.
I cannot even express, but I bet

First I grew like a grape on the vine
Sunshine, sunshine.
I was plucked with the bunch in my prime
Soon to be mashed and stomped underfoot,

Remove the pulp from the juice.
The self to refine
In a dangerous process,
Pushed me close to life.

And on the edges of death
I would balance my breath
Against dawn's banner beckoning
And the sifting tides of Mem.

Mother letter, give me sweet death
One last caress, I'm waiting for your breath.

I felt the faintest whisper
(Aleph, Heh, Mem)
Against the callous hands of men,
Legs crossed like the hanged man.

Shifting sands, a paupers sense
Has merely told me what I'm holding,
Light abounds inside this breast;
The stuff of stars

Pouring,
Invasive.

The mask held up,
The prison's jest.

I grew up
On children's stories,

For love of craft
And love of men

I see no difference,
One is likened to the next.

Now patience grows up
Each year morphing,

Slowly time it turns and bends.
Proteus forming

While I ferment.
Yod Heh Aleph Mem,

All glory.

The Crown

I would write
Another piece to master,
But I pass that over
And gaze at the mantle.

A figure,
Kethir.

One above all.
One for all and unto them.

Now venture,
And gain some capital.

What I Know

And what to play,
Some grave mischief?
Don't tell me what I know, I know.
But right now, I'm all ears
And the cats
Got my
Tongue.

And what is there to write?

This is silence.

One Afternoon I Almost Could Mention the Sunshine

One afternoon I
Almost could mention
The sunshine.

I lie down on the grass,
A looking glass appears.

I gave way,
Gravel would tell
But one afternoon
I almost could mention
A hill
Top beside me
Or a mound of correction.

Hiding above the towers of conception,
A designation.

But one afternoon
I fell down
A dimension.

Now, shoot and shimmy your way up and out
Of a silly little chimney or a mountain to mount.

Sizable summit,
Tiny little mound.

And I shout.
I would but fall down
At a sight,
Or a sound,

But one afternoon
As I lay on the ground
I hear Japanese spoken
And wonder about
The little boy
And his mother
As their lips now pronounce
In a language
I don't get
But can sort of
Sound out.

Trade it forward,
Find a route.

Fortune will find you.

Like one afternoon
As I am,
Lie on the ground.

Whisper: glory glory,
Praises aloud.

I fall down and would shout
But nothing comes out.

Progress pervading
My home in the clouds,

Fortunate quarters,
Fortune is found.

Fostered.

for Aurora

This night
And this one,

To be right
Is to be quiet,

But at least this much is evident:
Bare minimum,
Par.

There is no other
One.
Whatever appears
As an option
Or a problem,

A pin drips into the mist
And I absolve with a wish.

And no alabaster vessel
Could tell
About vast emptiness
Though it will
Know it well
Throughout its life.

And in these new stages
The play is met,

Abridged is dangerous:
Be a snail.

Slow is not what wins the races
But nobody is going anywhere.

What may be permanence
Are merely glances within the turning.

And I like a stern wind,
Like a dragon fly
I'm ready yet again.

Where the fire wills me
Some are bound to tell.
But this hill could spill its witness
Around revolving hells.

Oh deary dreary!
Lose those dowry bells.

I've a new returning,
Something new to tell.

And Mother Mary
Won't you whisper,
All that's in the past
Has fell.

And Mother may I,
Wish to whisper,
This heaven fell down
Straight to hell.

So the days abound
A sound display,
Give me room to master
And a song to sing.

And tell me what may be
Revolving around
This happening,

Oh, sight of sights, a play!

And which
Ever,
Which one,

This one
Or
That one,

Just a world in the burning.
An open tomb

So sit right up you sleeper,
Stand right back again.

Footsteps, footsteps,
My fast new friend.

Tell me all you can remember,
It's been so long since I've felt rain.

I've been here
Merely mourning
This instant depth of death.

And from here,
This early morning,
A stone's cold face has changed its stead.

A cold hand grasping,
Let it grope instead.

Nothing here to hold me,
Chains long gone,
This prison dress
My only token
From the depths of darkest death.

"Now spell me this,"
 One whispers,

"Show me all you could collect."

"Have you been diligent
For winter,
Or has the avarice
Done it's best?"

This must just be the centaur
At the minute of the test.

Now you tell that bell to ring, sir,
Stop your vigil, time to yell.

And make damn sure it does not whisper.

I cannot express this exit,
Or the extent of what has fell,
But that field was prepped for burning
And I guess all's well that ends, well,

At the entrance once again, fin.