art by C.B. Bellerose
All Strange Sorrow
before the astral soul. .
“Live Once,
Die a Thousand Times,”
I’d carried sweat palms + baggaged flash drives flammable liquors 3
overheated laptops w/ expired cables
that couldnt be bought on ebay through a jungle of hipsters and yippies
through lobotomizers corridors and laughing court
Royal families to feed on the poor
& the suck-off attendees
that waited on their pay
in backroom card bets
and rings of prostitute wives
I’d carried sweat palms + baggaged
sage sticks, peyote,
charcoal smudges,
lighters,
marijuana edibles & opiates
among memory & old photographs
all around illegal place
world w/ mind-human conscience,
and books of unheard of dead poets- who’d faked their deaths
to favor conditions
against condemnation of their free will,
speech,
and exile during times of war.
I’d carried untranscribed notepads
written over 6 year periods in 5 different languages
– between the Black & White of
wild lilies, lighter dreams,
darker horrors vivid
Lusts, Loathings, & Loves
“I read a dead flies claims
baring
six thousand eyes,” was said
somewhere in a distant muffle
over rust scalpels
& Lop’d Ears of Judges
Carried
blood in black
held to these bones
& went walking further.
“Well Shiyaat! Tommy!”
“The Doctor spilled coffee
in the incision
again,”
came from an off room
w/ steam rising
fume from the wound
of old
dead poet souls
late sipped steep
of heat
in the boiling
blasphemies blood
of unrepresented history.
“There’s a pale-faced
series of ghost
over there,
appearing from that
ugly,
and dark shadow” said another.
Over
a dead rot innocence
of thousands and millions of youths
early life reclaimed
8 Demons
spoon the night
& ripped off a crowned head
revealing feathers
dispersing across a glacial plain.
Then haggardassback into that whiskey bottle
whispering
a box of flames.
w/ pigs falling from the sky into the windows
once typed Another:
“Dark as Alabama Night”
where slack-jawed monsters slothed
in bold bravadoed
bloody ballrooms
an imagist painter began to laugh
& lover fucks
soft of leathery old
flies as their bed.
Written
in a skies chance I’ve carried more
words than touch pages
a secret between me
and all silent memory
sailed to a wind unheard of
with its matter rippling
the chairs of a seated audience
in a hell on Earth
to listen and question their own.
Carried boxes of old talismans, dusty useless trinkets, written
dream-visions on torn half-burned note papers from parties with writers from
over 12 years ago,
cocktail napkins and receipts with scrawled abstractions about this lover and that
lover
lost a thousand phone numbers, and called more than a thousand strange and sorted
to listen to love cries, to listen to a swell of song
to listen to moans of a late night sex caller
death threats, elated poets, drunks and old winos, the rich, the famous,
lost and dying, family & friends,
to mad turned happy highs and turned mad again, and on
and received strange letters from across the globe from here to Bangkok,
to Italy, Hong Kong,
through to nearly all the United States.
One letter from a kind Russian girl read:
“Will our love hold all merits of time?
“Will our love be true?”
“Will we make the new
Paints of Life?”
but I had to catch a flight
dressed nice
& watched plane wing from window down to the world with an
arabian man drooling on my shoulder with his arm around me uncomfortably,
while two stoned hippies laughed from the back
popped a Xanax to Clearer Visions,
or lesser ones at that,
to sleepy hideaways
w/ repetitive
flight attendant gaze
& request for stronger drinks
’til woke in Chicago
A BLUE FLAME
as is absinthe on fire
like a tranquilized elephant that just keeps coming.
& turnstyle mumbling weary travelers
& turnstyle mumbling weary travelers
& turnstyle mumbling weary travelers
“go home
or go to California?”
“go home
or go to the Hawaiian Islands?”
“go home
or go to Florida?”
“Nah, ‘Gator in Florida –
‘Knappy air”
“go home
or go to New York?”
–an error
and so on.
Heard more of them
in
All times passin’
language and image
wild winds
Squall of Night
& Tree Bird Morning,
to a blissed out God Realm
of Rock & Roll inebriates, satiations
free wheeled
beauty.
a mystery of the mind
to roll into
all the magic
Of Living once, Dying
a Thousand Times.”