Memento Mori

 

 

I Conscius

 

If a white hair were to tell me I was going to die…

Would I cry, and run through treason and trite application

Of the sensation of sacrifice

“To be true to thyself”

I, myself, me and I

Bid farewell to a promise kept

By no one but a serf’s deity

 

If I slipped into derealization

Would I finally realize

What it meant to be alive?

Could I contrive the final solution

For the intrusion of self.

IF I sacrificed myself

Would you finally taste my desire?

 

If I was as conscious as Pan

Would I realize that men create gods

As much as gods create men?

My consciousness cares not

For haughty men or languid souls

I bid to none but the gods I exalt

Who are only men of the terrestrial pool.

 

II animadverto

 

White shoes got me singin’ the blues

Picket fence and ontological blades of

Purple grass and ten cent pennies

Cascading the walls of intention

(Inception)

Revel and abet my sorcerer in his protest

An amulet waits the rooster’s hour

 

Prosaic minds have me doin’ time

Praying deeper to the shrine of the shaman

Who told me I was a fool,

Knitted a blanket of my folly

(like the stich of hem I always wanted)

Perhaps I am as lost as the accursed souls

Who stagger from the caves of the Bandaloop

 

The magnetism of my mind

Muscle spasm,

Contortion of a portion of myself

Hypnotic arrangements of intrusive

Prisms and unfinished contours

Echoing the abyss of my

Inner whatchamacallit

 

III Amor

 

‘If you love someone you’ll let them go’

No.

No,

If you love yourself you’ll let them go.

[The one valid desire the greatest deception]

Tick tock he’s comin’ a knockin’ baby blue, see

Let my muse practice the Kama Sutra on me

 

Maybe I’ll be unique and irreplaceable

Shall I befall, as the dogma above,

To the highest function of love.

But that which logic limits

Should dispatch this fancy.

Shall we follow Descartes to reason

And forget the season of love?

 

My mantra practiced to no avail

Though thought and thought alike curtail

Thou shall not kill; thou shall not steal

Thou shall not reprehend

Nor feel self-pity from time ago-

If you love yourself you’ll let them go

Don’t you know, if you love yourself you’ll let them go

 

IV Aegretudo Egretudo

 

Following phantoms on cerebral planes

A spy in an Indian summer,

Climbing the tallest tree

Branches undying, infinite, wilting

A labyrinth of decay- I follow her way

Up to the dingy cloud where dreams rain

Like hope never lasting

 

Perhaps I’ll lay me down tomorrow

An inch from the ground and neatly

So my reaper can sweep me ever so sweetly

Turning tricks for the trade

For a five dollar promise

Dismissed

Kissing demons in the great divide.

 

Sons strum the drums of classical reconstruction

Children like stars,

Strumming drums when nobody comes

Strings snap with every missed pluck

Lost in-between silver query and a gold cherry.

Quelled my worry with a drum

When I killed myself when I was young

 

V Sapientia

 

A sphere of being

Indubitable.

Metamorphose into fantastical creatures

Serpents and centaurs and gods and rivers and

Fountain pens and men who hold great standing

A reflexive counter to the denoting faction

Recognize my brother, recognize.

 

Swimming through dream soup

To find Samadhi through an

O-swing and an R-ring-

ing in my mind

Do you recall,

The first time we saw man fall

And realized he’s no ship upon an autumn sea?

 

Could we conclude there is not death,

But different levels of life?

To see we are not a wave but

A part of the ocean?

Today is not a day in the life but

A frozen film strip, momentarily lapsed

In collective consciousness.

 

VI Artis

 

Deadlock lip smart

High kick jolly brown triple spins

Splits on stilts reigning high heels

Over temperamental stairs and

Neon lights over Broadway’s backyard

Unison of lipstick kissing cadavers

And velvet tongues tricking trades

 

Intoxicated creation doing

Cartwheels to Apollo and his lyre

My feet dug in the sand,

Feeling the sun melt my body

One subatomic particle at a time

As I watch the weight of the world

Waiting for my train to pull in

 

Bodies promised to the ground

Will not outlast the desire to outlast

But souls are eternal in the craft

Who has the last laugh

But a slab of pigment on canvas

And an Fm chord gone outlandish.

 

 

VII Commoneo

 

If memories could breath

And the past could see

What it meant to be a recollection

A novice of the present,

Would we choke at the mercy

Of the wrath of her past?

Praise Shiva.

 

Lacunae calling out like loons

To the artificer,

To find the wandering ghosts

Astray in the wasteland of the antecedent

And a 300,000 year-old rock told me

To lament the souls of moments

And not just men

 

If a girl with midnight eyes can recall

A teacher who never saw her smile

Perhaps there’s more meaning

In between the lights of the city

And the pollen from a honeybee’s home

Could it just be that we’re all

Swimming in the sprawl?

 

VIII Gravatus

 

Days of picking purple flowers

In a vast expanse of western sun

Slopes of youthful timelessness

Light shining in, west to east

Ready to eat the colors of the world

Only to vaporize as quickly as realized

Like the entering of our waking world

 

Play a song for me, Mr. Tuesday

Jangle and dance in magenta mud

With the sickness that runs through your blood

I’ll hold your hand,

A promenade to a promise land-

No ice cube will stop this fate

That you will wilt and wilt evermore

 

And I know that you swore

No one would take your parking spot

That you would love me three, nine, ten

But the shattering of beer

Was the coup de grâce

That it was time to face

New life on the other side

 

IX Caelestis

 

Through fields of barley,

She glides gently

Like the soft burn of Beeswax

Spirits in the sky,

Spirits in the gutter,

Doing the Charleston in New England burrows

And happy feet tapping toes

 

Do not promise life everlasting

Let me discover, a mission of solitude

Dancing with gods, cheek to cheek

Tap-dancing the tango,

And in my heart I aim to seek

Not life everlasting but life after death

Not a life but the living

 

Angels doing the jitterbug on a thimble’s bed,

Forlorn but ever so bright,

Raging against the dying of the light.

Giving homers the holy rose,

A gift of prophecy, said not to fear

Without a tear nor a slice of fright,

I will not go gentle into that good night

 

 

Stuck in the solitude of my intellect.

Yours truly,

Respect