A Pointy-Fingered Firth

strip and rape your mother earth
carve her into a pointy-fingered firth
steal all her hidden, unmined treasures

utter aloud her unspoken, secret name
nurture wildlife within a crosshaired aim
drown her with watered-down tinctures

gaze upon her with gauze covered eyes
pour concrete into every crevace of the skies
with tar and asphalt pave over grainless pastures

a feast behind an ivy covered wall
just down the bend from a free-for-all
graffiti etched, black-sheep sloganed scrawl
that silent corpse with a dead man's gall

an angel takes the assassin's hand -
while a black limousine devouring funerary retinue
smashes a Kennedy legacy into glass slivers on the floor

an untouched maiden drowns in luxuriant opulence

cathartic spew
vitriolic voodoo
embryonic guru
sadistic, tortuous thumbscrew

mothers marching in the avenues
while sons lie dying in foreign streets

networks crashing in the dry desert air
pointing chimpanzees scream their "There!"

a rabbit scurries through the brush
as lightning crackles through cloud anvils
raising the hairs on the back of my neck -
dancers writhe, cavorting in brothels

burning desire paints black walls
with red licks of flaming envy

we're all running at top speed
legs churning, feet slapping the ground
the only non-nuclear option;
dig the fathomless gravy of experience

the rotting entrails of corruption rusts corrosively
eating away and decomposing the philosopher's stone

uncomforted suffering

children wailing through the dead night air

"Hold me!"

shiver into the cold dawn

huddle together as the moon whispers
shadows across the dusty ground

burrow into the earth, carving out dens

ancient choruses sing sacred earth chants
sacred earth chants sing ancient choruses
chants sing ancient choruses, sacred earth
ancient earth chants sing sacred choruses

Your Reign of Love

The sun beats down, boiling the landscape
into a thick stew of fertile potential, while sandy
pathways wind through mesquite bushes as
saguaros and chollas scrape at the hiker's bare
legs. He dares to trudge along a ridge separating
a sere, summer, waterless gully from the lush
hillside vegetation marking off islands, pockets
of rich habitats where hares and quail scurry,
carefree. But in the gully's dry streambed, lizards flit,
here and there, slurping up insects, ants and flies
while rattlesnakes curl and shake, poised to strike
at any warm-blooded creature passing nearby.

Overhead a lonely Red-tailed hawk eagle-eyes
a ground squirrel and rapidly dives, claws clutching,
talons piercing, squeezing the life out of its prey.
The rays of the sun sap the hiker's lifeforce,
sweating it right out of his pores as he seeks
a middle ground between predatory strategies
of elitist succubae and the quicksand foundation
of the gully's waterless, streambed floor. The hiker
hears echoes of formative suppositions taught
by society's professors of conventional wisdom
in the cries of the hawk carried on the hot, dry
winds over the gully, "Predation is the natural
order of the world." But the hiker dreams
of a spineless cactus, harmless and medicinal,
spiritual and psychoactive, to calm the savage
inclinations of capitalist, territorial barking dogs
expressing their infantile demand, "Mine!" All
they want is to eat everything in sight alive!
Fear induces all living beings into stonelike
catatonia. The searing heat stains the hiker's
skin blood red, cooking his flesh, unseasoned,
for some coyote pack's dinner, sans place setting.

The hiker reaches the summit and looks down,
all around him. Only the hot blue sky blankets
him. The hiker takes off his boots and dons
a pair of mid-calf-high moccasins. He lights
a pipe which exudes a perfumy, peyote scent.
The hiker dons the head of an eagle, and claws
at the sky with sharp, white talons. Then, he spins
in circles, arms extended outward, weaving
about like an eagle on the air, soaring, chanting.
"Oh Father Sky, Brother Sun, Mother Earth and
Sister Moon, I weave the dance of rain before
your eyes, I claw at your skin that you might rain
your watery blood, the liquid of sustenance
on the world before me, and rein in the strife
of brother against brother, allow us all to revel
in the sweet nectar of Your Reign of Love."

Kaleidoscopic Decorations

"If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite." - William Blake

A child points a kaleidoscope directly
at the Sun, turns the telescoping
cylinders in opposite directions
facilitating fascinating fantasies
spun on the immaculate whimsey
of unbridled, limitless innocence.

The ageless infant mind discovers
from each gentle screwing
of the kaleidoscopic wheel
a unique doorway opens,
one possibility out of infinity.

Don Juan Matus told Carlos, diligently,
"... our lives originate in infinity,
and they end up wherever
they originated: infinity."

The child wonders, deliberatively,
"Why is the world fenced
with so many restrictions
when we are born free,
without any clothes?"

Mommies and daddies, dementedly,
scramble to dash expressions
of expertise, imprinting labels
they design for garments
draping the kaleidoscope's
imagery quickly, before
the final curtain falls.

Aldous Huxley announced, derisively,
"... how I longed to be left
alone with Eternity
in a flower, Infinity
in four chair legs
and the Absolute
in the folds of a pair
of flannel trousers!"

Under a maple spreading deciduously,
limbs calmly and stately accept
a tailor's seasonal alterations,
knowing: even from tapped
reservoirs, new fountains
of freshly embroidered
needlework will splash
kaleidoscopic decorations
on woody skin's aging bark.

Her Drummer's Native Chant-Dance

Venus radiated like a glowing porch light,
her diffused brilliance swam across the pitch sky
in the moonless, pre-dawn hours, draping my gaze
with her alluring, fascination-dripped countenance.
As a warm spring wind buffeted all around me,
the haunting specter of a familiar, feminine face
filled my half-awake, heavy-lidded eyes' field of vision
with her full, pouty lips and big, dark, cavern pool eyes.

As a breath rasped between my gaping lips,
I recalled moments from my now-ancient past,
requisite recondite glimpses between flashing
flame flickers licking from a candle's lost longing.
The rhythm of my heart pounded to the beat
insisted by her drummer's native chant-dance,
furtively howling into the vast star field expanse -
a black-robed, velvet-throated sacrificial oblation.

A still silence eternally coupled us like links
in a macrocosmic chain as intimate confidantes
in a realm beyond tactile encounters, where spirits
soar on wings of fire and bloom like lilacs, alone.
She challenged me with chants from her erotic
Demiurge to weave stranded patterns of golden
light waves across the sands of time, and to unlace
the bonds of ignorance, permitting salvation's reign.

The waters of my world froze solidly and ceased
to flow years ago, after the current of our magnetic
dynamism spontaneously combusted in the fusion
of cause and effect, dispersing our electric charge.
In the pre-dawn, solipsistic hours, her silent chant
beckoned to a long-dormant, fissile facility to strew
gnosis' seeds upon fertile ground, and heedless
of benediction's constraint, I returned her gaze.