sunder the self

–

–

under duress

utter chaos

obscures the light

–

blunder and shame

sunder the self

with wretched blight

–

desire’s dark lie

requires assent

grimly withheld

–

reviled and shunned

desire withers

hope is beheld

–

–

GJK

23MAY17

–

–

gravity ceases

–

–

in truck-stop diner

i hit the pisser

with tremendous speed

i evacuate

two pints of water

so i may proceed

with diligent haste

to fuel my brain

with coffee strong as

a locomotive

that bursts unhindered

off a curving track

into a canyon

where against all odds

gravity ceases

the massive machine

is then borne aloft

by cyclonic wind

that is my bloodstream

fuel and blood meld

awakeness occurs

awakeness endures

metaphor abjures

bladder signals full

with furtive glances

and a hunter’s stride

i evacuate

to the outside world

–

–

GJK

23MAY17

–

–

a simple thing complicated by thinking

–

–

scraggly grass is curiously clipped

uniformly by an unwieldy

and aggressive machine.

the scent of gasoline melds with that of tree pollen

and the internal fluids of innumerable

bifurcated herbaceous dicotyledons.

wending its way through that melange

is the aromatic certainty

of rain-clouds drawing near.

–

it is the first mass torture of spring.

–

i grin impishly at the dirt

between the green, severed blades.

do your work, soil

i say.

–

i laugh, walk away

and slay my evil minion

by throwing a dead, vulgar tarpaulin

over the top of the hulking beast.

–

i congratulate myself

for a job well done —

(a ridiculous job that offends

my neo-tribal philosophy,

but this ain’t grad school

and my philosophizing is sporadic

and incoherent at best)

–

so,

the trouble, i suppose,

is simply some vague fear

of incurring a fine from the city

for allowing grass to be grass.

–

the deeper reason, though,

for this botanical violence

is the bloom of happiness

i see upon her face

as i brush the dirt from my hands

and the first drops fall upon our skulls.

–

–

GJK

11MAY17

–

–

haiku (11MAY17)

–

–

vivid stained-glass pales,

sun saps slight, frail pigments – HA!

vitality fails.

–

–

GJK

11MAY17

–

–

habit and rancor

–

–

–

GJK, 16MAR2017

from WRIGHT THE BOOK

–

–

–

–

‘habit and rancor’

–

–

–

–

hello, predictable. hello, habit. hello shitty diner coffee

that i do so love with every fiber of my mortal being, every mote

of the ephemeral essence that is not me, yet, in truth, is entirely

me and you and every living thing that ever was and ever will be (which means nothing because time is a fiction) and because, as we have learned and understood for eternity — time is not real.

–

–

conversely, timelessness is also not real. confusion enters

the mind and sugar is stirred into the ‘brackish black liquid’

and down my gullet it goes and once again i proclaim:

–

–

Sentence structure be damned to the deepest bowels

of the most foul, vile and wicked lake of fire

that sentience itself has ever imagined within

the rancorous confines of earthly existence!

–

YAWP! grammar, to hell with thee! freedom, expression, caffeine! exaltation and liberty!

–

–

* * *

–

–

ignoring all

–

–

i sit contentedly ignoring all that surrounds

and focus only upon the internal realm

of consciousness in all its infinite, formless

and unknowable grandeur.  i am beauty and ugliness,

i am order and entropy, i am all

and i am nothing.

–

i laugh aloud and startle my neighbors in this common room

of this public house.  i alight from my overstuffed chair

and exit abruptly to smoke that cigarette

that awaits me in the shotgun seat of my own truck

and damn it is wonderful.

–

the sun shines on the smoke

and i disappear

completely.

–

–

GJK

9MAR17

–

–

i type with four fingers

—

and that is enough.

the others work well enough,

but with four my mind has time to float

a bit

yet remained tempered by focus

as sharp as a bushido blade.

—

GJK

3JAN17

12:24am

—

torment

—

thirst

plagues me

torments my calm

ruins peace of mind

tremendous desire pervades my bones

razor blades lacerate my milky eyes

brain stem throbs like a withered root

all i want is one more intoxicated moment

all i want is one more ecstatic cresting wave

all i want is the beauty of fervent feeling forever

thirst runs rampant in my desolate brain like frantic fevered vermin

lust for drunkenness writhes through brambles of consciousness from dawn to dusk

moonlight has lost its luster and coyote howls have become screams of demons

i am split asunder by the thundering blade of clarity that exposes my weakness

i shudder under the weight of the knowledge of time and its passionless lethal grip

my ability to love is hamstrung by the discord that rages within my bleak denuded soul

i feel forsaken and lost as i am set adrift on an ocean of sobriety without sails

i ache for tranquility and lightness of being but i am severed from this peace by ubiquitous need

—

GJK

3DEC14

—

sing

—

autumn decay

sunshine decline

retreat of geese

leaf-piles burning

—

Orion looms

near sublime moon

wolf-packs wander

pine needles fall

—

firewood stacked tall

gardens tilled under

coyotes prowl

mad humans howl

—

audacious frost

wind whispers winter

hawks circle high

Oktober sings

—

GJK

3OCT14

—

flung

—

whether or not you open your eyes it is there staring at you

taunting you breathing its demon-heat upon you it is only reality

no need to fear or hide from it but goddamn some days

you just want to stay asleep.  your eyelids droop with the

gravity of toil and regret and you want to forget you want

to disavow everything want to coil inward refusing to

acknowledge that anything is real.  and you’re right.

nothing is real.  but you are in a dream that requires your

participation and you are too weary to lift any stones today

too worn thin to be burdened by anything too wretchedly spent

to even tolerate awareness of your own existence.

oh but the day is passionless it cares not for you

or anyone.  it is flung upon you and it can be a shroud

or a sail.  you wonder whether it matters but grudgingly

you try to summon a ragged wind.

—

GJK

21OCT14

silence

—

silence whines eerily thwarts all attempts at

meditation so what what do i do?  fevered, addled,

sweating-then-shivering languishing in sickness i am

tortured by the mosquito-like scream boring itself into

my ears and temples, labored breathing, reality askew.

dxm and pineapple juice in a glass cup oozes down into the cracks

of a stoney afternoon a sick day an infirmary for one

for myself the sticky meltiness clings to the throat and

teeth the fucking insistency of that sound!  that electric

swarm of hornets surrounds me with all the fury of

an unbridled sun burning away consciousness with its

all-consuming glaring barrenness… it shatters

peace of mind, this wedge of calamity.

—

GJK

16OCT14

is here

—

cringe cowered under the silver yolk

slivers of consciousness sever spinal cord

i am absurdly protected

living here

where i live.

—

elsewhere fucked.

but refuge is here

living here

where i live.

—

GJK, 7OCT14

red house, blue house, purple haus

—

this guy thinks he’s jimi but he ain’t

but he’s good he tears at the soul

he bleeds well

on the fretboard.

this guy is trapped in digital playback

but the guts still scream

transcendence

he got the blues.

i am a red man here hearing him

in freedom u.s.a.

but my heart is off in a workers’ paradise

in a world we are still dying to create

—

and my love is gone

(not my peaceful heart but my beloved)

so i’m down enough to be striving upward

into royal purple sundowns and dawns

a triumph every day

to just simply

not quit.

—

not quit fighting for meaning and depth

and grandest of all,

the humor to carry on

amid the horrors.

—

this guy ain’t jimi but he got the job done

he goaded me into this poem

in his own blessed

frail little way.

—

GJK

7OCT14

phased

digging thru the archive…

poems by GJK

 

stupor abated

inferno horizon swells

unadulterated reason denied

flies behind torpid wings of dawn.

demechanization of language

is preferable to these contortions.

the raucousness of drunk

is hid within the consciousness

of drink and each taste loosens

the strings.

this frail rage easily foiled

fails

demonstrative wit

withers

ethereal skin sings

nothingness sustains.

　

　

GJK

24NOV06

View original post

ashes

poems are time-travelling mirrors.

poems by GJK

 

i am sedate

head lolled to side.

eyelids droop

in spite of coffee-energy

that seeps into capillaries.

elbows planted on table

shoulders hunched

i am dazed.

i imagine myself

a malformed angel-thing,

i stare into the ashes

of the past hour.

　

　

GJK

11NOV06

View original post

corpses, radiation, vessels

reviewing my work led me to this. i had forgotten that i wrote it.

poems by GJK

 

William Blake is dead

his papery skull lurks in a cobwebbed corner

the Beats and their Buddha

rest in pulpy boats atop stacks

of copies of poems, bodies in boats

that float beyond ideas

hundreds of other tree-skinned volumes

with notable names on their spines

line shelves from floor to floor above,

ceiling is floor of sky

the TV shows cartoons in motion

and speaks funnily about anything

tea cup is empty

　

　

GJK

28JUL10

View original post

smile

—

idle chatter

all around me,

empty blather,

retail robots.

—

smash and shatter

my rigid brain

with wagging tongues

drooling gossip.

—

bullshit has wings

in this stale air.

choke back vomit

and sweetly smile.

—

bridle anger

withhold judgement –

as a stranger

just sweetly smile.

—

GJK

6OCT14

—

worship

—

mighty Orion

strides lithely with graceful light

and magnificence –

—

his deft hands bring death;

with arrows of righteousness

evil’s heart is cleft.

—

the moon howls havoc;

drear Oktober brings him near

to mortal hunters

—

beseeching his blessing

worshipping his grandeur.

—

GJK

1OCT14

—

the idle mind

—

the idle mind worms its way through reality

ravenous for something meaningful

to which to attach itself –

it tunnels through the sludge of a hundred billion

useless manifestations laced with hate and greed

and envy and sickening blindness and its hunger

twists into pervasive loathing and bitterness

but a purity remains at its center,

a nucleus tethered to the origin

of all things, and that center

begins to consume the poisonous infiltrations

that have ravaged the idle mind.

the mind then stops searching, stops besmirching itself

with the toilsome and treacherous mire

of perception of the external.

nothing in the world can be changed

is the realization that arrives

in a thunderclap and the mind is shattered

leaving only that subtle center

and its innate desire

to manifest love

everywhere.

—

GJK

22SEP14

Humans

—

—

I.

—

—

O! what drear, bleak, wretched savagery

of image or solidity

entombed

in the Womb of Night,

in the Grave of Day.

—

what life living unto living’s own

deathly way; scourge of man and woman

to shuffle, dim, alight, and strive to raise up

monuments of Divinity

rather than let the Divine live in

and through them,

but Time does crash and swell,

crush, surge, and purge intention

’til life does become bound and blinded

and action flails impotently

without desire or design.

—

the Masters of humankind,

the governors, the generals, the clergy,

do enshrine themselves in statues of stone

and brass and they shape their plaster walls

and wooden coffins to point precicely

to Martyrdom;

they rise up vulture-like to erect monoliths

of excrement that they would have us deify.

—

but O!  the masses scramble in rat-hole streets

burning to live one moment as humans,

but they are bent, brittle, spent,

beasts of burden for ideological-economic-fallacious machinery

while their infants weep

on soiled sheets

in shoddy cribs of splintered sticks

eating porridge from lead-poisoned spoons

as mothers make salt-soup with their own tears.

—

the tragic skylines of the world!

steel and glass pierce the clouds

edifices fling light wildly

obscuring the story-myths that are written there

every night and every season in the inky void.

these buildings assume majesty

but humanity chokes on the smoke

that billows all around these ant-hill-cities

that destroy truth and beauty of the

simplest and purest forms.

—

the horror!  great bridges spanning

churning polluted waters

and how many dead are there?  workers

forever entombed in concrete,

bodies without names, graves whose headstones

are the hood ornaments of a million brash, shiny cars

hurtling forward thoughtlessly,

cars with drivers that irreverently roar

and stomp upon the forsaken dead bones below them;

there are ghosts in the pavement beneath their wheels

and they have not a thought

for their repeated desecrations.

—

—

II.

—

—

O nameless demon that doth curse

our infinite strivings,

taint our pure and innocent yearnings,

what blackened wings will next overshadow

our small intentions,

our elemental living,

our inventions of mental contortion

that allow slivers of prayerful hope

as we languish in the chains of Time?

—

what bird of terror will again tear at our livers,

spilling our shimmering viscera on burning sand?

—

war-machines and politics, border skirmishes,

imperial hubris and outright hatred,

disputed thought-systems that control the money-flow

disguised as arguments over Gods

and morals of archaic religions.

—

all of this is ultimately absurd.

a plague of ignorant violence

leads humanity toward an atomic death,

mushroom clouds and desolation will remain;

dominion over the earth passes then

to the beetles, until they too

develop the malicious intelligence

to annihilate themselves.

—

 

GJK

31AUG02, 1SEP02, 16SEP14

—