writing to fight




transparencies of light – what comes of counting a rainbow’s cost...

words with meaningless rights / to say truth at all costs –

I’ll let you in on our pre-discovered verbal bliss,

pre-recovered verbal tricks / (tricks taken from time,

or even tricks invented in my mind –)

which (mind) has, after all that’s happened, a certain rhetorical cast –

cast of selfs clamorously chiming to be more than a herd,

to be individually heard by you, the esteemed reader or “boss” –

boss of what’s meant, boss of how I should send things your way...

Decide on this one ::

If every word’s meaning is made of other words, where does the buck stop?

Perhaps with you, the realizer, the one who sees my truth gleaming...

schemes to cause you pleasure, schemes to cause your might

to emerge from history’s blank stares,

childhood’s empty cares,

embryonic being, at the zero consciousness –

embryo seeming to be a human in potential,

yet also a little speck of atomic structure –

though “structure” is out of fashion these days,

still I believe in a certain fluid pattern to life,

for a pattern of strife is what we face,

systemic abuses, transnational brilliantly-designed-uses for people and nature...

capital simply says “choose your chosen method, by which you’ll sell your life,”

and people are known to defend this philosophy vehemently,

because maybe they somehow sense, it’s for what they’ve traded their life...

sensitive issues, the tissue of the social,

threads of narrative lies, holding us in voting-stance,

voting, using our chance to speak, to a governmental system,

which is only a small actor in the global play,

(though apparently small actors, when given bombs to play with,

find themselves, if their philosophies mesh with violence, a lot of play to

the preemptive chaos they can cause...)

the political animal knows the political costs,

even the animals living in mountain palaces,

isolate among the masses,

or the starvelings, down in the oceanic trenches of the economy,

so deep beneath Hollywood’s radar,

that Americans, that Americans...

I don’t know what Americans do...

you can choose to believe what you see on the teevee,

though in reality I’ve found the matrix to be somewhat different,

a different quality to real life,

than the media producers would like to admit to the screen...

So this is pedantic poetry, pretending to have an answer or two,

I know what I’m making,

I’m just taking my chance to spread a little verbal ambient vibe,

putting before your glance, a type of line-building to alter your ride...

If you wanted stasis, no change at all, why are you reading a poem,

why are you taking a “fall” – be it one season or the next,

be it a tripping and falling,

or a spring following a cold Pittsburgh winter...

springing into love’s awesome’s...

love’s god’s sums...

do you still believe in them?

some don’t, you know...

instead their love is simply for the moment, or the next,

what they can get out of things – text, for instance,

what joy music can bring –

but this thing about merging two mind/bodies in passion?

it seems a youthful fashion...

something we’re programmed to partake of,

something we grow out of...

though I think you have to know what’s “in” before you can know what’s “out”

said the jazz master to his student,

jazz blaster re-doing your mind...

Yes, humans are that good,

they can play a thousand notes a song...

they spent a long, practicing time gaining their skills so high

not to mention the highs that musical expression can give

musical chance to live, on stage or off

musical text with us now, hopefully, if that is your judgment,

if that is how you see me, as I try to be free on paper,

though free, though free though I ate the magical paper before,

and it was so intense I’m surprised I’m still alive,

that the brain can withstand LSD must mean there are some things,

perhaps, perhaps we were meant to see,

though later in life, one tends to pay the cost,

for trips through inner space,

various costs – psychosis, suicidality, flashbacks, loss of grace under pressure,

but all that, all this, is where I’ve come from, where I am,

I can’t unhit my hits,

so it’s time to live unconstrained and unmaintained

by the symbolic guilt trip – drag-you-down, you know

quick, god is looking at you –

you see a smile, or a frown?