Visible Stream of Consciousness

Dog Poet Transmitting…….

 

“May your noses always be cold and wet and running with music’.

 

 

“Help is on the Way”

“I’m bringing home the starlight
With no bottom in my pail
In tranquil worlds forgotten
with no tiger on our tail

Is it the dust I’m made of
that has me walking blind
while you fill up and surround me
In the darkness of my mind

There’s no one can oppose me
So make way I’m coming through
I’m walking through my falling down
into the heart of you

You can have these worlds of splendor
that wrinkle and decay
I take my passion timeless
and help is on the way

Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we’ll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you’re the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You’re the timeless
“look! I forgot my watch
don’t cry, it’s only me”

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

To the dying gulf of Mexico
in the fukushima rain
I can feel the mountains tremble
I know love will win again

no matter who opposes love
still love will find a way
to break our hearts and asses
while it finds a place to stay

I’ve been hungry for the homeland
I’ve been gone for lifetimes by
now I see the flames that flicker
in the fireplace tonight

I’m looking through the ever leaves
in the darkling of the night
from a place that is the future
my god its all too bright.

Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we’ll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you’re the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You’re the timeless
“look! I forgot my watch
don’t cry, it’s only me”

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

There’s no one can oppose me
so make way I’m coming through
I’m walking through my falling down
into the heart of you

I’ve been drunk on wine and whiskey
I’ve been stoned and I’ve been shunned
but all of that’s behind me
I believe I’ve found the one

I took some lives and detours
it took it’s time and time again
but I am on the near horizon now
on that you can depend

they’ve been taking bets about me
for several thousand years
You can’t compute the agony
that ocean is my tears

And now- Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we’ll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you’re the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You’re the timeless
“look! I forgot my watch
don’t cry, it’s only me”

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

What was it I was doing
as all this time went by
I was hiding in the underbrush
and now I don’t know why

Now the moments on us
As we see the living light
Make ashes from the darkness
My god it’s just too bright

it’s a strange intoxication
that I’m impatient for you now
as long as this has taken
I should be stoical somehow

but there’s no way up around it
it could be a million years
but I would keep on a coming
cause that’s the death of fear

Yes, Help is on the way
to the better part of me
help is pushing sunlight
through my ancient judas tree

From the compost of corruption
comes the power to transform
all the worlds we’ll ever know
you keep us cool you make us warm

you’re the bending end of silence
my true serenity
You’re the timeless
“look! I forgot my watch
don’t cry, it’s only me”

dry your tears upon my heart cause
it is only me and
help is on the way
help is on the way
Help is on the way

 

 

I know it’s a little long but sometimes that’s how it is.

No song this time because we already got one (grin).

I am the Count of the Last request
the tiny dark man of utter wind
blown and beaten down a carousel of faded flowers
thrown after a departing rainbow

white to the eyes of all unbelievers
who did not see me climb the golden tower
who do not believe there is one
and who will remain forever white for their crimes

I walk among them daily too small and dark to behold

I come in a flame
the slow burn of understanding
that will strip them naked
with no dreams remaining but their savage teeth
to devour one another with
as they see fit

they are not worth shit…
in their present condition

they plot and plot the overthrow
of what that is
they do not know

I am the casual shadow behind the sun
resting in the corners of buildings
i am shed by the crowded mind
one tuneful note of iridescent black
peering through the louvers of all time….

coiled in the vale of noplace

they shall not go free again
on that you may depend

I am the Count of Little Footsteps
the scratching of the leaves in the streets behind them
that tireless warrior….

that cold chill at the nape of the neck

death to all tyrants
death to all landlords and banks
to all things that turn the warm heart cold
and terrorize the soul….

Patrick Willis narrates:
You Can’t See Me

---

For everyone
who has ever stood and said
at any time

that Justice will triumph
that Truth shall prevail
that a fair shake
an even break
is the birthright of every living thing

and got shot down
imprisoned
tortured
and burned at the stake
for revealing to the darkness
that the dawn would soon break

I say
strive…
strive…
strive…

for everyone
spontaneously ignited
by that overwhelming
inexpressible
love from within

and who shined it forth
when the chips were down
and remained strong
while the weapons tore their flesh

I say
strive…
strive…
strive…

for everyone who has reached out to breathe
like some paranoid crustacean
crawling fearful from the sea

for everyone
who has seen the alleys
the knives
the clubs
the dreadful comprehension
of brutal intent

the horrible unrecognizing eye
of brotherhood blinded
and knew
that Love could not die

I say strive…
strive…
strive…

Patrick Willis narrates:
Strive

A man must come to the desperate edge
of the walls he’s built around himself
and beat with his hands on the cold hard stone
and cry for the years that he’s been alone
and break like a dry dead twig
under the wheel of time
and rise
and live
and understand
the power of love in his masters hand

round and round the coffins edge
the landlords of despair
dance to the mortal earth
and bow to the mortal earth
a strange mistress
a strange mother
tell me,
which of your magics can conquer death?

What is the meaning?
What lies hidden in the cell?
from a dark barred window
I have watched the moon rise
and ghost horses
bear the dead into the moons wide mouth

eater of souls
jailor, tailor
and seamstress to the shadow-land
forever weaving the envelopes
in which to stuff another drunken puppet

this is more true than blue eyes
and all the sculptured tits
that have been since
cannot nurse the dead back to life

who goes there?
who beats the drum?
Where sleeps the heart?

That Mona Lisa smile under glass

No one really laughs
or lives
until the day their darkness dies
and few live then
they only return again
drunken with dreams

I do not think I will take upon myself
the chains of Hell
even for such a thing as your blue eyes
and perfect teeth

the dark wet hollow
of reincarnated sleep

never to wake again?

No…
this cannot be all of it

and I am either drunk or mad
I believe in what I cannot see

I believe more deeply
than I have ever been deceived
and even then

only temporarily deceived
and even then
only out of fear

if a man should confess
or witness with his heart
that will shape the words he speaks
that will shape the life he leads
he will have a witness
he will not go down like a beast to the grave

there is no liberation in movements
there is seldom even change
so…
must I then fear to displease
the revolutions of my time?

let history deny
or philosophy prove the lie
of my words

Liberte…
Egalite…
Fraternite…
these are always the phrases
with which to preface
great murders

in my heart I have killed a thousand times
all the great hypocrites of the age
I have slain in my thoughts

and they are no more dead
than before I killed them
and they are no more alive
by the same token

they have never been alive
they go to the moon without my help

let sleeping dogs lie
lest they…

the knife hangs over every head
until God removes it

I am no executioner anymore

I will sit on this rock and listen
Can you hear the rock
on which he built it
speaking?

Who listens deeply forgets
he forgets his earthborn name
his birth he forgets
and his shame

the world forgets him
he goes
where no one knows
who listens deeply

a new name
no one can speak it

you have been on the road a long time
you have been sleeping with swine
and drunk on bad wine

and blue eyes close
as all eyes close
and every color goes to shades of grey
in the cold vault

that is a kind of equality

and yet
you do not know
that what you are
is brighter than
the brightest star
nothing is so great
as what you are

A man must come to the desperate edge
of the walls he’s built around himself
and beat with his hands on the cold hard stone
and cry for the years than he’s been alone
and break like a dry dead twig
under the wheel of time
and rise
and live
and understand
the power of Love in his masters hand

 

Patrick Willis narrates:
More Than Blue Eyes

 

Dog Poet Riffing…….

beautiful words
do not move me…

I am not entranced by this clever art
I’ve seen the heads roll in the Age of Reason
I’ve watched the bloody scroll of history
Unroll
While the band played on
And ugly men made beautiful noise
To introduce the thunder of their guns

There is no greater coward
Than the one who slipped by privilege past the front
To orchestrate from the sidelines
What he could not accomplish himself;
Whose skin was too precious to risk
And wrapped in the cloak of God ranting sanctimony
This shrinking nightshade
This empty suit
with the pomp of the preening jackal
Dines on the awful cries of the dying
That he sups like an intoxicating and wondrous wine
He feeds on the torment of the injured and estranged
Wrapped in the cloak of patriotic hypocrisy

He gestures at the battlefield
From which democracy will be ripped stillborn
From the blasted body of her dead mother
The still greater crime of previous event
The falling towers were no accident
Nor did some strangers from afar
Manufacture this without consent
It should to the objective mind
Prove self evident

Across the centuries
The wind of high blown rhetoric
Have driven the millions to an evil death
And yet it never seems to dawn
How like frightened steers they trample what is before them
into the ground
And yet it never seems to dawn…

Something there is in the ignorant mind
That vibrates to the sympathetic string
Of the conscious and applied evil of the Hyena King
Something resonates
Something capitulates
Something rises
As something descends

And all that is decent and good
All that would bring forth a greater brotherhood
Must run to the cover of the invisible wings
While a murder of crows blackens the sky
And smoking ruins
Like new buildings
are transformed before your eyes
Into a wasteland of fire and death
For the profit of the few
For the comfort of some
The usual business will go on

It seems that this must be
Though we have waited with insufficient hope
Perhaps we shall see the day
That these twisted carrion feeders
These iniquitous deceivers
The butchers and the reavers
And all their demonic crew
Shall march into hell fire
Into Their native homeland created from their own need
And the door will close upon the echo
Of all their beautiful words

End riff…….

 

 

In Memorium

Chuck you
have discarded the used condom,
this body
that great white hope…
this poor drivel of words like an old man too long at the toilet cannot encompass the breadth of that
which you did unto death

Chuck, we hardly knew ye.

Up-Chuck
Chuck it here boy
Keep on Chucking
Let’s take a walk through the ground Chuck of the latter days
Have a few Chuckles
and do a little Chuck and Jive
before we get Chucked out

Terrorism and politics were not always happy bed fellows
not in the former democracies of the West
in any case.
But the precedent now set by the president-
who has not met a limitation caused by lack of judgment or character that he could not evade,
who has not met a bar he could not lower,
nor a truth he could not distort,
has given you…Chuck;
hope of the once free world,
champion of chicken pots of multiplying roasters, cross-dresser par excellence of all things

appearing to be other than…

has given you the opportunity to make our world the champion no interest,
3 car monte,
one used owner only,
deal of a lifetime,
no odometer,
no problem,
drive it away today-
answer to the prayers of millions struggling into polyester pant suits
and spraying,
as if for hornets and locusts
to remove the stench of their need and feed from the abandoned house of their being.
For all of these who have lost the power of speech themselves, Chuck-

now walking on all fours
with the rhinestone broaches and garrish unknown gems bedazzled upon fat sausage fingers,
for the non-push-up capable whining children, jiggling like Jello walking to the video-game shop,

inhaling half-gallon Big Gulps….
low tar cigarettes and
some kind of soft shit from the pastry shelf..
Chuck…Chuck
death has given you opportunity.

for all the drunk daddy’s lusting after/or
fondling 13 year old breasts through,
“I’m Yo Bitch. I’m Yo Ho” sequined t-shirts cut off above the impaling navel rings…
yet further above scant emerging pubic patches already trimmed and buffed…
because “you’re not getting any younger”, as the due date approaches…

For every young boy in the brush past the roadside restrooms dreaming about
“fuck, I don’t know what.”
For the halcyon-eyed housewives and that 10 minute temptation fuck in the afternoon
between drinks and missed appointments
otherwise engaged…
now to spray yet more mists of unearthly hues and sticky stinking excresences of Dow
and Dupont unto Monsanto beneath the bridge strained through the Sterno filters of other dreams more

dead, more remote…
but really not that far fucking off when you think about it from where we are now.

Chuck…my virtue tis of thee, cheaper than stolen, freer than free.
For all the once wretched refuse
evolved by faith, effort and determination
into a bedrock American Gothic portrait in the brief camera shot of a prime too short;
now blown past too fast to recall
and once again wretched refuse,
now of its own making-
retching, stumbling, fumbling at zippers and stays…
flesh bulging like Susan Sarandons eyes or that Morty Feldman guy-
from the lobster tank…unsure, uncertain slithering..
mandibles waving

if not drunk then certainly insane
lurching down enormous aisles of nothing but potato chips,
turning into the ‘soft drinks only’ aisle…
on into the frozen pre-prepared food section of dinners and deserts-
with an ingredient list that might as well be Chinese
unless you are Chinese .
Onward to the doctor,
to the pharmacy,
to the Barcalounger,
to the grave…
oh mighty race of once bright hope and strong facial features…
we now bend over for the Huns at the gate…
not only without fear
but in anticipation Chuck….

for the faux-Blackwater men in Iowa who nightly patrol the perimeters of their split level ranches…
for the Mormons and Scientologists,
the hippies and the girls on the Internet,
Thank you Chuck. Thank you very much.

Thank you for not only the bad things but for
the relentless hearing about them
the buzz in the atmosphere -radio waves of nonsense like
chickens cackling on the astral plane
like frogs fucking in jello
like shit running uphill in January

downriver the legs of murdered monks sticking out of the flooding river bank to the tune of

♫you can trust your car to the man who wears the star♫

It seems like everything we do is murder Chuck.
It seems like second and third hand murder
It’s like looking into the toilet bowl between Larry Craig’s legs
and Larry King is looking back.
Time Warner wants the funeral pictures
Peephole magazine wants the autopsy photos

What’s next after fist fucking Chuck?

It seems like everything we do is murder a few times removed

Thank god for all of it
How could we ever need redemption so desperately if not for this
How would salvation mean anything if not for all of this

There’s your silver lining
There’s your light at the end of the tunnel.
To find the living light you must
imagine your zeal like that of a drowning man
seeking oxygen… seeking the surface but
actually the depths
they say that sort of thing happens but
you wouldn’t know about that Chuck

torment is the purification rite that
strips away the blinders
the ever closing confinement of the energetic lost
becomes
the magnificent heat of the pressing density of matter against matter forming the diamond that proves
no matter how dark and confining it gets it ends in deliverance and perfection
and light or something to hold it
something to reflect it
something for it to pass thru
That endless irritation which forms the pearl
and you

That is their value
What they remind us of
the gas that fuels the keep on trucking keep on keeping on.
high in the highest Shamballa
the most pristine of worlds
touches the densest murk and proclaims them one
for the one

one for the one

thank you Chuck and may the roses bloom upon your cross.

Patrick Willis narrates:
In Memoriam: Chuck Hugh Farley

Greetings to the one that rules the 18 million internal
and external universes.
Greetings to the one who created everything out of itself
Who permeates and rules it and is the consciousness of and
In it
and who dwells in me

Greetings to the one who is one alone and the many as one
Who is the substance of things unseen
Who is always more than there is
no matter
How much there may be
The rising sun that never hits the zenith

Greetings to the living light behind all appearances
Who composes the appearances and is not what appears
Greetings to the qualities and virtues that make up the personality of
The ineffable in the cloud of unknowing that shrouds the blinding world and
Humbles everything before it and which
Dwells in me.

Greetings to the unassailable unmoving center
From which spirals the galaxies and worlds
Like the spiral of a closed fist
Of perfect concentration
That holds it all in place that
Moves it all that forms and un-forms and does not
Begin or end and which dwells in me.

Greetings to that which endures and prevails
And is the life in everything
That meets and greets itself knowing and unknowing
That scatters itself into uncountable pieces and
Gathers them altogether again and
That dwells in me

Greetings to the dynamic animating principle.
Greetings to the one that does not know time nor size but
Does know sequence and form

Greetings to the one whose idea is complete in the genesis and
Is the intelligence behind evolution and design and not the result of them.
Greetings to what cannot be known but whose presence can be practiced
And enjoyed and who dwells in me.

Greetings in the before and after that both spill into the endless now
Greetings to the one who commands the superiors and inferiors
Whose every effort serves the entire
Who is the one who waits before
In the midst and at the end of every thought, word and deed

Greetings to the mind inside the mind of every architect in every dream
Who waits and watches forever and who
Abides in me.

Greetings from within the sleep that struggles for awakening
That cries out for union with the beloved
That cries in this moment for awakening to the one
Who dwells in me.

Greetings
many greetings and
much gratitude
Greetings and greetings and
much gratitude

Hare Krishna

Yes, I’m sure there’s some entertaining and well done Hip Hop and Rap but since I’m not going to spend my time looking for needles in a haystack I thought maybe I be where it’s at and here’s a song off my Rap Sucks album coming soon.

---

Dog Poet Rapping…….

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down, dumbit down
pimps and ho’s pimps and ho’s
back on a leash for the devil again
acting the fool only it aint pretend

This must be some law of physics
if 3 pimp rollers are moving backward on a train
and your are standing in the station
maybe humming love in vain
will they arrive in grand central before you
will the same thing happen on another day
even though you are not moving and
they are going the wrong way

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down dumbit down
down to the bottom

saying stupid fresh, aight aight aight
dis this dis that
word up what’s the word
for someone who buys into flash
into the temporary life that is
already gone past

burning and raging
till the fuel is gone
and it’s cold and it’s lonely
and you got to move on.

Call a man brother if brother he be
or you cop to the fact of the real you and me
are the same as the other
that might just be so
but the rest of it’s bullshit
believe me I know

aight aight aight aight
rightright right right
dumb it down dumbit down

when I rap I often think of
Spinoza and Descartes if they were
filtered through a buzzard and then
turned into a fart
they both may have some merit
though aesthetics tend to vary
like the Starship Enterprise
from the Staten Island Ferry.

You got your Battleship Galactica
Michael Jackson faggot
dressed up like a Christmas tree
and you’re talking like a parrot
every single rap song can’t remember what it said
the [Mc]donalds side of music it’s disposable and dead
It leaves plastic cartons rotting on the sidewalks of your mind
you’re bitch end up for Wal-Mart they are porking your behind

the shit comes on the radio thumping saying nothing
bitch this and punk that
brain rape jackhammer bad fucking technique
nowhere repetition can’t get no relief
sounds like machinery from a factory in Hell
dense as a brick of compressed shit
this garbage really smells.

aight aight aight aight
right right right right
dumbit down dumbit down
gotta wonder where it is this is supposed to go
gotta wonder where this music is headed
what kind of world it means
what kind of flowers grow there
what kind of people go there
what kinda I don’t know where
I am where was I going who was
I when I started heading down
into matter, down into denser darker
hotter thicker closer pressing condensing
pushing can’t breathe in this hot
smoky Steven Hawkings bent outa shape
so as to make it look straight
like Picasso on crack took a chainsaw
to the world and some retard with a can
of glue pasted it back together one piece
on top of the other pressing and smashing
and no light, no air, no freedom
and I don’t fucking care cause I’m
dead now but I thought it was over
shit it ain’t over I’m still here pressing
harder pressing into the shit only the music
is like knives cutting me with a bunch of
bitches and ho’s and motherfuckas and fuck this
and fuck that, every word a knife and I’m
pressed into the shit

please god give me something
else let me out of this jackhammer thudding
non-stop shit talking nowhere embarrassing
non-art form load of shit that I bought into
with everyone else and all it did was make Wal-Mart rich
and all it did was make the merchants rich
and they sold it like they’ll sell anything
their mothers and their children even themselves
if they get a good price saw off the limb
they’re standing on,
do a mobius fuck themselves up the ass on TV
for the right money
call Hitler honey, suck Pol Pots dick

aight aight aight aight
hit the clubs with Mick
right right right right
dinner with Stalin- cocktails with Marlon
douche up with Elton dig up red Skelton
my face is melting
cause I took acid with
bitches and ho’s and pimps and punks
bitches and ho’s and pimps and punks
” ” ” ” ” ” ” “” ” ” ” ” ” ” ” ” “

nice world dudes
real Michelangelo Beethoven enhanced natural groove
very clean and crystaline
real architecture
real Spanish guitar and pianisimo forte
a la morte…dead..dead and stinking.
stinking bad…bad …bad…
You got lost and we got had.

End Rap…….

Patrick Willis narrates:
Rapping E=Mc2 upside your Head

the frayed angels shed their wings
and descend
into earth’s turmoil
burying their sunlight
in a cloth
of sleek
and willing flesh

that…

incomplete forever
wanders the thirsty deserts of unrequited desire

in dreams sometimes we touch
that place of peace
where longing ends

where the long road of countless sleeps
beckons into the cross roads of awakening

the punishment of separation ends

the slaughter of innocence

the ravaged hearts
and faces of those
who lost their love

there is nothing in this life so sweet
as the touch
the embrace
of one who has come
across all the vastness
of lifetimes

to lie tranquil in your arms

it is as close to paradise
as we
are permitted to come
here…

the casual couplings
the lust of power to possess
are only shadows of this love

ceremonies of torment and loss

for the more one desires
the greater the effort to have and discard

the greater the distance from ones own heart

every living thing
struggles
to hold
to that one memory of themselves
in which the candle of love
burned
however briefly…
so brightly

All doubt and hate are merely faith
and love suppressed
And the inability to love worse than any death

Death being only the boat
that sails
us through and into
the fields of eternal peace

not even the worst of us can avoid this forever

it for this mercy alone
that forever exists

there is nothing that you can do
for which he will not forgive you

I wish only that I might linger all of my days in love

Forging that bond that spans
all time
and change
and washes away for all time
The weakness and stupidities of my fear

Fear,
which is all that has ever stood
between me
and the ones I loved

Fear
that has made a lie so many times
Of the living truth
I AM

Like all of you

An embodiment of god

all possibilities
at birth were delivered
into our hands
yet we give ourselves into
subjugation to our servants
for ridicule and confinement

Cast out from the castles from where
we
as kings and queens
ruled all things from within the temple of the heart

cast out into the trackless wastes of our own confusions
amnesia driven
hungry and alone
while those created to serve us
spill our wine
eat our food
and laugh at the ignorance that
has closed our eyes
to the beauty of ourselves

never again will I let myself be
tormented by fear

the love killer

the life killer

Death of a sort comes to us all
no matter who we are
we cannot escape that

we can only accept
and wonder
to whom did it happen?

let go all chains that hold the image
down

Earth does not speak unless the spirit flames

these times in which we live
dance like some drunken jester
on the edge
of the abyss

great things are within our reach
even as we wait we can see…

the first glimmer of that dawn
for which
so long
we have waited
to see

It has nearly broken me…

but nothing is beyond repair

truly let this moment be
your last moment
of regret

let your heart see
that you
have not touched the best times yet

take back your wings no longer
frayed and fallen

let us rise and soar
as if no one
had ever gone before.

Patrick Willis narrates:
The Frayed Angels

Who sprinkles pepper in my pot?
Upon my wall who laid this crack?
Who deals my cards, who writes my plot?
How comes this monkey on my back?

—The monkey on your back is you.
The lurker on the landing is
Your nemesis. You know it’s true
You made the killer and his kiss.

Agent provocateur of sin,
You built the mad menagerie:
The bars you clang, the cage you’re in
You forged in your mind factory.

Never, never, never again!—
And yet the horror’s back, it’s here!
The maggot festers in the brain,
The monkey gibbers in your ear!

by Lasha Darkmoon

Patrick Willis narrates:
The Monkey on your Back

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I’m breaking with tradition here (and I’m not going to do it again so please don’t be sending me entries folks). You’re already welcome to print your work in the comments section and if you needed to see it in a blog format, all you have to do is take five minutes to create one and then post the address in the comments. Basically I don’t have the time to be an editor for other people’s work. I’m showcasing this lady because she is the author of this piece and I wanted to bring the reader’s attention to it. It’s a fantastic act of writing and exposes a condition I have long known about but never seen treated with this kind of ability. Be sure and email her if you liked the piece.

Mexican beaches

whiter than white

sprawled like a fat Cubano chick

with her eyes on my wallet and her heart ready for anything

I told Negroponte it was a good idea

we’d loot the bitch and turn her belly up for

The Pioneers

big handshakes all around

blood in and blood out

it seems to be going around

looks like everyone you can push around

has to take your dick

man

woman

child

it don’t matter

they’re going down

Lansky had the right idea

but it was a smaller scene

hot latin asses

cold white minds

endless stretching oasis

of callipygian fantasy

undulate

shimmer

truck farm the world

I’ll plow your north forty with every beggar boy and girl;

lazier that Gunga Din

one gigantic reservation of people that can’t come in

some kind of issue to occupy the common mind

those fuckers want our freedom

which would mean they think we

have

what?

I love it on the rooftops

pissing and throwing shit

look at the savages scramble for it

It reminds me of something

from a long time ago

something

(worries the corner of his mouth)

something…

I don’t know

must have been a long time ago

borders arbitrary and changing like a sidewinder tracks

through the Arizona desert

wind takes care of that

wind rain

come and come again

sooner or later

…. why… I….

uh….

huh?

cold breeze at the nape of the neck

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The road to glory
the road to heaven’s gate begins
here on the dusty streets of this temporary
world
How few they are who
set forth in this
darkness and are not distracted in
their certitude of light

this miracle of faith this
breaking dawn within that will not
be diminished or
extinguished by
the false light of this world

how grateful am I
for the magnitude of
you across the centuries of time
your story cuts into my central core and
reminds me of the way you walked and the
land into which you came and the steadfast watch
you give at the door where you in timeless awaiting
for my tardy footsteps to arrive

however inconsistent I
may be
however held for a lifetime in the
thrall of false adventure and
the silly passions of whatever
impersonating flower in momentary bloom
one
day
I will come out of this realm and pass
through the wheel of fire
out of the burning worlds and
horned masters of my frail and wounded heart-
the bas relief of hard resisting mask
the
overlay upon overlay upon the eternal
blinding light that shall as an
orphan come home at last

Patrick Willis narrates:
Mystic Musing