First Water, Then Fire
After so much lost blood,
in the middle of the flood,
there sat a warehouse burning
like an unforgotten yearning.
The Times-Picayune ran the headline:
"First water, then fire!"
And through the ruin I saw the sign
"I have no quarter," so dire!
But like those who roam while blind
we try harder, desperate desire,
and our tunes never fail, we find:
Our home, our New Orleans again,
river mud blended with August rain,
taste of cafe au lait to ease the pain,
crawfish éttouffée to feel the same.
Magnificent city, live oak trees
make a canopy in City Park,
or the French Quarter after dark,
smoothly, a trombonist breathes
brassy notes into the evening blue,
or lazy mansions, St Charles Avenue
a street car rolls, rumbling along,
its rhythm like an off beat song,
But then this feeble old city,
dilapidated shotgun houses,
cockroaches, poor men's doubts,
can seem nothing more,
than an over-hyped shanty town.
Even then, deep in the core,
I see glory through the frowns.
First water, then fire.
It has always burned
as the Mississippi turned,
it rages like yellow fever
and floods of the past,
this city's rugged leisure,
so we raise the glass
to whores and striptease shows,
and for a bombastic toast
to Rex, King Mardi Gras
to shun vexing laws.
A sizzling second line,
twirl the parasol in time
for an involuntary dance,
or to St Louis Cathedral
for an ablutionary chance,
or renewal of a jazz funeral.
A jazz trumpet blows,
Dr John's piano rolls,
one parade comes to a close,
but we all know,
as soon as it's gone
another is ready to roll.
First water, then fire.
I Don't Want to Be a Strong Man
Strong men oppress the righteous
like wicked imperial whores,
shatter dreams of justice,
and churn hope to blistered sores.
Strong man, wicked is your brawn.
I hate the way it is steering me.
Strong man, pity for your pawn.
Your strength is pure tyranny.
I don't wanna be a strong man.
I want to be a humiliated black man
a castigated woman
an alienated Jew man
a prostituted Thai kid.
I want to be a weak man.
I want to be a mocked Asian man
a knocked lesbian
a locked, caged man
a defrocked reverend.
I want to be a weak man.
Stared up at Calvary,
with my eyes engrossed
by an image shocking me:
My Lord nailed on a cross,
soaked in his holy blood
like a good man should.
For all his wonder and majesty,
for all the light he shone,
this Son of God hung in impotency,
taken down by mighty Rome.
And he was a weak man.
CNN: Latest News
updated 12:29 a.m. EDT, Sat June 6, 2009New campaign
for wise Latina.
Hooker for Jesus
honored WWII slave.
Casino adds rock star
accused of killing rival.
Chilling color photos
of Chavez critic
prompt 62% of US
bankruptcies.
11 year old boy
accused of spying.
Graphic meth ads
kills 29 children.
Flight 447 suicide
theory disputed.
Tears flow when
Seaside killer reflects.
Horrors of war vivid for D-Day Heroes.
The Homosexual Pervert Son of God
You righteous one, praising yourself in your
mega-church that seats ten-thousand misled,
dapper souls, hands pressed together to pray
and sing with the choir decked in white robes
that cover their scarlet hearts as they suck
innocence from decent whores to conceal
their parishioners shame for all their fucking.
Pass the money basket, “We'll feed the poor!”
The poor remain poor. When was the last time
you kissed a panhandler?
I am the homosexual pervert Son of God,
I have kissed a homeless man,
let him taste my tongue, and
made love to his filthy, rancid,
spoiled, stinking-to-high-heaven
breast, navel, groin, and ass.
For “the least of these,” I have whored myself.
CNN: Latest News
Wednesday, June 3, 2 O'clock CDTStripper's high kick
chomps microphone.
Prof remembered for
balancing Beefcake
and bodices.
Bin Laden purportedly
has 6 days to sell
Saudi ruler's farm.
How Powell can answer
emotional Nancy Reagan.
Why Gingrich withdrew
Reclusive J.D. Salinger:
Three brothers found.
Beltran, Maine, don't
have four youths held.
New engaged couple,
Woman argues, vanishes,
torn apart by red tape.
Air France jet found
dead in lake.
At least 7 dead in Baghdad Bombing.
Café Au Lait Kiss
In dark, seek slowly,
Aim without knowing.
We guess. Somehow kiss.
Smack of puckered lips.
Sweet like mellow chicory,
milk, sugar, bitter coffee.
We aren't new anymore.
Adam and Steve
On sixth day,
God created
man, woman,
they live together.
God named Adam.
God named Eve.
God rest.
On eighth day,
God command
Adam, Eve,
"make mates,
another pleasure,
show love
for another."
Adam, Eve had sex.
Eve, great orgasms
her body trembled.
Adam, small orgasm,
relieved it ended.
Adam begged God,
"different mate!"
Adam said
"not satisfied,
feel lonely."
God had mercy
on Adam,
looked deep
Adam's soul.
Adam laid bare.
"I see now,"
said God,
"you are Chosen by
Angel Uranos,
She, your Diva."
Angel Uranos,
a great light.
She garbed
a red, white
robe hung
above knee,
tasteful, evocative.
She wild flowing
golden hair
blew without wind.
Her face painted,
blue, green, gold,
tasteful, evocative.
Adam awed
sight of her.
Adam stunned,
perplexed, "God,"
Adam asked,
"what is revealed?"
God told Adam,
"you are urning,
this is why
Angel Uranos
give you gift,
friendship, love.
You special, unique,
the world will
revile, reject you.
I always love you,
show you this,
make you second mate."
God created
beautiful young man.
He told young man
"your name, Steve,"
but God could say,
"you James Dean,"
Steve would not
know any better.
God told Steve,
"you love Adam
all your heart,
all your soul,
Uranos your Diva too."
Eve protested,
"God, I now
without mate!"
God told Eve,
"Adam always
be your friend,
you will share
your secrets.
I send you
new mate,
call him Paul.
I warn you,
if Paul sins
three times at
Chosen of Uranos,
then you all
kicked from Eden."
God made Paul.
Eve, Paul, united.
Serpent came.
Serpent told Paul,
Paul must follow
see Adam, Steve linked.
Paul never
saw Adam, Steve
intimacy.
Paul followed serpent
other side, steep hill,
there Paul witnessed
Adam, Steve linked.
Steve laying Adam,
hotly, sweetly,
loving Adam.
Beauty looked
ugly to Paul
Sight angered Paul;
Paul became violent.
He invented
names for Adam, Steve,
"sissy!" called Paul.
He invented "homo!"
He invented, "faggot!"
Thunder broke,
great storm came.
The Garden Eden
began fall.
Adam, Steve,
Eve, Paul
fled
Their way out
falling Eden.
Steve slipped,
fell into abyss,
Adam ran to help.
Adam begged
Paul, Eve "help!"
Eve wanted to help
Adam, Steve,
but Paul warned,
"Eve, if you help
faggots, the ground
beneath our feet,
will fall. We all die!"
Eve, afraid,
followed Paul
from Eden
leaving Adam, Steve
behind.
Adam could not pull
Steve from abyss.
Adam threw himself
into abyss, joined Steve.
Eden completed fall.
Adam, Steve died,
loving embrace,
deep the abyss.
There is no greater death than this.
Collateral Dammage
George Bush!
I’d like to pin open his eyes
like Alex in Clockwork Orange
make him focus
on every charred child
every mourning mother,
every purple-blood soaked brother
sprawled on the streets of Falluja,
every warped, melted,
broken piece of iron,
every street covered
shattered black burnt glass
and grey ash
in Ramadi or Mosul,
every shrapnel torn innocent
shredded in a million
pieces of flesh
and kidney, and intestine,
and brain, and lung, and heart,
splattered on the walls,
the doors, the windows---
another syncopated life ---
the ashened earth,
even in his
Green Zone.
And bind his hands
behind his back
so he can’t cover his ears,
and make him listen
to the screeching,
the helpless babe
yanking his bloodied,
smashed, decapitated,
unmovable mother's
corpse, and all the screaming
and crying and
grief stricken howls
from elongated
contorted naked faces
of families un-made
by yet another IED blast,
another trigger happy soldier
or another laser guided,
GPS guided, mis-guided
“smart” bomb off target.
Collateral dammage...
Straight from alabaster D.C.
A Cry to Saint Paul
A Cry to Saint Paul
(Forms of Love)
I feel blue, Paul, unhappy and quite sad,
in the future, hopefully, quite happy.
The Present summons quite a rainy day.
I am looking for a sweet special home
where love is a sphere and is infinite.
It ends where it began --- at the center:
BANG! BANG! BANG!
blown in all directions: infinitely ---
the universe is a sphere. It explodes.
But hatred implodes --- all light causes cancer;
all darkness causes hypothermia.
Neutral Light --- White --- balances positives
with negatives. Zero is the formless
dimension. THAT plasma is the true divine blood:
true plasma, not like the quasi-plasma
we call water. Water is OUR life source.
Life is matter that sheds light on life.
An explosion does not produce a void,
subtraction creates void and a vacuum,
which, sucks out love and replaces eternity
with ending. There are seven forms of love
(maybe eight, maybe nine, maybe ten).
One love is blessing of everything;
another form is love of nothingness.
Jesus’ blood turned the cross to a rose ---
Peter's love turned the rose to a cross.
John Lennon dared us to "Imagine" peace:
Aeschylus said pain dripped and dropped wisdom
against our will with God's awesome will.
"My dear God, Robert Kennedy has been shot!"
MLK knew inverse operation:
disappointment, then sadness, then anger
then
LOSS
OF
control.
Subtract then add: pride, humility, love.
Hearts expand: control then out of control,
in every direction. Memphis Blues.
The pain is eternal, but it will end
where it began: infinite charity!
Love is a sphere, not a cube not a string.
Find a place to stand and you can move IT:
THE UNMOVABLE PRIME MOVER
this is why I keep shedding all these tears:
I want to go home, but I want to stay.
I love you so I let you go, but you
kill me with your subtraction; therefore I
punish you by keeping you with me, now.
Eternity is far too long to live.
But I love you so; I won't let you go ---
PLEASE DON'T GO!
But it is your choice: you'll choose to stay or go.
I feel blue, Paul, unhappy and quite sad.
I feel --- SOMETHING --- tell Lee I miss him, and
the rain will come because love still hurts me!
If I could only love only myself
I could have imploded and seen only
me, or I could explode, expand scatter
and find perfect freedom and perfect love.
Then, still, I would be unmoved and unloved
because I would be perfectly alone.
I am alone in the Sun; love moves me.
I feel colorful, Paul, happy and glad.
Tell Lee I miss him, and I feel sorry.
