How to regenerate a heart
Shall I wait
until the science of cells
can heal the heart?
And hope that it is the nest
of the soul and all the pain it contains will be waiting in the spring for a
family reunion,;
Shall I wait
until the Red Seas part.? The
peace of the wise.? The cornacopic apple-cart.?
Re-seed the dawn with a myriad of clouds.
Re-bloom the lustrous lawn with the monolithic shrouds of dust and whisperous
mysts?
The purple rose has
re-hatched from the serpent’s elliptical sphere. Here, here!
My lust has found a grove of green, and a lake of waters clear.
Hate and remorse the catalyst
to love’s white gloves; Communion; and on what date shall I wait until?
The world stands still.
The feeling gels the thought
to the eye and mother-of-change is the cage of my last year,
The traveller has gone
no-where really,. Beast enraged has
submitted to the Reines of alkaline remorse, which knows no ceiling and it’s
course like a river erodes all time. Implodes
all over these lines.
The line of thoughts all lead
to the same point of shame; angelic pinholes pierce the flesh with painful
truths, dealing bad hands to us human devils as the crows cry and the ravens
know why we were born.
Irene’s lap lays empty and
sore memories burn burn burn
My Sabbath queen whose rays
play penny poker and loses her
turn turn turn
like the Mother of the Moon,
the Sister of the Sun, and the Bride of the Galaxy come around too soon
to tell tell tell
what was drawn from the
collective wishing well, what die has been caste and what lie has been passed
off as truth.
Cyclonic fuse, the rising
Kundalini muse.
Shall I look for the blaze,
the chasing fox and running rabbit, the Hermetical haze, the fish and chips
craze; I seek the Hermes Triangelic Mead, the course of Thyme, Rosemary, and
Rose wine. I search in the seas, the
forested whites, and sea-foamed cleaves between the stones.
Shall I wait for irate ghosts
of goats
that rock the bones of the
boats, ceasing to exist
before my mnemonic mode, my
memories moan in-between the creaking and clanging of my crying heart, Cynical
new start to the year’s tart end.
Leading hand over hand,
bleeding art and I digress, digress do I in this wondrous world of Master and
Mistress. Bending to the winds illusion
of reeds, bedding down into tumbleweed sheets and the earths un-end.
Undress my hopes and bathe my
dreams
Undulations of feelings rise
and fall like solar beams
bittersweet tones or notes
that skip and hop. Incongruous grunts
Roaming groans catching the
throat
Swimming in the murky moat of
disbelief tasted
Cayenne on a lemon drop.
And shall I wait for elusive
harmonics half-remembered like child’s lips on ice creams and lollipops,
tasteless now under the stress of the lonely streams, abandoned cannabis crop,
wasted
Washed away, washed away,
withered memes of family life go untethered into the skies – an expanded
sadness sounds like the loons’ cries.
A ream of balloons go up
strong and then die.
The fool casts a circle with
papyrus reed, a wand, a roll, a bond, a deed.
Lead-based lead, yellow starry
night
Why should I watch the moonlight,
the sunrise, if I have no one to shield me from aloneness under the turbulent
dome of so many televised lies? Why
should I fight their greed?
Lay that moon down in the
dawn’s baby pink
Lay that sun down in
mountainous ink
Shall I wait?
Shall I wait?
Shall I wait?
Shall I ?
Wait.
