A cup of Styx

What sorely did cry from below,
Shall all a cup be sunk by a stream,
Shall all a tear itself in cup refill
Whist a hand descend nor fill entail,
Shall it then, Athena, my muses sunk,
Now walk through a bay in sound reveal,
Marred by respite an essence owned,
But dared walk through his stream alone,
So cast a memory upon me, my brother away,
Nor memory aside and fates are born a thread,
I breathe a fume of acid to conjure deep,
A dark and nasty thought I listen here,
A scream I seep through malattempt in jest,
Now once in bigger hope I’m fraught for die,
So then he lies at a stream I’ll find away,
So once I carry my life through all fates
Entwined; each tear is a gap in land nor sea.
His difference part from me, his life ill-spent,
And mine through Styx is hellish glory steamed,
Now die twice ere once more reborn, but whisper
Clear are the waters, and subtle are shades,
Then I reach land from his, so am I dead then?
If I am, so then all living are dead to ghosts!
Now he beckons me back, I could not for I am dead,
But choosing life, I leave behind a past in here:
These tears, and blood-let stain my gold depart,
Styx an overfilled wine, with sweet and bitter taste,
This is ought I give, then keep my brother there,
So that I rise and he shall be nominal to degree,
Whilst I look back and this much I am here to see.

Lady of the Portrait

Help me, for canvas imprisoned here,
A respite too short for crowds near,
Mine art is subtle, if not to freeze;
I weep, for this smile would not cease,
That nearby clock, you see? I count all,
Seconds pass, every hour, till it tolls,
Beckon mine eyes apart; one is faded,
If tears allow, the other shall be aided,
I am cursed by paint; he is cursed to paint,
If he saw my tears, could it be he’d faint?
This potrait is alive, I am seeing you;
I can hear every word you utter anew,
Ev’ry argument; ev’ry debate; ev’ry word.

I can make out a reddened eye you broke,
A single eye that tears, without art provoke,
Twas how I felt when I was being drawn,
No more. The Lady of the Portrait is born.
In stormy weather; I am here: a rain pours,
My naked hand an umbrella poised by force,
A drooping head since these long years,
My constancy is but a sum of all my fears,
Now I’m free a while, to step into your world,
Examine all that is, understand all you mold;
In the midst of silent dark where non can see,
So give me leave so that privy I may be free,
No amount of patents you call, nor right of work
Ought make demise of my being nor essence a work,
I dedicate silent acclaim to a silent wish,
Now I but dance alone is all I sole cherish.

With fading time, softening wind, my drooping pursue:
A time is nigh for all fun to end and pain ensue,
For an obligation to fulfill, a frame calls me near,
That same frame, whose bars encapsulate me dear
Here I am, back, and as though nothing was meant,
Alone and in disgust, this portrait that I say,
A sun that melts me, a rain washes all away.

*

Will curse the first guy to call you freak,
For I myself am as freakless as they call freak,
Nor claws to strike, nor eyes to stare,
Nor fur to harness, nor love so bare,
Nor teeth so sharp, nor skin so coarse,
Nor breathe in hollow form, my art divine;
Nor punch mine heart, who longs more to God;
Nor cursed, nor demons spare, an art align,
Meat devour, for this, my love is new,
Nor Muslim, nor Jew, nor Priest, nor Prince;
I’m the heroin whose pain is subtle and bright,
I’m the coke whose battles fought are yours lone,
The meth whose pleasure alone is yours to have,
The God of mine whose silence utters not name,
Give me soul to love and hug, so that I’m whole,
So when I’m beyond the Earth, above the Moons
Of Jupiter so high and then I’m looking yond,
A light beyond our System fraught with silence
Now darkened by a single star we call our Sun,
Now cherish the beauty of perfection silent taught
When we land on the brightest dark in the black.

Cool Sand

Echoes to my right are clicking rocks,
These stones that dance come here my way,
Nor scorn the heat as much I sweat,
This burning mound is last I try,
And left I looked a door would close,
The last spots of light are gone.
If Mithra can offer a plate of dark,
Then I shall taste honey from flower more,
So give me leave to pollinate
The dried tulips to eschew tears in flood,
Bleed my cheeks, scour mine eyes and ears,
Let me walk away and never return.
So burn my nails nor book to scratch,
With no brow to pluck, no life in luck,
I give the shade a worthy name in stone,
So when I finally lay down above the sun,
It comes clear to me now this is anew.
All is silent, but I can never be.

Blind Boat

Concrete mounted on a particular front,
Nor mountain can move formed construct,
But I have a plan: I am going affront.
If I don’t get out, I’m truly fucked.
I can’t live; as birds migrate here,
Their wings compass, minute gaze so vast,
A bird I call; no wings beckon near,
Give me a set of wings so fast,
Away from sun and water I prefer,
They’ll call me neurotic; am so queer,
These widened iris’ right and left refer,
Not a blink, not a sound, nor a peer,
Dance my ears to footsteps this crude,
Yet so feared and now I am this lone,
Not even through the others how rude,
Everything’s gone. I am no longer me,
I am out. Now this stage thus breathes,
Innocent me, mad me, as best I glee,
Woods. Birds. Nothing in the eaves,
Damn, if only a bit of light to guide
To rest myself by night for cool watch.
My electric mind zaps at all who bide
Attention to one laughing this much:
No one following. Ha! None here? Ha!
The boat: there it is. Now, we flee!
It seemed a mirage at first comme ça;
A simple boat, but, what? How silly!
I have no headlights. No torch. Damn.
Let me drive by moon’s grace then;
I don’t care where I go or how I do;
So long as I escape. Away from ram.

A Joker’s Plea

Kneel before the capo in death’s respite,
Nor cooler is divine this idol fixed here!
Amuse, alight, enthuse, so fight in early dawn,
These kindred sparks of hope are cumbered fear,
Nor the war and enemies afoot can sunder cheer,
Kisses the ground and in all hope is found,
When lost it is still yet found in fleshy wound,
So bend and so kiss, and so taste from delight,
And so, and fear, and kneel, God is within;
All wars, all peace, all kisses deign untoward,
The broken spring whose cheap Rolex is unwound,
Adhere these dolls ye counterfeit fleshes recant!
And there’s a busy section in the musing cast,
And the breathing time is still as much as I.
You, the reader of ill-contempt are numbered one,
The breathing lark is time and jesters disguise:
Alas, this breath is soured with poison ivy
Please me now and now I sink into soul and flesh,
And now, is a joker more so than without your laugh?
A step afar, a step in ark, a small toe dips inward,
Thaw mine ice and kill the whale who swims my mind,
Let awash ashore and all pc aphorisms come divine!
Oh, so this mind is but celled and jailed in skull,
Give me open air, release my mind as a drop of water,
His mind.
The art I am is but mind prepare.
He is lost; he is a mind in half.
I am the joker of all jokers with no cards at play.
No joker on deck is for joker at sake,
Yes, now I a joker am more human than these rats!
Give me those mind-numbing pills and happy doses!
Now I sleep, all I go, all I shine, all I fade.

*

I speak will of night, so ill of day,
Is all I know, lest thorn be known,
More drums I dull lest heart be drum,
In muse I wake, this cry I fake,
The meagre weep is lasting sleep,
Who knew this breeze lest rain to freeze
Till morning drew this life be brew,
From which I drink, from which to brink,
No dawn in sight, no man to fight,
No more is tried now branch is tied,
These hours be gone is come goodbye.