The Orange of Morphine

He walked alone,barefoot.On orange-red asphalt.He could smell burning human meat all around him-on the periphery of the path,from him-it emanated and choked him like some peevish noxious gas,but he inhaled it,because his brittle heart was broke.It floated in matrix in microscopic fragments.Still,something kept him walking,something made his feet numb to the infernal orange,something tuned his nose to the fatal fragrance,the cliche,the overly human emotion.

His tongue felt super-glued to the floor of his mouth whenever he wanted to say it,ironically because he meant it beyond the imaginable contours of what is known as the "universe" to human-kind.he did not want to lose her.She made him.She made him believe that it's OK to be a man.It was her relentless energy that made him atleast crawl on with his morbid life.Death was imminent,like viewing the back of the net of a goalpost from the six-yard box,it stood right in the midst of his pitch-dark future.His nights were not about revelry,dope,revolutionary bullshit or alcohol-flavored jam sessions anymore.they had become perpendicular inversions of whatever it was.

The nights were moribund now.the pain crept in,he wept his pain out,made some seditious statement that incited his dead emotions against life.Then it happens-"Blood say hello to morphine.Morphine,say hello to blood".Then Keith Moon,Roger Daltrey,Pete Townshend,Jim Morrison and the likes would sing him their famous lullabies.

When his heavy eyelids shut and impose their weight on his sagging skin under his eyes,he finds the portal to the otherside of the world.There,he looks at her chocolate brown eyes(a subtle cover of milk chocolate over the traditional dark chocolate),dips in it's unfathomable elixir.He was a word-smith,and he could sculpt words off air,like breeze that hits you hard while walking in a park,or a cake for that matter,that's when he realised that wordsmiths embrace vanity.He shut open his eyes to reality.the sudden surge of pragmatic prudence sprinted across his sole-soul.he was Broken.she had broken him.She was the only one who could do that to him.all of it,and as she stationed herself as a star on the sky of another sun-monger,a scream screamed its last scream,and he was gone,just like that,like dust in the wind,absorbed into thin air.FOR ETERNITY

Solipsism,Freedom

What are you doing here?

What do you want?
Is it music?
We can play music.
But you want more.
You want something & someone new.
Am I right?
Of course I am.
I know what you want.
You want ecstasy
Desire & dreams.
Things not exactly what they seem.
I lead you this way, he pulls that way.
I'm not singing to an imaginary girl.
I'm talking to you, my self.
Let's recreate the world.
The palace of conception is burning.


Look. See it burn.
Bask in the warm hot coals.
You're too young to be old
You don't need to be told
You want to see things as they are.
You know exactly what I do

Everything

TAPE NOON

Tell them you came & saw & looked
into my eyes, & saw the shadow
of the guard receding
Thoughts in time & out of season
The hitchhiker stood by the side of the road
& leveled his thumb in the
calm calculus of reason

         (a car passes)

Why does my mind circle around you
Why do planets wonder what it
Would be like to be you

All your soft wild promises were words
Birds, endless in flight

Your dog is still lost in the frozen woods
or he would run to you
How can he run to you
Lunging w/ blooded sickness on the snow
He's still sniffing gates & searching
Strangers for your smell
which he remembers very well

Is there a moon in your window
Is madness laughing
Can you still run down beach
rocks bed below w/ out him?



  Winter Photography
  our love's in jeopardy
  Winter Photography
  our love's in jeopardy
Sit up all night, talking smoking
  Count the dead & wait for morning
(Will warm names & faces come again
  Does the silver forest end?)

Sunday Morning Blues

What can I read her
What can I read her
   on a Sunday Morning

What can I do that will
   somehow reach her
   on a Sunday Morning

I'll read her the news of
   The Pashtun wars

Full of criss-calvary, blood
                 & gore

Stories to tame & charm
& more

On a Sunday Morning

Rubbing Alcohol

Here I am,inspired to write because I am pissed off.I don't feel as bitter as I want to be.I need to re learn the English language.I seem insincere because I can't choose or decide fast enough.My penmanship seems scatological because of my lack of personality,or excess of personality.I am obsessed with the fact that I am skinny and stupid.I confide in too many conflicting opinions and parties and groups and classes and clubs and meetings and concessions and recessions and conventions wearing a grand hat with drink in hand boasting of the hunting and organised past time activities these 17 years have served.A sterile bacterial success.I've been to a lot of poetry readings and more importantly,writing.I don't think and when I do,I forget.Chemicals are the thing of today,today ill take as man chemicals as I can get my greasy paws on,because this scent reminds me of you.Yesterday's scent is still here today,I'm beached,flat out stranded and obsessed.I've got to leave because you're still here in my air,playing with my sense of smell,invading my airwaves.I'm a reactionary,in a way.I just react to what others say.

Moronic Outburst

The barium never left me

cigarette burns in comforters

riddled with approach

cursed with welcome talents

I've never been so YES

I know exactly what i'm doing

it's all under control

i don't need any help

I'd rather not

please leave me

be control freak

I appreciate your concern

has gratuity been added?

set it down over there

handler of the gods

Winter Wood

[this is an excerpt from one of my dreams]

The crimson skies

above a haven of lies

black-clouds and grey cloak

he descends with a cold smirk

the clouds squeal

yes they do,through dying eyes

the kid's time had come

the kid had lost his woman to the world

the kid's time had come

his insides decaying with time

he asked the kid

-"last prayers,wishes,any?"

-None

I could wish to stay

I could wish to grow and gray

I could wish for her to be all mine

I won't

my words,they must explode in the moronic heads

my integrity,it must not shatter like how insufficient it is

my ego,yes my ego,must be resurrected

and then,her eyes must coruscate,brim with tears,

don't let them wither.please.

tears of joy,though,must shine when the kiss of sun supersedes her

tears of joy ,to quench my acarpous soul

tears of joy,she must move on like the wind.she will.

tears of joy,f heaven exists,her eyes are those

-Kid,hell exists everywhere

heaven somewhere,its all in you.

-No,soul-less thing,you don't get it,do you?

I want to be a tree,strong,broad and free

with the stationary irony

I want to embrace them,with my shade

as clean as black

I want to accept the him-whoever-whenever

and the her-the-her

I want to be a tree in their orchard

with their fruits of happiness which could have been mine

with their moments which could have been mine

with her love which could have been..well..

I could wish for it all...it wont come true.

my wished,without the veil of elegance

I wish I could cry,I laugh

I wish I could laugh,in this excruciating pain

yes,I have a wish,leave my spirit

to the world,let it be a wanderer

-Oh KID!..oh puerile THING!

get me some money,whisky and dope,will you?.I'll set you free

-I'm Underage for any of those,not 20.just fucking take me with you!

-you belong here,rainbows belong to the world

you belong here,the rainbow will meet another rainbow

you belong here,you belong here

but love does not belong to you

ditched by death,ditched,ditched over and over

oh the count? lost to oblivion

the woman?yes! what about the woman?

some kisses leave behind an eternal scar

NO MORE WOMEN,if not her.

He hoped someday the sun would smile

after all,dear,the cliche is that its day after night

with or without life.

The Insect Who Got Carried Away

I

THE WIND let him sail with her,

the insect with black wax-wings.

his motor roared a constant roar

but was blurred and dwarfed to a hiss

between the waves of cacophony,somewhere,

the hiss got stronger

as his unfettered wings chopped the air

with relentless will to blithely drop and hover

the wind was there and he was there

the symbiosis was just a skin stronger

envious green eyes shone at him

that lucky iron-monger!

II

THE WIND flew all through him now

but his blood flowed a foot higher

drawing a line of control,

right through his bloody chambers

discretion killed no spirit

discretion sowed the seed of awakening

the blood,the flood of spastic desire

eternal desire.

III

THE WIND carried him away,

up,5 flights of the erudition building

where his caviling body succumbed to the pleasure

blue or black under the brown mesmerizing sun,

some petards carry the right,spluttering brew

the insect got carried away.

the joss-stick had an orange glow to at its black edge

as the jougs anticipated a slender neck to a strong post.

IV

THE WIND retreated on reaching

the ebullient shine of its own source

the shine turned the wax-wings into ash

the wind came to an abrupt halt

THE FALL begins:-

down the vast,sprawling dark sky

the wind bloats the insect with heavy baggage

THE FALL continues:-

the insect drops like a boulder into a deep box of water

the wind drifts further away

the wind allows the insect no contact

pilots could call may-day

the insect could only fade away from her(the wind's) life

A silent thud,weeping and flailing lungs

a failing heart and an insect whose ego wasn't very smart

A neon bulb blinks,some cars squeal

an empty packet of smoky bliss

and a shiny gold bottle of malt kiss

THE FALL ENDS.

Breakdown

She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
just out of reach
A candle stranded on
a beach
While the sun sinks low
an H-bomb in reverse

Everything human
is leaving
her face

Soon she will disappear
into the calm
vegetable
morass

Stay!

My Wild Love!