Big-Butted Women

Big-butted women
Sway to me like the earth,
Adorning cruise ships and Ozempic waiting rooms,
Vessels ― vassals of Kali Yuga zeitgeist.

Quantum Panic Envelope Love

Quantum panic envelope love
Transcending star-bound dark matter,
Presses this solidity of my body
Into the cookie-cutter no-magic life,
Reflected only by the clouds as time, as movement.

The Aloha Worlds

Aloha Garuda! I am Madam Pele'.
I love all that I am aware of and exist in love
Not in time, but I am a mirror of the Goddess
From her, all forms arise in the cosmos
All are sustained.

Aloha tourists, people of the earth.
Be excellent to each other and be good stewards of nature.
Know that if you visit Hawai'i you come to God.
For I am Her reflection, empty of all notions.
Enlightened Goddess, I bring forth divinity.

Oh mankind what a brief flash you are,
Coming into view between the light of millions of ages,
Creations distant to even the flickering eons of Hawai'i;
Back and forwards from a timeless time into the Beyond of Form,
This is where my awareness roams ... in the Aloha Worlds.

Mankind do not be serious.
For in your seriousness you course in hate and war.
In your seriousness you destroy the earth.
At times, you reduce yourself to such darkness;
And yet, each one of you is divinity dreaming.

Rest Then Impeccably

Rest then impeccably,

Crest the tired-ass thought forms.

Envelop your fiction,

Friction,

The brown-skinned illegals pick fruit

For my non-existence.

Subsistence,
Marxist resistance impossible.

Shake off the plausible,

You are a God, a bod, a Whitman boy-toy,

A sabbath goy of this poem --

Our lives are cartoon moments.

Dig me, I'm real baby,

I really want to fuck you,

Movie theater popcorn cum plots,

Red sticky seats,

White boys on dope,

Hope is shattered (Not).

Dream baby dream of Pele' and peyote,

Roll with the homies,

The commies, the faggots, the sailors,

Embrace exploitation,

Saunter with power in that sky of no time,

Forever was yesterday.

The desert crow moves across the highway,

The mountains skyward to nirvana.

Drink the wine in the dirty glass,

So much has passed,

Arisen,
Then faded away.

With Pele' on the Ground I Sit

With Pele' on the ground, i sit,
Wrapped in vine.
The sun and mist around her
Aloha.

You're Good to Rest Upon, My Dear

You're good to rest upon my dear,
To lay my wondering head on your fine curls,
Smooth and intricate, weaving a forest of secrets,
Above a soft earthly skin revealing fire and the soul's light.

You're good to rest upon,
My heart resting on your confident beat,
Optimistic of the future, almost naive of our karma,
Wandering through the narrow alleys of integrity in this age.

You're good to rest on my dear,
The years do not dust away that feeling,
The ease and confidence of my rest,
Very good in the eternal time of ancient lovers.

Walk the Sky

The walk back should be firm.

When the sky moves with the man

The ground falls into softer spaces.

It's as if the clouds are gluttonous,

Sweaty and fat, bending downwards.

We need a mindless wind,

A wet lip pressing into this afternoon,

Coaxing the thick stubborn air

Into an irrational rebirth,

Arousing the awesome power of the night

Corny Kid

Why do I love her still?
Why do I look out the same window,
As the same spring grows old into the same drying summer?
The wheel has passed us.

Around the seasons I spin in my rectangular prison.
I have no real karma with this world, I guess.
I walk like a ghost or a reporter for Jesus amongst the crowds.
Arrogant and humble at once, alone, yet full of others.

I continue to feel her on this globe,
Like the sickest of stalkers
Or the deepest of lovers.
She sometimes visits my heart.
She sometimes visits my dreams
And tells me she loves me so.

We walk in a green Atlantis that is England.
I hold her hand
And that electric energy alone,
The love between us
Cascades in a dance beyond this world.

We stand holding hands beneath a basketball court,
A shiny wooden floor, high school London suburbs.
"I love you James", she implores.
"The opposition between us is great", Say I.
"I know", she admits so accepting, evenly brave,
As only a dream could be.

When we hold hands, we are not ourselves,
But instead a fusion, a strange one at that,
A mystery for our two chronic egos to dive into,
The tai chi of Yin and Yang,
Amidst romantic tragedy,
Suffering and samsara.

Redeem me to this green and awful world.
I am afraid to fall in love again,
Not for fear of rejection or loss,
How silly! How simple and beautiful that would be.
No, I am afraid I will see a love less perfect than this,
And thus betray both future and past.

I have freed her in my mind. I don't care.
But caring and loving are two different things.
Loving is an indulgence --
I indulge to suffer.
And true love is not caring for only one.

Aloha Pele

Aloha Pele'
I see you wind your way through memories,
Love ecstatic,
Unsoiled by roaring lava and distant hills of sulfur.
Dazzle us with your shiny power and humor,
Gazing from brightness into the dim films of a billion worlds.

Burn us with your hot mellow love.
From afar and within the heart, merge with the Goddess.
Aloha Pele', mahalo.

The Power of Mu

The Earth has entered another perfection,

A stillness in time

Against the cold summer sunsets of cloud heights.

The silence deafens,
And the cum shoots forth in the night of your energy
As the earth melts into the Lava of Mu.

Shiva Waits

Shiva Waits,

He will dance over these wet streets of Manhattan,

Over these bespeckled footprint beaches of Los Angeles,

Shiva will dance and devour our age,

Like a ravenous virgin lover

And all of us will fold again

And mark the dance by the light of our death.

Oh glorious death, Shiva,

Dissolve us in your spectrums!

You will lose us forever

Yet find us again in another dream.

Earth will soon sing to the forests

She will cut down the steel of man,

And set the clouds against his skin,

Freezing,

Peeling,

Melodic,

Revealing the Buddhas and the Arhats,

Who have so long labored in ecstacy

To enroll mankind in their glorious joke,

A performance of dharmas cut so fine

And of such balance,

That to see it once ... .

That's all folks!

Eat for Free

God! Microsoft and money surround my art!

This incarnation is getting old.

At least the pigeons eat for free.

Never Been to San Francisco

Always on Market Street,

Never thinking about the end,

Red brick San Francisco dust,

Never reeking of the art.

Grandmotherly wooden houses never reveal Rome.

Golden Gate Bridge spanning the never of empire,

A finger youthful to the northern forests,

A tingling thigh towards LA's glitter dome.

Never say never in this shell grey town,

Sapped of energy in the never summer of 67'.

Never could a poet have survived such an exodus

Unless the wind carried him beyond the comic-book Haight,

To the never-never rock houses of Oakland basehead babies,

Blow-jobs and AIDS, 

Republican plagues,

The never-ending battleships to amputation Concord --

My god, the city is all cardboard!

At least LA is plastic,

Melting above the swirling always of the desert,

South of this never happening city,

I still 

Have never been to San Francisco.

Travel Light

Travel light and take power gingerly,

Offer cookies to children and rice to babies.

Travel spacious and follow wisdom quietly,

Offer canyon foreheads to Egyptian ladies,

Maybe stopping, but only til' dawn,

Travel briskly with a balanced heart

And you will travel in circles

until you've mastered the start.

Nicaruga Again

Nicaragua Again

Once I came to you,

Ragged Atlantean, I was crow.

Your soft women like spears,

And the jungle drugs,

As if to match the pyramids,

Drove me far

As I assembled you

And the intersections about

Your equatorial wisdom,

Spanning the lines

And times

To Contras

And my LA incarnations,

Tibet notwithstanding.

Never-the-Less

We drank and killed

And war paint marked our edges

And reed to the medicines spun

In your jungles that took me

As Atlantis sank in her arrogance,

Her wings of such potential;

But we men, women,

Were content

With sun and fish

And the Christ's

Who visit such a bright life

And walk the waves

To teach us leaving.

We failed and sit now

With Reagan's idiots,

So close to us both:

Virginia and the Baca,

All reeling to remember

What we took.

I am full of the white man's blubbery attitude,

The bounty of his ironic karma,

The inheritance of the New Mexico power lines,

Binding both you and me and the other surfaces

Of land and tree,

And mysterious winds,

Who assemble so furtively along the borders

Only imagined and crossed by Arjuna,

Asuras, and Hyundais.

Yes,

I am a yuppie incarnate

And your people trounce in the jungles

Red with steal from Uncle Sam, 

Shot into you,

As our media and baseball

Banish the guilt forever.

Saying It

Artists clays framing nay's.

Join around the internet sponge.

Dont get to close, baby

Or your mother will cum in my face.

Trace me into the ray.

I say, nay again to the war,

The whore, the bore,

Intractable heathcare reform and common selfcare.

Artistically arrange my atoms,

In final chaos for time itself is to abandon.

My own future uncertain -- so what,

I stay on this prison at the wardens pleasure.

It intended me into the flaming yes,

The water of life drunk from the skies of Volcano,

Blue in their leavings and cloudly comings.

Fragrant green nothingness of complexity, roam with care.

I’m a stoner, im a boner im a Homer, 

Curtail my ways but then let me randomize her panties.

Sir hungwell does not fancy skanking outside of Kansas.

Ive never been so offended by barroom whores.

I don’t want to keep typing it,

I want to keep saying it.

Five Hundred Days

Five hundred days my love,

Since I knew you.

Five hundred sunsets,

Have I cried for you.

Five hundred mornings,

I have awoken alone

And realized that you are gone

Forever.

After School

Once a wet fog,

Slid around a bent man,

Who picked smelly paper

And cleaned broken toliets

By the sandy shore.

Far, in my warm car,

Of blue dashboard, trinkets and dope,

Through the fog's smear.

It seemed ...

Something frowned.

It Was Known to Be a Morning

It was known to be a morning, 

That was freeing.

The English rain pounded by the fences,

The farms

And the water cups.

Life is cool

Out of the swamp.

Now I sit and wonder

What will be of reading eyes in 100 years?

Obviously, nuclear particles terrify me.

New York City

Feeling the airy fear,

The silence -- ours

From the stoic spring,

City September-less,

Not in the Los Angeles

Of neon-facsist oligopoly orgies,

The denial of desert peasant mysticsm.

No, here she is obese:

New York City.

Town,

Rectangular high,

As high as dope in a Park Avenue Y.

This is the game the dharma cards play,

As they sway through our 3D illogic.

The scholars, the sci-fi's,

And Marxists alike,

Strut in little canyons,

Where matter is dumb, senseless, frigid,

In this city of romantic MTV

Of the techno-empire West.

I'd rather be in the Himalayas or Harlem,

On a midnight trian to now.

Well no, but everything goes

And nothing is 

In this midnight dream of the city.