floodin'rain...'diluvio' said my cellmate

 floodin’rain…'diluvio' said my cellmate

there is always rain in the aftermath of love unkind

a burning feat known only when our present tears settle

for nothing less than a full serving and one doubtless score

we are dragged to wash the initial stain –inevitable burden-

from that first graceless fall…we wade in the clear waters

unknown but so inviting like the fruit at hand…and we

are ready to land that shore of fire and feel a million

tongues within our nerves…we ride the rush in the rapids

of the cage grieving our loss...spinning in a whirlwind of rue

sorrow and blame -swept far and away as the heart breaks

and we are made to stand without faith before a real judge

tarnished bloodletter of dregs who begrudges his own take

and before whom we recollect all the things possible fallen

from our hands carelessly…its  blood spills washed away

necessary calls

today i was hoping for one kind reward

all right _strict blankchecks galore but

nothing comes through _somewhere there's

someone scoring from some fool and i am left

on a wait that alights shades by the myriad

in a moment's square as if frozen in time

flat so that its angles are in plain view

-why is that boy standing on the prow?

-he wants to be seen

-but he's in plain sight

-exactly...

the scene is set accordingly and useless-

some wait others suspect _roy said there's no

time to understand nor any certainty at hand

i've had enough with counting blanks today

moments on the pavement thread in the past

bronx ennui with satisfaction in the given sun

and shade _the red dodge at the curb helps

pan tango in jojouka

once he heard the call of pan

he packed his bags with song

and headed roundabout to jojouka

along he found all sort of strings

lullabies and rocking screams

timeless as the rolling sand

he played this vertiginous stream

sailing any choice at hand

the classic the hard the others

beggarly and majestic

until the end inevitable

found him layin' about the pool

he'd found solace from a life of tango

-love and betrayal- the works

from ''cochranton dreams''

sudden
the winter night opened its wings
and moved in a flight
bathed in white shadows
at once left behind lost
with each precious mile
in the rushing headlamps
bright on the crazied dream
of a corvair ride off 79
with the fields clean
and cold cider fuelin'
hard the running night
of jack and jill mary and bill
and sally passed out on the front seat
so they had to carry her
onto the enchanted hood
and massage her big tits
with beautiful snow
until she came to moaning
then gathering all the stars
they loaded back in the car
and went along with the night
shot like guns in the distance

lookin' out of the side window from the 'no name bar'

this unquenchable evil learns me few and many ways

to transgress and expiate hence

penance remains a sham in spite of having been paid

-for instance take a number-

once i awoke and got on with my business

when a sudden discomfort grew in my middle

disrupting a wholesome routine and forced me

to lean back for a few years to consider

a series of inevitable perhaps necessary mishaps

which in turn seized me unexpectedly with alarm

because what had been established was disrupted

not by need it was a change in haste and greed

of ego’s game plan and it kept on growing

avidly in fashion until it burst a vortex

precisely where things arise

and without further cause or trace of will

i found myself oblivious in a shambles

ruin of a place swamped by the flood

i ran up a flight of decrepit stairs to a trembling floor

where i laid and tried to rest

and as i looked at the sky

through the great gap on the walls opened to the fire

i saw in a flaring epiphany a score of disasters

cross the limits of my citadel of psych

viciously coerce me at the gut's level

i tried to order my things but i'm held hostage

having let myself drawn absently

to this mess caging me with the rabble of the earth

so alone and with a promise echoing tall _in short

that every man shall sit under his own three undisturbed

provided he forsakes his own being and puts to death

whatever nature is rooted in earth

_giving it all away to cosmic hells_  flesh blood

smiles delivered as well

all of which in turn i reject  -meanwhile-

i still hear the river flow long and see the sky

lit crimson by man and then i fix holes

that every parched throat may lie well in the sand

threats

this fiction of mine laboured flux in the skull

of mysteries and memories worked by furies

to the wheel is dealt a willing thread

into my masked man´s clasp

he sets my steps unfailing to his pull

and tells me purblindly my flesh is dirt

and mine the shards of faith i tread

(hope is on hold at the scafold)

and within the walls riotous voices call

a thousand and one kabbalahs

each one proposing direct cause and each one

spousing next one each one imposible

as the previous certain

(here Anguish live from The Cherry Point –

now turned to truths the nerves so harshly keep

i run my yarns along the plank i blindly trip

the fall is free…

(at the trapdoor to serve the lores of a cretin one

bows his head and one places tightens the noose  

 

just before sixty -about 23:38- and clueless still

801 live...25 or 6 too...for one proceeds to separate all things

with the understanding that those episodes thought of as

terminated chain a chain faithless in the inevitable outcome

and here they come -everyone tells us about father time-

-when it tics when it tocs and there's someone who sounds

a gong one who rings a bell even a tuba blast is on the score

she asks about your frame and you answer without shame

-yes...and yes this and yes that...blast it all

we rant with or without objective references making 
exception with laboured ideas and feelings mirrored

with images extracted from past experience and perception

-let us say fiction pouring out as fact over dreams over

(margarita, play a song you blind tart...or is it magdalena)

say...your number would be...what...

the number of angels who fell from heaven on fire 
winging wildly in the torn wind crying 
is said to be set in the great black mercy book

but how many of them found the earthbound way 
is anybody's guess

one sound check with the countless souls 
who through abominable deeds and wicked counsels 
found themselves in the same position

may yield the suspicious data needed to arrive 
at the desired number

any coincidence with the memberchips of one bikers 
gang and their alleged chapters would be matter 
for further consideration although you should know 
that coming down is best in the company of our cohorts 
if only to feel less lonely 
'cause wailing is of no avail when the wind cries mary 
ramona or any number and blows you burnt clean 
leaving life's shadow fixed in a grin

boulders

because of man's zest obstinate in success 
stones roll faithless and as we climb the hill
we meet them head on

once capsized they furrow our backs

-it's a world diverged calling for carnage 
at the sight of flesh

these operations yield a speed and curve 
unabridged of guilt dealt with all desires squared 
in a puzzle fair 
by a spread of ladies in shadow 
-o yes that old trade- ready to maim

whoever collisions fittingly 
emotions in hand

it's a piece of our heart laid on the table 
to bid on a rumor of one fanciful ride 
on the yellow blunt gallows where hangs 
the knowhow of our fathers' hell -we 
envision they nod on the stars to lit 
the skies all -we do not understand care
-we roll in the fall who drove wolves 
blowing sea shells for pure joy as 
the cups spill overflowed with betrayal

-we hear a far rumble...boulders we think

it's the one with the stone wallowing 
in the stumble -never short of faith nor ever 
short of rock bottom- there he rolls and tries 
and pushes the stone up the hill once again

and careless the shadows of a lady cut 
his breath

everyday spirits

look the statue in the eye...make sure
there is no wanton prayers
remember mother sang through the midday call
in the face of a well known score and dilligently
no matter what her chores
while the children pranced to a ball
-forsake me not / gimme shelter / i'll walk down
and turn on everyone at the other end-
behold! our praise is shattered and blown to bits
are the chances to connect with one burgundy
madonna -stanced whip in hand-
to master the punks hollerin' shindy
she addresses all under a wild sun to exorcize
their nature with pangs communal
and set them straight on their way to heaven

it followed reeling shadows reaching everywhere
in the evening bloom mom had gone and the kids
danced to a blur the icons of an afternoon

comin' live

being becomes night first
with a great downpour of light
-instantly dearest- to everyone
in the starless ship
incoming rain and sea splashes
the black pirate flag waves byebye
on the grinning crew -always ready-
to fly into that mist of sunburst
within the fixed brain
and blow the faint of time
dead on its birthday