Poetry: May 27, 2009
A fistful of nothing,
A chest full of rage
If I knew my rights,
I’d act my age.
IF I FOLLOW,
AND I CAME TO SPIT.
Like an asp, in Colorado
I won’t take shit
The pious act with bias,
(like the Somali pirates,
who picked the right boat
but the wrong time
to try us), I take the
Alphabet, and like
Alpha, chew it
bit by bit, I settle
my mind with it. Now
try this on for
Straight from the
(and neither does an ‘ouch’)
Or otherwise they’d fit
in a diplomatic pouch.
I will share your power
But I won’t share mine,
At least from where I sit.
Now, PROVE YOURSELF
OR LOSE YOURSELF
and let the hammer fall.
Take what you must from the hit,
just do not drop the ball.
What time itself witnesses,
time itself recalls.
Marco Polo went solo
And got caught by a bolo
Punch, and like that, lost
His lunch. He might have
Followed his hunch, and left
The boat while moored, or he
Might not have gotten floored
By some drunken ham fisted
Pirate whose parrot was bored
And insulted the foam baring
Sirens servicing the sea faring Lord
Who may now sail on towards
Togo, settle into a tall night’s tale,
Absorb the damp of moist young
Thighs, drop his sword, create a logo.
Resentments last while they last
Until the final trumpet blast
Or, until the prairies, through
The winds, their whistling
Cornbread and her pastries,
Like sodden fields and their daisies
Will fill the mind, until the time
The words become more tasty
(I know what it’s like to hate me),
So I raise from the road, the victims
Crashed, those not too far crazy.
And who are you that I must
Walk in your hell, to answer
The sounds of silence, outcast,
But never the tone of the bell?
Perhaps I’m too lazy.
Though when my mind goes,
I go with it, just as wherever
Captain Wilson goes, he’s
Followed by Major Pickett
(though he never travels with his
‘stash’, that would be insipid).
Even the stars that crash,
Still consent to burn.
And banned from going higher
They reach more deeply within
Themselves to steady their fever
JOIN ME IN MY HOURGLASS!
At least before my time has passed
(and the sands prepare my grave)
Without you, it’s like ALCATRAZ
And I have no birds to save. Sans cage
We are but books of numbers, just let
Me do your math. The sandman seals
Our slumbers and fallen trees amount
To lumber, whose grains will weep
At a carpenter’s wheel. And made to
Hold and frame, the hours whose crystals
Reach out for your name. Join me before
The sun gets jealous, or before the
Moon in her swoon becomes overzealous.
It takes an army
To alarm me
We back up
But we never
Well, if true the chickens come home to roost
By the time they got to my yard, they need a boost
I assumed they were corn fed, so fed them some grain
While in the meantime I finished my touch up with Proust
And while they got fat, the scales they tripped would gain
While I skipped the chip on the shoulder of the rooster that remained,
Who seemed intent on guarding his pride, and seemed willing to
Trade it for life denied, but I had a yard to maintain. Somewhere
A goatherd is playing his horned ones the flute, I’m about
To silence the morning crow bird and give his beak the boot.
COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA
MILANO 27th MAY 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED