Oh Life and Memory Tainting.

January 9, 2010 - Leave a Response

Oh life!

Memory is such sweet masturbation

And then Hiroshima of reality

Apocalypse of maturation!

I’m holding myself in disbelief.

How could you will this monstrosity of age?

Lo I shout to all those souls lost (including partly my own) in the infinite tombs of man! There is a wind of senses, a potential symphony of mutuality

And in my own grave, I find reminder

The dashboard of my e-320 still humming

Utopia yellow backlit

Lagging monotones and tar smeared toes curling

Like saccharine fruits of ignorance

Sympathetic illusions of eternity

Oceans of bare skin in spring seasons, a cacophony of clanking car doors

Through our lurid windshield the same manses blurred in summering mist

Endless white winters heaping us in

People always detracting, looming

Creeping and calling us home.

We running from peoples eyes

Hiding in groves and tasting the air

Torn from dream states

By the observations of reality

To think other humans were then so unthinkable an intrusion!

Undoing the static love of Hendrix

Sucking the smoke of contentedness into zero

Weeks and weeks of scattering legs

Beating down pitch roads

Beside me pulsing  of fresh laundry and sweat

Asking simple curious questions

I would  answer again

With such bursting energy

Flesh

January 7, 2010 - One Response

I felt it just then

Myself to be a hunched

Element of flesh

Warm and light in transcendental youth

Filled with hot blood

I pressed my fingers into the snow

And raised my hand spread between

The forest with the sun piercing

An ice sky

White transient avenues

Clear fingers a smear of dirt on my palm

Snow in clumps on the tips of my fingers

Blood rushed in warbled lines

Through my pigmented water hide

The snow melted in delicate spells

My heat and calcium

Electricity and space

Is nothing but elemental harmony

A bonding of  universal intention

As the snow passed through its stages on me

I will pass into the earth and the

Earth into the processions of universes

There is nothing wrong with me.

I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

The Cycles

January 5, 2010 - 2 Responses

Electrified womb erects distending down the lives bright fresh

And I nurture breaths, and flowers twist in that hidden dimension of sight

And blindly anxious I roam into moments of re-construction

With clarity the heavy scented air

And hope

To let it go and dance a ragged faithless dance

Light arching across kingdoms stretching shadows

And all is in its face beyond recognition clearly but in clarity revolving

And all is fine as silk in the hours leading to the moments pulling

And all is free and flowing and eviscerating to an end

Life being boundless

Everything is born anew into old air

Cresting the eye see’s a beginning in every split second new age

Beginning to begin again

And torn suddenly into the heavy airs

Everywhere is destruction and shed skin

And onwards is a hollow hole

Ah but the horizons

The pity

Hi ho the sweet nectar of human spirit leaking

And the loneliness that spreads ducts across happy hills

The childhood spilling over and over and over aching teeth

And the fire of the flood

And we carried with eyes wide feeling and feel

And feel and feel and feel until the iron and carbon have finished screaming

Charlie Hunter

January 4, 2010 - Leave a Response

Fresh brine steps

Plodding on pulled skin

Every sighing symbol instant

Shattering across space

Elephant’s scream aqua tube

Rustling chimes

Cool jabbing wind

Radiate glance tingle

Pores pucker

Face is transient thudding flesh

Bones of dissected beading energy

Fresh breaks

Cluster centers of clear penetrating light

Along chords joints stretch

Passages in sound, quadrants of content

Shuffling steps

Hot clay of the market

In-between amebas dusting

Hips twisting

Throwing hands across bare stoves

Dirt and thrusting bodies

Mother lets cry an apartment window

The cars sweeping below hear her

Across honkytonk avenues mating call

And boy’s skyline leaking

Papa’s drooling bass altitudes

The wind beating orange reliefs

Inward thrusting roofs collapse in sun set

Moaning exhaust

Across causeways of sense clusters

A beating orgasm of city centers

Inward jabbing knifing twisting

one beautiful dripping crystalline inner world

Receptor of fresh lightning soaked mantra

Bubbling fresco light generator

Brimming retina

Eco- electric infusion, confusion of integration

The other biped-eminences

Are jazz and respect

Parting With You

January 4, 2010 - Leave a Response

Dan,

Your language is instinct digesting into looming systems

Boy disintegrating

The vein ways the rhythm waits in pumping expanding pistons

And all through my movement, what we were is watched, celebrated

Rewound and watched for the triumphant dead light

Played out in motion

The dim flickering of spirit

In blackness the kernel

The seed breaking open

And in this flux of life

It feels false

To look always towards that conception

It feels beyond reason in-between places

Beyond to be with you

But really beyond to be with none

And so with a sigh it seems

The only thing left

Is letting you go

That is my reluctant map

That is my half hearted hope

And until I can be fully that process

I am eternally recessed in this mirth

This lightless loveless blossomless romance

And I can’t blame

Or convict or cry out your sins

Your blind brilliant life is too evident

You are just who I choose to bore

Into this rainy Saturday

I am to deaden you

I hear the rush

The intenseness of expansion

The murmurs from out of silence

Piercing a membrane of past

Many souls gasping out

To be heard they’ve been bent

And I am beginning to hear

In their life

Their will

In my life my will

So once and for all, I will say with a sigh

We are not the universe, the blindness I once sought

And we are not the pain leaving as the pain is here now

We are just distant friends mutating to life

O god were just friends

But if that implies any

Warmth for this moment

Were not even that

Were nothing

A New England Depression

January 4, 2010 - Leave a Response

Through the planks of the attic roots grope and tangle

An ode echoes into the halls

Down in the lower corridors  of creaking wind

Where the paint is chipped and the lamp shades erode

The equipment for emancipation is rusting

The catacomb echoes carnival laughs

Of a thousand black bagged eyes

And the spirits spiral in on themselves and eat the future

With the past in mind

The radiator clanks like the sharpening of a blade

A bone cold seeps through the window crack

And dim lights from the city stare

A million lonely hungry souls, casting shadows