Sherbet

Swarthy mortals from the north,
Sun-cracked and dry-mouthed.
"Our queen is unblemished.
Her litter smells of lilac,
Contains a peach-colored girl."
Her lithe arm through the curtains,
Fair-skinned Goddess
Carried by two Mamelukes
(Exchanged for wicker and grain)
Panting like animals.
One thinks of the east.
There's sherbet in the east,
Dark language from their guts,
Moping, dewy leaves.
Emirs languish in their sumptuous shade,
Semi-divine, half-asleep.
They tense their mortal tendons.
Grit their brittle teeth.
There's sherbet in the east.

Cabbages

My body drunk with sun;
Hard, baked clay beneath scorched flesh.
My bones sense the coming Sabbath,
By sunset, I tend to my cabbages,
Toiling in the waning dusk.
I dig in the earth and its secret musk.

Supper’s prayers whisper on my dry tongue,
Dry helpings for a day’s labor.
Since I was a boy, the same dry loaf, the solitude.
Father would come with night by candlelight,
Steps squelching on the wet mud floor,
His secret musk seeps six feet beneath…

My sleeping vessel oppressed by dreams,
A thatched roof threatened by winds,
A heavy silence sloshing in the earth’s belly,
I follow him, frozen in his stare.
His pale specter mouths with lips cracked and cruel,
“It’s a sin, sirrah, it’s a sin.”

I envy the world of worms and mites,
A world of earth and no remission,
Digging portals into darkness damp and fertile,
Leaving the Sabbath light sovereign on the surface,
Arid and dumb with vegetable sin,
Me nestled between singed leaves.

The day breaks in its morning light.,
Seen submerged, the surface is light,

My Life in the Glen

In the winter the frost was my mother,
And I was a hooved fetus with barely a "coo"
To carry me to Spring bloody and ejected,
Blessed with a voice.

In the summer I brayed to mother-stars
And with my bleats I pled
Until she fell to glen and melted
Me wholly into horse parts.

I belted sounds into the brisk fall air,
With something of autumn, and something alone,
My hooves to the night sky, I grazed nothing,
And Mother-stars were melted

So no stars would speak.
My mane grew lustrous in the night,
And words grew through my pursed lips,
Not for nothing.

No, no world unspools to nothing
Something exists for its own sake, not for horse speech
Nor for horse brain did I stretch my limbs
And gallop towards father-sun

Heavy God in the summer.
My limbs gave way, in the light,
In the dew, I fell, parched
Voice, asleep in the glen.

Untitled

"You wanna see a dead body?"

Facetious, Cyrus takes an Olympian toke,
Wide-eyed, picking skeptically
At that scaborous memory.

"You a fool."

He hisses a fugivitive wisp,
Snickers and squeaks,
"Sans dope-game, Marcellus lethally sealt."

A start, a cough, stammers Cyrus,
"Da, da, da bo' Drama?"

Wrinkles quizzical Ikey in response,
"Damn, dat memory endangers dopamine."

Spent, the sage's billow dissipates in a swell of laughter.

Sunken deep, vision blurs
bobbing simpering moon slightly,
Few stars gasp their luster,
Lasting famished.

Desperate squall sprung through alleys narrow,
assail sirens seranading no Odysseus, wails subsiding,
24-7 crackles the grid
Engorged with niggas grindin'.

II
"I sell moonbeam epiphanies,"
Said sifted through a cackle,
Cyrus fidgets ashy.

The winter makes one ashy,
knuckles, knees, elbows ashy,

Hobnobbin' with scoundrels.
The floundering philanthropist sighs.
While misanthropic that drained teen,
Decked in second hands, tube socks strangling slightly,
Brain straining sound waves pulsating,
Slinks through back aves on the humble.

His little brother, that lisping gimp,
subterranean, seething dormant with all those sibilant sayings,
shrieks in his theater.

III
Others are plucky,
Brimming infectious with pep,
Like the don in his dominion,
Headin' uptown in Uptowns,
Retrograde, rockin the Gumby,
Here stumbles Mr. Mumbles
Feenin' insurgent, lured into his tentacles,
The venom surges.

"Dats swagger, baby"

Breaks in Ikey, dome shorn and stepped,
Smoldering standard relinquished,
Cyrus words "Word" in smoke rings,
Talon-clenched ember glows.
Chain shinin' all colors on some coral reef...
Cyrus gloms together the scenes transpired:
Sloppy seconds, battle royale in the rumbleshack, a tiff or two,
Swills a swig of his patron saint and gurgles,
"It's all gravy."

True Teddy No Teddy Body

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He speaks in shadows,
He drinks in silence.

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He needs no momento mori,
He has four eyes of lavender.

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He is agile like a basiliscus,
He is as quiet as a fog.

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He walks the path of no contender,
His vigil is unconscious.

Don't Transcend Nothin'

Lashing his last fine gasp,
He stings in blistering silence,
In infamy, this man of stillness,
Stammers untrammeled.

Umbilical is his bilious self-speak,
Meaning the little tubers protruding
From the corpse of the dreck
About to be spent was once supple.

He breaks in bones to forgo body ingrown,
Droops in purge from dreams,
Staking his moment contained,
To puncture her ripened sleep.

She militates his million little trinkets,
Digesting his sounds and scalding
In a bristling furore of limbs,
Giddiness subsides, trascendin' nothin'.

City of Lasers

Gnarled in the furthest reaches of New Jerusalem,
Foundling fidgets a tic inside its cloying caul,
Rife with tweens and Gasolina, Red Bull Vodkas,
The invasion assignment, shcumbags and dockers,
Foundling’s got the blues like his glowing libation.
Chishu, the smiling imp of his soul,
Cradles every tendril of Doom in his Duomo,
Stares at the stars beneath the statue's anonymous vigil,
Knowing a thing or two about zero assoluto,
Off-kilter gaits and obnoxious paroxysm,
Los unloads homogenous vom-bomb.
Him beaming sorriso through the night.