Many Musics, Tenth Series (ii)

[Cenacle]

continued from:
viewtopic.php?f=2&t=30754&p=197608#p197608

vii. White Shorts

Call it want or genetics.
Tap twice, call it music. Squeeze between
smiling thighs when you can.
I’ve tried to figure between the bars,
& come up with my own hands,
holding tighter.

Call it music, tap twice, want to understand
like a good dream. There’s dancing &
hard cries tonight, your thighs wide,
your moans blow out for me, more,
I want more.

I dream, try to understand. Dance & cry,
it all means something. What? What.

I called it want, my music’s eating fuel,
when I chased your fine ass, & yours,
& yours. How many asses? How much music?

Want. Genetics. The psychedelic game
flesh plays with its infinite numbers.
Watch it dance the night. Watch it
fuck the skies. Watch it bomb &
brutalize itself. Watch the one flesh
of the world tear & mend & re-create
itself by the countless centuries.

Call it music, tap twice, a good dream,
a better laugh. Try to understand,
listen. Try to understand, breathe.
Try to understand, hmmmmmm.
Try to understand, awake & dream.
Try to understand any, better to laugh it all.

******

viii. Away (Braiding Song)

Simple. Simple. Let be. But I wanted more.
I dreamed to understand. Sought the secret,
the one embedded in every moment,
in every game, every shadow.
Saw a good ass, sought a kind face.
Saw skyfulls of stars, listened for the musics.

Simple. Simple. Let be. No answers here,
just better & worse moves, words, reactions.
Do the wars burn themselves out, truths
in their ashes? No. Just new wars.
I wanted more. I dreamed to understand.
Anything at all, embedded in the moment?

Simple. Simple. Let be. I read many books,
found many hid in them like I do,
here to expand safely, gaze the earth
within & mull what here to grow.
I wanted more. I dreamed to understand.
How can my musics soften the hard human world?

Simple. Simple. Let be. I got high,
I drank & ate & chewed my mind wide,
to feel more me, feel past me, learn
how to feel we, worst hours, hardest faces,
feel we. I wanted more. Dreamed everywhere.
Immolated pen & paper to tell.

Simple. Simple. Let be. Embraced Beauty,
solitary star hung upon desert of night,
embraced it all, but let nothing go.
My old pages laugh & say jingles dangle
when you jangle up. What need to dream
or understand more? Just jangle up.

Simple. Simple. Let be. I want more.
I dream to feel true. What the fallen tree
tells me by its quiet passing. What the old man
worrying about bread more needs.
What blunt & subtle consummates this world
every hour, how my musics better harmonize.

******

ix. Obscura

Simple. Simple. Let be. This dream finds me
running, running again, I shake, I sniff,
I sniff again. Always something tight, something
pink in the air. Always something dead too,
loaming & loaming. Arriving, departing. Still
running, I shake, I sniff, I sniff again.

A room, half dim, sleeping torso on a bed,
I sniff, something tight, something pink.
Loaming & loaming. These hours taste old,
taste sweet, I touch you through this dream.
I lay near you in bed, listen for your breathing,
I touch your shoulder, a stir. Loaming & loaming.

Is it caress here? Is it hard want?
A bedstand now, old song on a pink radio.
I move nearer to understand, I take
you in some dreams, take you hard,
take you softer, which this, if any?
The song now louder, you stir, which
dead are you? Which piece of my heart?
I reach. A soft breast. A beautiful hand.
A long unheard voice. A remembered smile.

Simple. Simple. Let be. Good advice for
the dying & dead. I pull you atop me,
man, woman, a beloved step, a taste.
Sniff me, nudge me, breathe heavy
through me, fill my fingers, cock, & stars
with new, unspent rhythms, go down
on me deep, spit me, fling me in the air,
the woods, the moonlight, the sea.

I slow my running, slow, slow & stop.
What you are, what I am, all of this,
remains untapped, uncracked, unhad,
unclaimed. I roll into you, finally,
& wake in my own skin. Know nothing,
know little, know nothing, & still try.
Hard shake of the bones, I still try.

******

x. Love is Violins, Tributes, & Ghosts

"That’s how the madness of the world
tries to colonize you: from the outside in,
forcing you to live in its reality."

--Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation, 2014.

A breath. Resume. Close my hand-made book
of rhythms, more pages bloodstick’d.
Wrap it thicker in leaves, green ones over
the dried ones. Climb up to the road now.
Time to move.

From my pouch the herbs & powders set me
into waking sleep. So to walk through the night,
seeing doubly, the visible land, the dreaming.
Will the trees tell tonight, the stars above,
which will tell me why? Seeing doubly,
then a push, a jerk, now singly. Ohh.

I walk between two lovers. The one shaped
& shaded like music, the other music herself.
My hand to caress & heat, or shape
the hot noise to pleated rhyme?
More or less my sliding eye, lashing,
hard-cutting, or open-fistly ear,
smile-shivering tongue?

I love you both, long serve you both.
You kneel near a fountain’s spray,
mixturing long strands of your hair,
I watch, I listen. You are song,
there is music. Stars above us
worshipped because hands were meant
to hold, but not given why.

Another breath. Another. Walk on.
Morning’s coming to the world & Dreamland
alike. My want for you enthralled in my bones,
my sinews, my ongoing remain. Flesh pink
in the dawn, spasm, release. Open
the hand-made book, leaves cast aside,
sing for my very life, sing it, sing it why.

******

xi. Natural Recovery

I don’t sleep tonight. It is still dark.
No moon for why or light either.
Me to reck alone. The faces come
unbidden, my mind unused to sleepless
hours, no defenses for their kind.
They come, & they come.

My mother was a scholar, I’ve tried & failed
to talk to her by books. Her office
lined to breathless ceiling but for
one little item. A crumpled puppet,
shaped of an astronaut, made by
my small hands, a present. The rest lost.

My father was a singer, he sold pots
& pans by day from a cart, but at
night he moved from fire to fire,
hut to hut, woods to field, singing,
leading, leading, songs of the moon,
the full, fleshy round bottomed
lush lipped moon. Sang to her as
he wished my mother to listen,
to receive.

The first girl I lived had hair so long
it tangled between us, like it wanted
to join me in loving her, wanting her,
entering her too, twisting into her moans,
slow to let me go, so slow, drown
with me, drown with me, do.

My greatest teacher, leading me in hikes
to dangerous croppings. Made me choose
among uncertain steps, choose, leap
a little, not know, not know even more.
Since you’ve moved on, I look for the
uncertainties, wonder where they are.

Other faces, hard, soft laughing.
Women loving to be bitten, needing to be
bitten, bitten, kept. Keep me. Keep me.
Love me & keep me long after I go.

Brothers, eventually uncertain my devotion,
less with me as I go. More rain,
less moonlight. Less moonlight, more
obsession with men as the whole of it.
I loose you each, nor let you go,
my hand still open for each of yours.

The night’s dark hours are spent,
here I am, in these quiet pale woods,
alone. All of you recede, as each of you
had, & I nod, & keep breathing.
Keep breathing, only the blood & bone
in me to compel, remember &
keep breathing, love & keep breathing,
love you all, detritus of words &
touches & spasms, embrace myself
like I was still a powerful young mystery,
& keep breathing.

******

xii. Memento

I read my old book: "It was departures
as well as absences. It was faces present,
then omnipresent, then receding, then lost."
No cover, no author. Keep as memory
of my bookish years, when I believed
they could persuade fears, dissipate greeds,
give men a special hope they could feed
their hearts with.

I am letting go, letting be. Put better,
letting else. These Woods no more fully waking
than I am. How to push it just a little more
between us? What memories left to
let go, let be, let else?

Burn this old book too. Uncertain sky
above, make my argument. Trees beautiful
& mostly indifferent about me. Burn it.
Burn it with tenderness, page by
page, no hate. I give you Woods back
these words, songs, sparks, snaps, let else.

Now the fire begun, take my clothes,
my cloak, shirt, everything. Too many,
empires of lies by which rags upon
the back, is her breast harnessed
for display, work, or consumption?
Does he feed from the gardens or
their scraps, or less than this?
The heat closer to my skin now,
loving it so. I’ve only a sack left,
survival took so many tools.

Burns hours & hours, I lie close,
fry a little too. Let else. Take me,
take me, take me. Not death, not quite,
pull me in, pull me down, into dream,
into Dreamland, pull me down, pull me in.
Invert me, me singing for you now,
invert me, my cock hard & pulling for you now,
invert me, my breathing inside out,
my heartbeat letting else, hmmmmmm,
letting else, burst smilingly, arrival.

******

[Cenacle]

It’s been over two years since I’ve posted new poems of this series at this site. I used to post a new bunch weekly, while at a team meeting at my work. Those meetings stopped, and I didn’t have that regular moment to do this. That job laid me off about a month ago, and I now feel the pull to post anew. Many await posting. Here goes a few.

*** Many Musics, X, vii *** White Shorts *** “I’ve tried to figure between the bars, & come up with my own hands, holding tighter.” This should be the title of my autobiography.
*** Many Musics, X, viii *** Away (Braiding Song) *** “I dream to feel true.” Bang pow!
*** Many Musics, X, ix *** Obscura *** “Hard shake of the bones, I still try.” Should be on my calling card. “Loaming” in this poem refers to mining for gold, shaking off the dirt and debris that shroud It.
*** Many Musics, X, x *** Love is Violins, Tributes, & Ghosts *** “sing for my very life, sing it, sing it why.” These are the Dreamwalker’s poems, his mind, his tale, even as he and I feel twined at times.
*** Many Musics, X, xi *** Natural Recovery *** Love and keep breathing. Love and keep breathing.
*** Many Musics, X, xii *** Memento *** I like this a lot: “ letting else, burst smilingly, arrival.”

[Cenacle]

Continued here:
viewtopic.php?f=2&t=32422

[mnaz]

"The psychedelic game flesh plays with its infinite numbers"..
I like that.