Litkicks Message Board Archive

Spontaneous Unconnected Prose

Posted to Action Poetry

I was couped up for a couple of days so I really had nothing to do save read and write... this is what came out

There are five things in my house, myself
my mother and three cats, beacons on the washed morning silk curtains
and lowlite autumn condition, being blissfully tired anxious
falling into deep episodes of forgetting and tired nonchalance wandering like rum
soaked drunks unaware of their constitution
I start to feel layered and hammered to a rusty part of Maya
trying to cut it off with a spoon and lazily tending to no wounds
That was yesterday in the morning and I was still listless all day

October 19, 2002

Formatted stares has invaded my house and took up residence in the corner
shaking and covering itself with a blanket, taking to winds of all sorts all self
GSYBE is playing for a second time in an hour and I don’t think it likes it
The floor, the room, all messy, I have books everywhere, stacked like
vengeful patriarchs waiting to put up barbs
I dream of Buddha and it is still here
deleafing itself across the firebrand paper and cross-legged statues and such
Its intrusive like heroin veins in ones body all starved and wanting attention
I am becoming fascinated with music channels
They have false lights and its image is still floating outside
Specter and assimilating into the car and skull
Why are you so ornery like a trumpet stuffed inside a closet
My mind is made up
I’m going to study it

October 19, 2002

Its past ten and I feel like smoking a cigarette
Blues are playing in the background, sweetening the sonorous nature of the room and
winking waterplastered walls like eyes as big
I felt sadness and elation in a period of seven hours, rajasic tendencies have made their
equatorial home and they aren’t leaving anytime soon, possibly forever
Manish boys, Hendrix, needle sticking outwards and a sight of Kansas in that heroin
and all filtered out save blue and violet streaming skies and amber cornstalks taller
than myself
Drug hazed butterflies pipping and flying from leaf to leaf and stopping
in a house to receive some fantastic drug addled vision
Arid Avalokiteshvara
Manish Boy, Manish Boy, and I without a woman
Maybe becoming a bhikku in ol Mexico and finish the days in a hut and robe
watching the retreating sunsets over desert dry mountains and eternal rock face
bubbling out of some primordial crust, sparse tenacious wildlife surrounding myself
in a haze

October 23, 2002