Litkicks Message Board Archive

Blue Abandoned Railroad Mourning

Posted to Utterances


The Slaving Meat-Wheel
For Fredrico Garcia Lorca

On the window ledge, Garcia Lorca came upon me, in a dream
Clouds suddenly turned to gold and the wind was laced with oil and sawdust,
A paper bag tangled in swaying branches,
Below a bone marrow cipher tumbling through the moss, covered sky
Reflecting in a sunflower
Hairs of light woven around a moist molecule of mind-furnace.

Bright spherical mirror of rainbows
Glistening in the dreamers’ iris.

Crocodiles filing through the bloody propaganda meat factory-
In New York, Saint Petersburg, Tokyo-
Blood stained silver teeth
With tiny cell windows
Another layer of dust upon land and sea.

Cloud bellies tattooed with rose
Viola, bluebell
Flamingos bathing in the cool air
Among the sound of the copper valley
Birds’ eyes closed, visionless, feathered
Wings aloft, carried in the soft hand, warm breeze

Weepy eyed mechanical men with heavy eyelids,
One sag away from death
Realisation that the mass-produced matchsticks are in your own pocket
-Cannot hear the seagulls wail
Life is suffering

Garcia Lorca, knelt down, in dank yellow NY alley, in a puddle, reflecting-
Another grey dawn, pinned half way between a Great Immeasurable Sleep and Perfect Illuminated Awakenedness,
Silent and black.

The droplets of mercury shivered and glistened,
A shelless snail,
Whose diamond trail we do not always see
We see darkness sometimes fall, and the sound of tiny skulls cracking,
We see, as we gaze with amazement, the revelation of the glittery assembly
Not noticing the snail ahead on the path.

Pacing like zombies through putrid doorways and painted windows,
Following cauliflower eyes and the masters call
With a bank of greenflies, asleep on beds of fingernails.

I’ve been sad for almost twenty years now
In this sensual prism of dreams.
Everyday, excreting with sorrow and praising with silent trumpeting
Oh this terrible glorious sentient fantasy!


Adams’ Leaf

On the Eve of humanity
The child smiled widely, as he came for the first time
(A swarm of dribbling vultures glided out of the valley of death)
before the gates of Eden.


At night.

If I am quiet.
I can hear.
My Mother Snoring (in my ears)
A Distant Motorbike (in my mind)
The Earth Humming (in my skin)
(Like a nucleus, in the Silent Universe)


Blue Abandoned Railroad Mourning

I suffer so! Men suffer so!
Never fully emerging from the ocean of the Great Undulating
Sorrow never letting it fully amerce you,
Just paddling on the existential waves, trying to stay afloat.

The icy winds ripple down the alleys
like invisible streams
as if in a nursery rhyme
star twinkling distant locomotive cold water dawn loneliness
deserted streets of Final Desolation
The stench of blood and corpses lingers in the cold nowhere breeze of the city
Past and future meet in a soundless hum
The old man in suit coughs
And I think Tom Waits put it best;
‘Now the sun’s comin’ up,
and I’m ridin’ with lady luck.’

At 7am on Saturdays the first humans
Start crawling towards the great metallic nest
With wood in their feet and a greed
Tinted lead in their eyes
In the shape of tombstones
The first busload of workers pulls into town
In grey tragic bleak morning
Sleepily chasing the dry wind

The soundlessness that fills the empty dawn air and
Lizard tainted cold swirls-
Dancing through the mist
The town clock chimes