Yes, blue rose
I know you , I know you not
As the pale blue night
Comes wallowing me at the very theshold
Of my fractals laden eyes
Petrified and aghast at the asphalt moon
Of the halfsky
Of the forbidden night
Writhing in angers of the sunless peninsula
Within the barrack walls
Of libido castrated that is so-called
As upman democracy...

And the democracy worsens
The mimicry of subhuman upturned soil
As the Guantanamo Bay cries hoarse
Unably it cries to bay for for the fair blood of breath
Standing upon the stripped cornerstone -
The phallus denuded, as it were,
- by the bootlegging little creature
Clad in muftis of burkha to hide
Their shoestring shame all in sighs
Just of contemplation
In patriotic cosmopolitics...

Yes, you blue rose
In swollen womb of laughter and fright
Curse the blesings that you carry
As stillborm napalm booms for the cherry orchard
And I measure the passing time of your face
In bushels of prenatal fire and brimstone -
But the scorching skinflints unable to bury
The long line of hatchets
Under the grand old cypress tree...

Cry, Guantanamo, cry
For nothing to hear the lengthening songs
Of pale blue night with me
And with my blue rose to die as gamely
Hardly unheard and unsung for so long
As the phallic totem of the hunting tribe
Besiege the leafy jungles of forest at bay.

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Evolving
And revolving
Tears
Break out
In words -
And in a shell
Of war

As if
Flowers do create
Flirty words
To recreate a war
Spirally
To pursue the woolen silence
In a facsimile
Of your womb's cry
To defoliate
The burdens of child-bearing
In a leafy foliage

Like in
A dragging spiral
Of glass onion
You revolve and evolve,
To degenerate -
In a famished world
Breaking apart
Around you and for you
To part with
Your long testament
As so written
Inside you, outside you

What you do
Is what you conceive
To be deceived
Lonely by your world
Of famished womb
To evolve
In a brewing nutshell
Of glass onion
Taking and taliking
In ceramic soils
Of metabolic violence
To overthrow
The last emperor
Enmeshed
In recoilig dusk

The last emperor
Seeing that curly woods
In silken roots
Daggers you well within
The soprano silence
- as if to be broken away
From the glass gondola
To die not in tears
But by recoiling back
Inside you
As like Medusa
Conceived
And convicted for nothing
In your womb
Of no tears and pains

Enmeshed
Inside and outside
Of ancient dusk
You make no begging
As you roll back
In recoiling leaves
Of poly-bones
That never die in you
But you die
Like dying in your own tears.

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Another day
Into an another end
Something more
Than the courteous death
Like in a flowering sun
That breaks the slowing light
Into another finality

I see the forgetting face
Of hers, not known her ever before
As if not letting me
Kiss the corpses of darkness
Of an another day same as
The pugmarks in another moon
As the colours of silence
Knightly deface her olden death
More than the breathless soul
Of my half-way aloneness as always
Through the consonance
Of another day into anther finality

The other day
I saw her own death, with me
Rising and uprising
Like a mannequin in a harem
Of my lockjaw warmth
Of glassy orgasm
Of body and soul together
In longing lapses
Of slowing moments for another day
To leave behind the pugmarks
Of another moon
In my halfway loneliness
So together with her.

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Be-in, be-out
Changes do flower, changes
Do doodle
Deflowering virgin soils
As such upturns
From one perverse sin to another
Do fly out
Of the killer wheels
That ever so turn
Black and blue as changes
Never to undo
The doodle of politics
Of changes...

Changes never change
Changes have looked into your eyes
To see you in shell of silence
Of poverty that masks your colour
Only to demask you
Curly into your worst shadows
Undressing you
From one begging point to another

And you resemble you
As you were
In your cosmetic shoulder winds
That refuse to blush off
The whitness of your reigning empire
Not yet to show off
Your hiding bellylines of darkness
As if in full-blown endness

And your pastness
In corinthian agronomics
Of ecnomics
Has raised you in presence
Of power
Perfidy, and pelf that have
Dragged you
Into the deep despoils
Of nothingness bysetting
You like the emperor
Always knitting his wool,
- around his vested body
Without clothes

Without clothes
Sometimes being in
And sometimes
Being out you look
The way
Your vested body rolls
In shell of silence
Yet you ever so turn
The wheels
That never ceases
To look
Black and blue
Only

Changes
Never change - be-in
And be-out
The harmonics
Of politics
Of change, as if
Bail out
The selfsame emperor
Without clothes...

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Like
A breastful of women
Deeply deep
As your closed eyes,
You so ask me
To silence the shells
Of horrors
- of the divine guns,
At the footsteps
Of lapsing deaths...

How could I tell you
To drown deep
Deep as the endless tides
Of love
That so hides you
In fears and tears,
Of morphed corpses
You bear as I
Silence the guns
Into your carrying wombs
Of regeneration
To rear us into love
And freedom

As guns thunder
Could I tell you I don't love you
Could I tell you so well
That war will
So kill you into smaller things
Of nothing but shadows
That will leave you holding my hands
In human chains
Lengthening in armlets
Of visceral clouds -
To uphold the the sun of many
In tandem
Of love and freedom

Does love procreate
The genetic sons
Of war, of thundering guns
In la la land
As you wipe your fears
And tears -
Of daylong silence
To raise
Your fists of fury
Away
From the quiet pride
Of ambushed peace -
That never rains in post-meridian
Candy-floss
All for you, you

Would you pick me up
For a while like a breastful of women
To close the seventh seal
- and I will love your tequila eyes
To silence the guns
To wipe off the westcoast blood
That the la la land leaves you not
And me to do doodle
Of some love for freedom
In tandem...

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Nothing
Springs like a surprise
Nothing goes
For the hungry words
You swallow
In the poet's heart...

It is
Like the wrong smell
Of wavy wine
- straight from the earhen vat
As if with a slow pulse
Of throbbing images you beat
Hard on the poetic heart
Hungry for words as unwise
As to kill
The wine for a while

You burst
At the right seam of sin
Like a white crow
Peeling off the wild skin
Of rotten flesh
You decide to wear
In jibes
Like a forerunner
Of the poet's
Words and images
So that
The wine killer dies only
For you to go for
The unclaimed words
And images
In wavy wine
Not stale
But white ash
Of nothing

Words do nothing
Images cut
Through the ginger blade
Of pale yellow
To gingerly whitewash -
Your springing surpprise
As the poet
Downcast in wine
Longingly
Leaves you awhile
For a rebirth
With a heart
- of poetic foibles
To kill you - again.

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