.

Guided by rays

In chime tizzies
Gulped by moments smaller
Than babies’ hairs,
.
This new cavalcade
Of ocular plant life
Will make protections,
Sheltering under bogs of reality
.
But oh so bandying,
They might be you
Caught cuffed and climbing walls,
Rightness’s honey combs

How can something on the outside

Light me from within,
.
And why is it that time is moving forward
If what we’re moving toward is that beacon,
That garden of the past containing splendor,
All we need as earthly harmonies
Crash on our eyelids

If there were some essence,

I would think it would come from England…
.
And I don’t really know why,
I just look upon this meadow now,
Which doesn’t really look like much,
Just like the Sex Pistols’ songs don’t really look like much,
On paper,
.
Just like us dancing,
Under lights,
Doesn’t really look like much,
To the mind anchored, smitten, grounded.
.
But as I was saying earlier,
I don’t really know.

We’ve got food on the table,

And we’ve got love in our hearts,
So we have it all,
.
But it wasn’t always like this,
And don’t let anyone fool you,
Telling you you just need one,
And not the other.

Nothing uttered in a bar is ever a lie,

And when I go to the liquor store,
I see the gems of humanity,
And all is assembly,
Wills transfixed on constructing morales,
Having tasted so much of
Intelligent movement with eyes,
Pierced with acceptance’s lack,
Keeping hold out for more moving,
Crossing street signs.

The thing about Jesus

Is that I KNOW people,
And no one’s perfect.
.
Jesus would glare at me,
I know it,
Beyond a shadow of a doubt.
.
I can see him there,
In front of an American flag,
He keeps singing for that thing,
Sings it when he clocks in for work
Finds that gold helmet
On the green wall
And gets to sifting
The brass from the ass.

A pestilence attacks you from the inside, and used vertices, straight lines, to defeat you. The pestilence knows you. Its atoms mimic and mock you, a living strain from fury sands that proves the obliteration of goodness on earth.

An angel can see you, but she cannot help you, she can only reflect what you are, mortal, by her own oppositeness. She is round, wholesome, nurturing and life-affirming, your temporary respite as you lay down to sleep with your own colors. And how naively you toted those colors. How naively you immersed with them, entered oblivion with them, maybe a young child walking through leaves, or looking at posies, feeling a gentle breeze caressing the back of your neck, the sun temporary, the day temporary, and wondering what it all meant, why the world seethed, bled, begged, pleaded and bartered, for your colors, to saturate them with its own, your sullying a tasting, finally, on mortality’s day.

A symbol of God’s grace,

A model of beauty,
I have now
Only in my mind,
Where it belongs,
Because the actuality of it
Coats my own caresses of wardrobes,
Choosing cloaks to wear
Over this resuscitative din,
Like the humming of a furnace,
All these passing moments.

Reading another interesting New Yorker article now (it’s feast or famine with this magazine) about Jorge Ramos, anchor of Latino-catering Univision, and his exploits with Donald Trump. Apparently Trump not only refused to do an interview with him, but posted Ramos’ invitational letter on instagram, complete with Ramos’ personal phone number, and then at this press conference refused to answer Ramos’ question, and kicked him out. Clear lack of poise and respect for an important figure in American communications, if nothing else, hardly behavior fit for presidency. One thing I’d like to add, though, for everyone who thinks America should raise its minimum wage — that’s the whole reason Mexicans come to this country in such droves, they can work here and easily earn enough money to support a family. I must admit I don’t really know TOO much about Mexico, I know the Ciudad is really crime-addled, but let’s not treat the current situation in America as if the minimum wage is the problem, especially when raising it would hurt companies like the one that owns the South Bend Tribune, which happens to be a really vital player, for its size, in an already extremely depleted industry. I’m also disgusted with the Democratic party for making its primary objective to “build an economy”… what about values like public schools, women’s rights, water supply? People don’t like being poor? Deal with it. We live in the most self-conscious nation of all time. I wanted to be a teacher — I wouldn’t even know what to DO with 30,000 dollars a year. I’d be like throwing 10 dollar bills into my fire place to keep warm with, after biking home for the day, burning no fossil fuels. Anyway, I hardly think Mexicans are escaping some sort of humanitarian crisis by immigrating, I think America just offers a preferred working lifestyle.

It’s raining in my mind now,

From my reserve,
Once again bracing me up
After waking
Within this just one life
And sunshine
That plagues me
Just as do my arms and legs,
Uncontrollable truncheons
For the mistake making
That with my imagination I gouge
Into drenched distress
For seeing you.