Sunday, September 23, 2012

GRS (When found before the flood)

Whence have you come from, soft children of mine own mind?
Take refuge in my darkness; boughs of roses you will find
atop a breeze, for only what flies can hold up my sentiments.
I stand undressed before glories of natures before me
but thick window-glasses separate me,

Mother, take me. Nurses are not women.
Teats do not satisfy, divinity remains sheathed,
Gory armies till land in my hand as i am fidgeting.

But you! Silly children! Stay and sup to my cooking.
I delight cretins, i was raised by jugglers.
Curious broths escape my kitchen
Rows of running shoes in line make wine.

And i drink! How i drink!
I drink to paintings yet to be painted
I drink to myshkins yet to be tainted
by the blood under the wheel.

The wheel churns mercilessly outside my window to the underworlds,
but the glass repels my bombs.

A flood is imminent; those above shall hear mere whispers
and I will float.

The scum will breathe
and climb down the trees.



Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Clockwork Man

Dawn to dusk; lust for food and gravity
Clockwork man chugs on happily.
To be like you! With a mere smattering of thought.

You show me the time time and again
I waved you away too long.
Straight lines and simple rhymes
to illuminate your shadow.

I was pulsing like bad quartz
You were smiling behind the counter
as I vomited seeing your daughter play
with miles of wolves around her.

Wise men's tyrant-frenzy of impotence
and fretted conceit have killed me twice.

Sharpen knives.



Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

God's Retarded Son (Hereafter GRS)

Weary of the thin men
Weary of the tin men
and people's sorcerors.

Bounties of grey
and dirty underwear
Is it all for us?

Brass coins jangle among my loins
while the long-haired one drinks wines
that were once water.

Why, Father?

When i was three,
I sat atop this tree
and watched you teach him the grind.
But it's fine.

Why, Mother?

It is dank and gloomy in my basement-cellar
a row of mindcells lead the way
to the awaited jailer.

I shall find him, I timed him: Arrival at ten past.
At last, sweet torment!
You have borne the moment.

But is it time?


Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Rasa continues

In the midst of my proclamation i paused in between
and eyed the vile woman as she fled the scene.

There was as yet no sense in the stars and the skies
I was betrayed and mocked in chide
by the man who draws the straight lines in time.

Flee! Thankless servants of time and place
Your false employers have forsaken you,
cease to adorn this space.
We'll make something new.

I dipped a toe in the pond ("Sea!")
and careened on, my eye straying to the horizon.
I was late in coming to you.

For many hells went past and the sun grew stronger
and in spite of myself i saw my arms get longer
in order to wade to truth.

I dipped my toe in again, the animal mooed atop the hill!
Why swim when there is time to kill?
 


Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Unrelated - to be continued

Did I tell you about the day we went to meet god?
We had a picnic in his laboratory.

I played chess with his retarded son
but we both lost and got angry
and beat up on the other one.

He pleased me, this magnificent cretin.
Sanguine specimen from the veritable stable of Christ
gleefully jumped and down
upon yells of crunching bones in spite.

At the next he was content, his tongue rolling out of his face
to merely taste the air, not to lap up spare praise
as the townsmen are wont to do, from the unworthy sane man I am.

His old man beckoned, and I parked myself next to him.
I looked upon heavenly coffee, eggs, butter and jam
but they tasted the same.

I grabbed some breadsticks and pondered my fix.

To ponder my egg-taste findings was the mission
and (of course!) how it mirrors the human condition.

I didn't get far, I didn't get long
as in time food projectiles starting coming at me
from an arm so strong.
I simpered at the cretin,
and a loaf of bread stuck itself in the hole in my face.
And God chose to use the whips
dutifully brought by the smug elder basket-case.
   


Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Rasa's Lament

They could not traverse me;
I am an archipelago. 
And they knew not how to fly
and the sea made them sick.

I could not forsake me.
Try as i might, I was cursed with second sight
which showed me the darkness in light
and emptiness in the full.

Someone told me to ride the bull to the mountaintop
There I sat still, and the animal meditated in its own way.
Many moons passed, and finally i strode to the edge to see
this pond spread fifty leagues below me.

"Pond? This is the sea."

Call it what you will, I rolled down the hill
and encountered an old hag with a bag.

"You have done well to come this far!
You have done well to keep your seat.
My masters are the masters of this land
and they have sent you treats!"

She leered and pulled out myriad silly things
many, rattling and shining things.
I trembled, I knew not who operated this ride
I cried,
"Where have you sent the other girls and boys?
And why have you brought me children's toys?"







Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.