Parliament Funkadelic, Cosmic Slop

The Bears

That baby just waved to me,
but the long-haired grizzly

man pushing the stroller
in a Bears jersey

has lost contact with the world.
He walks with hollowed lochs for eyes,

while the babies arms are waving.

Where in the World is My Cryptozoologist?

To make your eyes bulge at all directions
She has a fresh tomato smile, the tongue
of a dog trapped in a River Park attic in the drought
of July, bathéd in the caress of an el derecho,
in electrostatics to raise the tips of your hair
like the puckering lips of the new world;
to touch forgotten places like an ancient primate.

I want to be charmed, channeled, tempered, forged.
Born from the pool of ivory in your face.
I'm willing to pack all of your gift ideas into my pillow case.
I can't sleep on choices; the lemurs do have pretty eyes.
I guess i'm okay. I approach the new day with an advanced laughing.
You come and touch me like a howling skeleton.

You were wearing a simian a similar ape your dark forklift
is a cosmic dance cereal. I want to play dress up, I want to bend spoons.
My entire side has been torn open, it won't heal, nothing heals
in such a deep loch I'll peel it all away like a monkey in a brain scientist costume.
When I am fully exposed, or have become some undefinable oneness
astralopithecus, after rinses, repeat and lay it to me lucely.

Simian

That cat needs to remove
my self from its intuition.

I am the kid with the animal box,
a mannequin on an escalator.

I was socialized
with the body of a robot.

My phonographic arrival
is the sound of mummification,

THE RATTLING

heads of babies.

Doorway

That fish is a shadow
cast from a dreamcatcher.

1985

I was
discovered

beneath

the toad cloud
with a mushroom

in one

hand and a tomato

in the other.

I guess

I'm glad

I'm

not the turtle.

Autumnal Coming

Leaves
begin to fall.

The deer
have returned

to the light
from the canopy.

Two squirrels
spiral up a poplar.

A spiderweb
and the branch of an oak

come together
as a dream catcher.

This is communion.

The Apology

Books began
to open up

between us

and I am sorry
for the pages

I wrote you.

A Celestial Compass (by Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī)

Tonight the stars unite, scatter, scintillate

it's a bridal decent from skies above 

a full moon.

Venus serenades her celestial songs

like a drunk nightingale in spring.

Northern stars wink amorously at Leo

Pisces stirs up dust from deep beneath.

Jupiter gallops towards Saturn:

Saddle up old man,

let's rejuvenate.

Mars, palm bloodied, sword sheathed 

is a healer now

benevolent, like the sun.

Aquarius, the waterwheel of life

pours pearly rain on Virgo.

The seven sisters, eternally synthesized,

have no fear of Libra.

Could Aries ever flee its mother in rancor?

Sagittarius, moonstruck, heart-pierced,

roams the impassioned night

bound to Scorpio.

Cancer, mud-struck, void of celerity,

needs a sacrificial bull to pull through.

On a night like this 

the sky is a compass

and love is bliss.

Shams, at the break of dawn

the luster of your moonlit face

transforms the dark night

to bright day.

*From Love Mad: Poems of Rumi. Translated from the Persian by Kambiz Homayounfar.

Good News

One of my poems was recently published in the summer 2012 volume of Obsession literary magazine. Have a read please, and support Obsession.

My Wild Rose

Your love
is like a wild

white labradoodle.

This is how
I know it's

not just lust.

The forest is molecular
in your elven rain.

[God],

let us run free, forever.

The Storm from Wisconsin

I prayed for a storm
to rip over lake Michigan

and It is you, those eyes
of God, everywhere

I look. From the porch
of my small townhouse,

from the window of my office,
from the shores of the lake

and the banks of the river.
I know this pain.

It will wash over me
with gale force winds,

an el derecho
[through my heart].

I live to watch you
from a distance

and wonder
what my world

will look like when
your [truth] hits my sails.

The Matriculation of 2006

*

Looking

for direction,

should I tell 

the story 

of my old life

how I shed

like a sycamore

one midsummer night,

how just moments 

before our second date

you told me

you crashed your Mustang 

and wouldn't be able to see me

anymore, no more.

*

In a basement 2005,

Dave sat behind his drum set,

I grabbed my guitar

and didn't put it down

until the fall 2006. 

So, I write this letter

to thank your Mustang 

for veering off the path

for I never

would have found 

my true 

love 

in the warm 

March forward of spring.

Sentimental Movement

I almost feel
I need
to kneel
down
and take
a piece of

                    the earth

with me.

The Outcrops: Or the Outer-Shell

Legs
had the body

of a wolf

and a short
anteater-like proboscis

consisting of

a feathery
beak-like composite.

It's appendages
rained down like tentacles

so it could slither like an octopus
across the tree-tops of the

of The Wilderness.

However,
within the Tesla-Alloy Outcrops

of the city,

it could move
through various fiberoptic

and electrostatic

currents.

Various texts and pictorial
representations discovered

in the Deep Web
and in the ancient ruins

of Berlin

served as blueprints
for the Outcrops.

The Nons
immersed themselves in alloys,

in the outer-shell.

Static

Imagine you died
because you fell off

a cliff.

(In reality),

you've been scalped
by the TV eye

jockey.

[Center Stage].

The Road

*
My favorite road,
I don't know your name.

You pull me into the corn,
into the bats,

the moon.

3 raccoons
watch me from a poplar.

The rabbits
are all around

me like moments of silence.

*
I hop, hop away
from the lunar-light

and back towards the city

(women's gymnastics
tonight in London).