Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Miss O'Keeffe and I

My tears were dressed in the tired movements
Of black and white film
Losing innocence to sound and color
To glossy images of ghostly white crumbled flesh
And ghastly red chalked lips
A furrowed questioning brow
And a twist of a collared wrist
Grabbing at the crowd 
Of sad confections and thoughtful feet
And black tie affairs put on with meaningless heirs
As I flung my heavy heart away
And I let you lick the hurt by day
To cool my heart and hide my tired head 
Upon rust red hills of bakers' clay
Nevermore to be flat and gray

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Be Simple and Clear

By the gospel of torturous traditions
By vulgar contradictions
By the domestication of the cursed and damned
By your old world moth-eaten words
By drowning in assiduous absolutes
By irregular irrational flow
By following fiercely
Of curiously wagging stranger tongues

By bitterly speaking brutalities
By hidden sombre pleasure
By disparate fatalities
By ambiguous anointing projected in reflected silence
By approachable sovereignty sorrowfully swallowed
By unimaginative unaccountable uncompromising cardinal arrogance
By a calloused
By an indifferent closeness that laments hostile love

By fear of defeat desertion dystrophic destruction
By fear of manic maniac krazy 
By fear of strange dreams rubbing their eyes
By fear of eyes closed ears closed mouths closed hearts closed
By fear of chains cuffs locks links barriers bars

By fear no more!
By guilt no more!
By pain no more!

By jovial joyous joyous joy!
By deciphering Whitman's annotations
'be simple and clear'
I too am the poet of the body!
I too am the poet of the soul!

~Saint KKKatie~                                       August 21, 2014

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Excursively Skewed Landscapes

haphazardly threading meaningless signals and symbols 
diabolically backward 
through a hothouse of binary paralleled shapes
 sending structural shivers soaring above 
quivering skylines 
of a vertical people horizontally heard 
 trying pitifully and endlessly to navigating time's 
elegiac interviews
of a rising fulminate isomer tide