Archive for March, 2008

Five

Posted in poetry on March 19, 2008 by skyscraped

On the day of the 5 year anniversary of the Iraq war.

Five

fingers on my hand
count down to five
breaths I have to take
to clear my head of
seven devils and five
years you’ve been able to fake
two wars and five decades
of detonation, leading up to these last

four years
four years
four years

for years I’ve know you worked in shadow
with five corners spread in defense
lock down your cross and halo
cause I’m gonna use it to build a fence
around the ones who can’t stand up
cause you’ve broken all their bones
around the ones who’ve burned their backs
cause you’ve bombed all their homes
around the ones who wake up hungry
and the ones who wake up late
and you will wake up holy
in your satanic godly hate
and I will take

Five
breaths
for each
Year
Of Our Deaths

Five
minutes
for each
limb
to grow back
the last
Five
Ages of Man
stones in my back–
and I wonder
what true numbers hold
these five years I’ve birthed
a dragon, black.

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Overheard

Posted in Uncategorized on March 10, 2008 by skyscraped

From Long Count: A Song of Days:

Mr., you better drink some water,
Mr., you
Better wake up now, Mr.?
It’s hot out here. You can go into the mall, you know,
cause it’s got air. Mr.?
Mr… ?
I’ll sing to you…

Will you be awake when the clouds roll in,
over your shoulders and under your skin?

Will you be there when the sea turns to sand
when the Annunaki return to the land?

Will you walk through a dust storm to find what you’ve lost?
To rescue the babies all caught in the fog?

Cause we’re singing the song, and it’s a long time come,
Radioman please play it for once,

Play it along, on your little toy drum,
I’ll be singing, and singing when the storm’s begun.

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To Be Shouted from the Rooftops

Posted in poetry on March 6, 2008 by skyscraped

FUCK what’s real. We are the Universe;
A condom broken in the middle of starseed–
Channel that
Coming down all viscous light and acid-sound
The drums, the drums they speak of HORUS, rising
Every time you decide to live beyond your sacreligion,
Nature in a prison, carried-out, shook-up, piled up, waterboarded,
infected Malls of War, hospital beds–
Every time you decide to get out of your head.

FUCK what’s real. This place is a landing ground.
A place to be birthed from, not burned to the ground.
And if it’s true what they say, and the war comes,
I’ll see you on the train to the camps, the razor wire,
Pyres rising higher–find the answers in the fire in the third tower–
WHAT THE FUCK? How can this happen with such little time?
We just got a fax that his blood turned to wine
When Magdalene came–
Don’t forget that name.
She’s not too far down if you follow the game, like a chessmaster
I step into the Eye
of the North-South aligned Pyramid of the Sky and am squeezed–Deep–
Nothing sleeps eternal sleep.

FUCK what’s real. We are the Universe.
The Lotus-rocking Isis and Osirus, the twilight-sighing, lip-locked.
And you know, there’s snow in Atlantis.
And the signs are all around. Your mind is bound
but not gagged, trust me, you’ll be found.

If you FUCK what’s real.
And come in the mystery.

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