MOTHER AND DAUGHTER COMMUNION

 

They run like colts
in river beds of colored wines
flicking whatever berries
at each other
or something.

They both understand the language
wondering with each other.

Laughing,
and knowing
when they hurt each other.

Suffering for each others pain
and crying
when they dance
in each others rain.

:like ON THE EDGE OF PO VER CITY

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………………

……………….

……………

on the tattered street by the sidewalks of diversity

lie bare and broken the remnants of a civilization’s dream

discarded and no longer significant to the progress of the modern era.

the streets of silence howl with night, they feel the brittle fingers and the bite

………………………..of the lost entrails of the fading sun

they feel that comet on the run

like no longer dying

……………….but no longer fun.

 

……………………..The bright illuminated headlights of the planets sun

………………………………………….shine above the city like a darkened plum

…………………….the skins of the city dirty come

………………….for a breadth of pleasure to fill their sum

……………….but the dreams of the mortals are not soon overrun

………….for they savored the bitter sweetness of the silent one.

 

…………………..broken and shattered you can hear them plea

……………….salvage the remnants or they’ll never see.

 

……………………..and back on the street the wheels still roar

…………….as the fire of the sky above does burn

………………………..so the wheel of the killer still does turn

…………..   as the remnant on the street feels the rubber pound

……         the motor and the earth feel the burning ground.

 

………………………….bells ring         souls sing

……..        the remnant and the sky didn’t hear a sound

…………………..they were happy for the silence

……………………………………in a dream

……………………………………….they   found.

………….

…………….

————————————————
fj llorente – Texas Max King – circa 1996

PLACID ANIMATIONS IN A RED BRICK SHELTER

Buddha-lying-temple

 

The animals need no love.

Weather is always adept to fornication.

Mother’s breastfeeding milk never rises.

When do crickets have time to dance?

Plant specimens grow faster than human specimens.

They shake and grind at the first sight of trouble.

Where do the stars hide during the day?

Does the moon ever really cry?

Every core of burning meteor someday grows cold.

Where does the butterfly buy color?

There is no vault.

There is no permanence, anywhere.

Ever.

 

I once met an old man without a face.

His body was no longer his own.

It had molten into another cocoon.

He was forever trapped in his own shell of gold.

He was always trying to take someone else’s face.

He was a man of many faces. He was two-faced.

He wasn’t a man.

No one called him for advice.

He never needed makeup. He was ugly.

His gold cocoon kept him happy.

He would spin webs of gold around everything he ever wanted.

He had the finest cars, beautiful women, boats, planes, castles and armies.

He would spin webs of gold around all of them.

He had no silver. His cocoon was hollow.

 

One day his web ran dry.

He couldn’t save face.

He died.

His cocoon shrivelled up and melted after the first rain.

His gold ran back into the rivers and buried itself deep in the Earth.

No one ever remembered him ever again.

His children became butterflies and flew away.

Butterflies without any color.

The crickets had no time to dance.

The moon cried that day.

Every mother’s milk began to rise.

A bright green meteor fell to Earth with a tail of gold.

Two worms fornicated in the rain.

And the stars came out at night.

 

 

 

_______________________________________

 

11-11-15

 

 

 

DEEP MINES

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Mines I slave for nights and days

the dark depths conceal

hard hammered walls

of bones and dirt.

 

One hollow cavity I follow

pounding loud and soundly

a suckled pulse

for a dire gem of pleasure

and a mass mother lode.

 

 

In the core shaft of pursuit

the bright gilded veins

gleam ruptured passion

from every mind’s eye

my find you are mine

dear lover.

 

 

 

 

_______________________________

Written August 25, 1999
Revised November 2, 2015

WALKING THROUGH HOLES IN WALLS ON HORSES – PART ONE

This is a collection of ten short poems transcribed from an impromptu poetry session recorded several years ago. I dedicate them to Charles Bukowski as they are in the Bukowski free form style and content. There are ten poems, so I have broken them down into two posts.

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THE ACADEMY

The Academy of Lifetime Lovers
plays on Beverly Rude Street
it’s open season
for anything that rolls.

It’s the Academy of Beverly Night Hill Street.

All of the fountains left standing
do not turn gold anymore
when it rains
are they real?

On the Beverly Hill Street only
it’s a wide street
it’s a hot street
it’s a cold street
it’s another night
on the Beverly Hill Street Blues Street.
It’s another day in the Beverly Hills Street suite.
It’s another life in the Beverly Hills Street shop.

—————————————————————

 

TWO BOURBONS THREE COFFEES AND LESS BEER

Two bourbons three coffees and less beer
the waitress hollered at me
I spit
almost hit the guys foot
he turned around and swallowed hard.

Look pal, it wasn’t my drink
it was the coffee that made you throw up
all over the barfly
that’s no way to get a girl to take you home.
But hey
I’ll save your ass
give me your Amex and we’ll get you home.
I know a cab ride
it will take you to the girl inside
she’ll get you the big one.

————————————————

DARRIN TAKES THE FOUR OCLOCK

Darrin took the four o’clock again today
he was on the same route
on the same train
it wasn’t moving any faster.

Why does Darrin always ride the same train
stop on the same watch
look on the same minute
breath the same hand?

Darrin’s on that same damn train again
and it’s always the same time again.

Why does Darrin ride that time?
Why does Darrin ride that train?
Why does Darrin ride the train on time again?
Why does Darrin ride that train?

Hey, there’s Darrin riding that train again tonight
he’s on time.

Darrin is on the train tonight.

————————————————–

 

THE FOUR OF US HOLLOW WITCHES ARE ALWAYS IN THE WAY

The four of us hollow witches are always in the way.
Damn, the bitch whore
she can’t take it
only side waters
big tides
but don’t let that stop you
there’s no blood on this track.

It’s cherry red and it’s clean
don’t let that stop you
if it wasn’t here to eat
it wouldn’t have been put.

Don’t let that stop you
because it doesn’t stop them.

—————————————————

TWO SADDLES AND ONLY ONE PONY RIDER

I was wondering why horses always walk faster.
Gallop
or whatever they do
whenever they want to do it
you know how horses are
limp legs, big legs, fat legs, skinny legs
horses are horses are horses
why do they call them that?

Just horses
only horses
where are you going on that one?
Oh, it’s just my horse.

Well, every rider has to sit on one
that’s why you have to have one
every rider has to have one
every rider has to sit on one
that’s why they call them horse
that’s why they call them a horse
that’s why they call them horse
that’s what they call horse.

————————————————–

 

1-14SEY31 MK0537

WALKING THROUGH HOLES IN WALLS ON HORSES – PART TWO

This is a collection of ten short poems transcribed from an impromptu poetry session recorded several years ago. I dedicate them to Charles Bukowski as they are in the Bukowski free form style and content. There are ten poems, so I have broken them down into two posts.

1-14SEY31 MK0628

 

PASTRIES

Fellatios buttered grits stuck in my pastry
it’s always stuck in my pastry
like jellies or jams
depends on what kind you get
and how much you drink the juice for.

I like jams
I even like jellies
but some jellies are hard to find
some jams are sticky
I like jams
some jellies are hard to find.

I like jellies
they’re sticky.

———————————————

TWO COTTON KINGS ON A DEAD KING HORSE FRYING

There were two kings
they were dead kings
they were on dead horses
I guess you’d be dead too
if you were on dead horses frying
both kings on dead horses frying
why is that?

Why couldn’t there just be one king
on a dead horse frying?
Nope, there had to be two kings
on dead horses frying.
I remember it said
there had to be two kings on dead horses frying.
I remember it said
there had to be two kings on dead horses frying
on dead horses frying.

——————————————————–

MAYAN SEASONS FROM MORE HOLLOWED HOLES

There’s more hollowed holes I’ve had to fill than anything else
more hollowed holes I’ve had to fill than anything else
There’s more hollowed holes I’ve had to fill than anything else
I wonder why?

Filling hollowed holes
I wonder why
filling hollowed holes gets so hard to fill?

Filling hollowed holes gets so hard to fill
filling hollowed holes gets so hard to fill
I wonder why filling holes gets so hard to follow
I wonder why filling holes gets so hard to follow
filling holes gets so hard to follow
filling holes gets so hard to follow.

Filling holes gets so hard to follow.

———————————————————–

A PERCUSSION SOLO AT THE MERCURY

You should have seen the percussion solo
at the Mercury the other night
God, that girl was hot
well something else was hot that night too
but you should have seen the percussion
God that guy was hot
something else was hot that night too.

Well you should have seen the percussionist
I saw the percussionist
God she was hot that night.

—————————————————

THE COOL CATS BACK IN THE MINE AGAIN

I dug around for the cool cats
back in the mine again
what you’re asking is what I found.

————————————————–

 

1-14SEY31 MK0541

A PRAYER IN TIME OF WAR

 


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A pagan killed a Jew
A pagan killed a Christian
A Jew killed a Christian
A Christian killed a Jew
A Muslim killed a Christian
A Jew killed a Muslim
A Muslim killed a Jew
A Christian killed a Muslim.

They all bowed to pray
to the same ignorant God
with deaf ears
and a passion for killing.

Dear God forgive them.

————————————–

TOWERS HIGH ENOUGH FOR MEN TO SEE

FJL43917

 

Did He not build the towers high.

High enough for men to see.

For men to see the Truth and good.

To build and reach the sky.

 

Or were these towers not enough, too short.

Too short for men to fall.

Did He not build it strong enough

the thick and towering wall.

 

Or maybe towers weren’t meant for men at all.

The towers were built and meant to fall.

 

If this is why He built the towers for men.

Why did He build the towers for men at all?

MINDY AT THE COFFEHOUSE (REVISITED)

Balcony 5REV

 

Mindy leans at me with wide blue eyes,
sparkling stars above a steaming cup
of Bailey’s and Vanilla Bean.
Mindy always has a question,
really meant for God.
Expecting me to answer her,
mystified and energized
in canyon deep philosophy.
Why do lovers lock embraced
in fear and desperation
fighting odds against a world,
fighting odds against a universe?

My buttered bowl of grits
stare back at me.
Lump-less and textured white;
because they know they’ll never win.
Vulnerable surrender.
Her fingers rub her gloss red lips
hungry and seductive.
Listens, and seems satisfied enough,
to pass the salt.

 

QUANTUM OCEANEERING

4W8A1270

 

After years of grouping little bits into place

it first occurred to me

while vacationing in the French Riviera

central mechanisms would connect

when expected to switch.

 

Courses at MIT

and the Atlanta School of Solemn Mechanics

could not have prepared me

for microwave overload

tinkering with random thoughts always

activates loose memories

takes hours to unscrew

tightness from astringents

and in-capacitors

preferring to twist resistors

until their transmitters overheat

and their diodes blow.

 

Never had too many

loose tanning oils to contend with

sunstroke will sometimes cause cancer

cooling fans always run at full speed

in case I have to tackle waves

you do understand

when blue water hits the beach

the silicone crystals in the sand

vibrate at the same frequency

as the unknowns in your head

processors always blink

millions of lights

on and off

message’s you can’t afford to miss

even when wearing your speedo

or thong bikini

or nothing at all.

You do understand now, don’t you?