Did the Dream I have Shake You Awake?
Holding their spears and mirrors
The spears were for murder
The mirrors to show their enemies the last look of life
No one wants to see a fool before they die
Especially in a mirror
I flew above them on the edge of the day
Smelling the geranium flower at their feet
The wind lingered against the lonely finch
A stem of grass within her beak
A spear was gently thrown in my direction
I caught it and as the white blood began to run
The crest of hill turned into something I had drunk
It was not water- That was far too salty
It was not wine- That was far too sour
It was not our secret- It was cleaned by rain
It was the ship of tears caught by the reef
Stranded and left by the men to start all over again
The rats remained chewing on rope and wax
The rats remained fucking on deck
The rats remained they had no where to go
The rats remained singing songs of the crown
‘Billy was a boy
Good enough was he
Billy was a boy
Good enough for me…’
The moon would wax and maybe it would wane
It was a ship that was ending
A site for heaven’s hand to lubricate
Where the tornado would tear and rise and set pearls
It was a ship of Italian’s a ship of crumbs
And back in the village stood the scarred women
Her arms covered in pink cloud
She screams and shouts at the saints and the mother
What peace and love had she ever had
She places her hatred on the cusp of her brow
And the men just walk her by
The men just walk her by
I see her from the history books on the same page of ‘us’
It happened on the same day
Oh my love there is far too much to write about us
What is left?
The bickering and the thoughts
You make promises as quickly as you change your mind
You’re no good for me
And you surprise me with your drunken aggression
But you are nothing I cannot handle
I see you my love
Though you don’t see me
And you can’t and won’t even read my words
When a man in Italy is reading them right now
Another in America who I’ve never even met
Though we have been doing this for a year now
And I guess we should go through the motions some more
But I would much prefer to be in New York
Than this backwards town
Searching for a job
Searching for the ghost of the Chelsea Hotel
Searching for a buck on the stage of some seedy bar
Singing songs about a boy in fishnet stockings
New York where your breath turns to dust
The energy is a moving body
But every decision is up to you
The last decision I had was about the melody
A hard description in the form of a melody
A golden moment as a work of fiction
Well nothing is fiction
Nothing is a moment
Everything has resounding significance
And then I remembered
He grabbed my cock and we kissed
He felt my balls and we kissed
He climbed on top of me
He was behind me
He gave me the benefit of the doubt
And I turned my head
I was old enough to see the straight line
Old enough to see the curved bend
I wanted him to seed me
So he did
And he put the suit back on and kissed me again
He smiled and asked me about the Genet book I had
Sitting on my bedside table
The look he gave it was one of curiosity
I told him I preferred the real thing
And he said he would come back dressed as a sailor
And kill me
He left me smiling, naked, with numbed thoughts
He like all the others are quick reasons to write
He like all the others are quick reasons to want
What ever they wanted I would do
What ever they needed I would squeeze from my soul
For five minutes of inspiration
To grab the sense of masculinity against my own
To gain another medal
To rise another step towards the death bed of Cocteau
It sits at the gates of Heaven
It is a place to rest after always trying
This is what I believe
Yet I believe in so much
I believe in lying on my back
Searching for the shudder of the universe
Waiting for that poetic vision
Within summer’s lonely bedroom
I believe in the revolutionary’s laurel
The hero’s geranium
And the etched lines of the lover’s carnation
My name it is Timothy and I am a poet
I write poetry about the stalk that flows
I write poetry about the river that I was born near
I write about the man that parted my legs and fucked me
I write about the dream that I have
A lilac dream
I lie on the rug upon floor thinking
I wear a woolen jumper black
I have to work in a lousy restaurant
But I lie on the rug thinking
Thinking of experiences and love
Of war and the saints
Of angels and Oscar
Thinking of great masterpieces
I think of the men who will read this
And I wonder if it will give them something
If it will inspire them to smear themselves with spunk
To smear them selves with thoughts of revolution
To smear the world with the lilac paint of the faggot
This is the new age, and we are still young
Tattoo the soul with excitement
Listen to the voice of your youth
And rise up against the sloth of a heterosexual world
For we are the artists and the poets
We carry the crosses as though made from cloud
And still Alexander’s men stand on the hill’s crest
We hold the spears and the mirrors
The spears are for one another, for fun, for love
The mirrors to finally see ourselves for who we are
The greatness that lies on the edge of our brow
And we with our bare hands must bring down the pearly gates
We will hear the trumpets and the carriages of death
We will hear the flattening of the mountains
We will bare witness to violinists playing the devils song
Drummers beating the running rhythms of Sodom
We will bare witness to the children walking into the hull of a great ship
And no one will sigh
O! This is the face of God, the face of resignation
Apologies to the lovers!
Apologies to the christians!
Apologies to the believers!
Apologies to the visionaries!
I am on my knee, dead swan and sword in either hand-
I wrote a message in the dust
I wrote a message in the dirt
I wrote a message in the misty window of your room
I wrote a message in the spunk on the park bench
A great shadow with frayed edge has bled into the park.
It looks into the souls and thoughts of all, it carries us all beyond the border of reason and takes us into a symphony of voices like a catacomb of dead dialogue suddenly rising once more, you can hear it, a thousand voices left by their physical forms over the last two hundred years, these men of shadow, of mystery, of the world. They carried secrets many and embraced one another as lovers, they were the once who screamed and drank and fired their guns in blind rages, they were the ones who would paint beauty and joy and write it onto the page.
I hold dead swan and sword in either hand
The stars are all gone
The sky is all blank like a darkened field of snow
There is no loser, no winner and no one in between
Love has conquered all
And everyone is dead
Look beyond my soft words to you
Embrace me and look beyond my shoulder
Feel my heartbeats there are so many
More beats than tears
But you will never see past the sword and murdered swan
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