Under a Web of Branches Her Sex Doll

Does anyone see the ultimate paradox?

In a grown child’s broken toy, I mean

Out old hands cannot mend

Or bring life back to

The baby sex doll, spinning no more:

Sunlight once braided innocent glints

Through her auburn hair

Curled with the root of trees

So dirt-bitten, so acrid once

Before apples bloomed in wayward winds

The sky opens above us.

Yet mind this sight: does one hear

Her broken dolly actually speaking

Those once digitally-chipped words

Forming lyrics of some dirty nursery song,

So high in the trees’ intricacy

Where branches mesh in mystery

& sway with nature’s first music

Seeding love on the sheltering sky?

The Sacrificial Apron

The sin on my mother’s soiled apron

Never astounded me.  Covered in bestial blood

Meat butchers take for granted,

She wears this map variegated

With raw animal guts blotting

Slowly over her ample midriff

This besmirched, once white cloth covering

Scars of a wanton C-section.

From birth to death I’m rising,

& writhing behind her sacred shroud

Her life’s pain imprints with a savior’s face

Into rotund shadows

Flecked with blood-bits of transcendent slime

She shares each morning with fowls slain

Over the cooking table.

The butcher’s knife incises the indecipherable

Glyphs & symbols of a sacrificed existence.

Whatever bespeaks the pitfalls of life hungering

Those lips kiss the stigmata of flesh

Her own body will eat in eternity.

Raw Dog Renascent 

Saw U

On the winding


Stomping jazz notes out with hip-hop boots

Night music’s fly-up

Beneath your heels,

Before mystery dawn unfolds

Don’t go where time stands still

Beyond the bus stops of delusion

On the street young people skate

& bike cool down with phones & radios

Blaring messages of the rapper’s last testament

The street is your brother

Yet the desert roads sing in winding rhythms to

The raw dogs wandering with you tonight

Shattering the dust like a veil once lowering itself

Comes the BOOM sounds over heads of dead fathers

In the temporal window of aural deceits

With mulatto tones of variegated lusts

I sing to disciples of the depressed nocturne

(& to those bullied down by unfair fortune,

Into some unfathomable silence

Bottomless with crevices

Of the forgotten soulfulness 

& spider-lurking nooks nefarious

Only the epitome of toughness, dogs!)

Still dumb yet ancient with agelessness

Overtaking my song’s riff & speech,

What once shouted out daily now shorted out

By the voiceless stigma of the lonely damned

Congregating in drinking groups by the boulevard

Broken-down chipped & concrete fence

Bearing the lost faith of graffiti

Just more notes tagged on my windpipe

Strangulating syllables of once gospel sounds

Too graceful for the fallen-forbearing.

Cutting light from the chiaroscuro coffins round me

The street’s cavern filled itself with deaf beggars

Begetting the mute tongue of losers, louts, everyday

Lepers for their typical cluster-fuck of aimlessness

Tripping your skateboard into society’s spieling

Wall of dread bearing the crushed-butterfly

Skeletons of those martyrs of our stricken race

Now you cannot fathom

The many-gendered thing

Living inside you:

The fetus of regenerated spirit 

The street’s spell cast over you

Month after month, night after night

No longer the prisoner of yourself

Caught in the spotlight of police vans.

Not just a raw dog N-word now

But a being of swag to be more real

Than those silent fools beneath your woke

Floundering through the macadam jungle

Digging thru dumpsters for gourmet crud;

Now you’re disdaining all police

Daring to mess with you, proud boy

With painted face of the tattooed revenant

Smeared with the holy water of street grime

& the hooker’s perfume of piss:

(Sing painting blood on faces you hate

Slashing their flesh with your serration of love,

Cutting free their spirits to rise at last

Across time & the asphalt’s pockmarked river).

There you take the rose from the teeth

Of the tripping whore with wise eyes

Who kneels before you transformed 

By your new beauty of bitchin’ grace,

No longer in need of just blood money

Like your dead mother now she sees your flesh                    

As hers between the ivory of blessed teeth

& lips succoring you, eating the host of all

The many genders your sanctified Sex now is

As Spirit rekindled with a patchwork censer

Or whatever else her hallucination brings

Taking you to the gates of fallen heavens

As the coming white noise drapes itself

In audible signals from a lost asteroid

Around you, vibes mildewing no more

Through musky closets trapping you,

Where you’ve hoarded everything pilfered

From the deranged street woman in your soul

Peddling her begrimed Walmart cart

As sister Hooks does with her sticker-festooned

& whirling handicap scooter down Twain Ave.

Every night, well into this hallowed morning

Purling rhapsodies of Rap to stricken sorts

& neon cats once waiting to pounce

On the piecemeal offering of your brain –?

So then show us yourselves, Raw Dogs

Unwinding old time, a clock without hands

Signaling a new god’s resplendent illumination …

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