Desert Dream

Desert Dream

Encrusted visions
of a fate entrusted,
Lo and behold!
A dream:

Purple mountain’s
majestic sky
whispers lies
over the vacuous desert.

Glowing dots are
little pegged spots
like Lite Brite
patterned blithely,

A cheerful clown,
maybe a little house
w/ a sun and fence,
something “nice”.

The people stand
on a dusty road,
eyes above towards
a blue forever sky.

A band is to perform
out the back of a
carriage truck, driven
by the Medicine Man.

He speaks to announce
only what they know,
those already glued
to her boundless farm,

“Feast yr
eyes upon
the sky!”

There, from the
dusted gods’ summits
plummet rusted old
Cadillacs, ablaze!

Fall like doomed
stars crossing over
to visit bitterly
our secular night.

The darker sky, now
the indigo sky becomes
a blanket backdrop
against the flames.

Fear felt entitled,
but Curiosity mewed
powerfully like a
tiger w/ premonition.

Cascading cars flood
like toilet water,
become falling stars
with baleful business

While a super and true
death awaits them
at a crumbled carnival
upon lowly dirt and sand.

Will they take
with them
the crestfallen,
scattering people?

Will they with
them take us, as
we flap our own
smoldering fins
in the sand?

\

Encounter Act

Sip beers without fear
Got fun got big guns

Feel good about things
Think hardly any tears

Only wet dreams
Sip beneath seams

Grey film scenes
Lost angels smog skies

Feel half alive by surprise
Handpop fulla ping pong pills

Fill spaces left behind
Try decide weather knot’s fine

Too good live under hoods
Shine in shadows

Elaborate alleyways
Leftover before worlds

Nightmare cut loose
Truths twirled

Hurl forward misfortune
Soon below moon

Inform me your glory
Exit extinct come some

Go live distinct
Enjoy feast of fools

Dog drool eating a
Child’s smile, don’t sulk

Create viable resources
Outsourced work forces nature

Sorry to change apertures
Can’t see the picture’s diction

Try to speak I try
But break the split

I try I try I try
I try to eat a bit

Not sure it’s natural
nurture this shit trip

Baby bird grapple wrap
Clear words without fear

Again I slip as I sip
As I sip I’m tripping

Bloody hands entranced
Drip drip dripping sins.

One Night In Irving Park

One Night In Irving Park

Late nite room lamp on floor
feeds stale light remains fresh still
hours creep in and out
tiptoe like a child
up late to search corners and shadows
if there are unknown invaders:
aliens, cockroaches, spirits of past
noisy cat attacking plants or mice
in the midnite moonlight
who knows who knows why
without rhyme without reason
we have life and breath
and stretches in between
like the tired white cats of peace
some say mine  looks familiar
like someone named Daniel
but he was a girl, first to me
the little runt is big now
still childlike playful submissive
shuffling through songs constantly and games
no one chooses anything
everything is on the internet
tonite and every day
creep like the cat at nite
prowl hunt hiss pace
plot enhance act
then the floorboards speak
they speak in creeky squeaky tongues
sing to the cockroaches!
sing to the cotton-tailed rabbits!
hopping swarming wandering
the opposite of alleyways
quivering terrified rats like drugs addicts
scamper scheming with hope
in hopes to nibble on a little something
people sit inside biting fingernails
crying waiting for it too
anticipation of a foggy sun
the artificial presence pleads
begging for the switch to be hit
in desperate search for sleep
and a place to do it
plush couch nearby giant bed
the talkative wood slabs of floor
next to the put-out torch
where sleep is welcome and easiest
finally it’s all over and tmmrw is a new day
so the cat yawns again to a stretch
leaps to eat because it has to
or because  it knows better than
humans humans humans humans
only justify poor choices with rationale
only skewed unique bizarre indignant failure
to appear important needed
imperative to the situation of existing
no more than English speaking pawns
to await an ultimate stamp or swamp
acquire full-fledged super duper orgasm
to feel an infinite everything
before death before the real end
before nothing matters anymore
to be a lamp a floor a door
to be a sound from any where
to be an automobile to have a switch
to be a cat a rat a cockroach
to be a tree a bee or even me
to have a pulse one’s own sea of bright light
to be a human bean maybe
to know what happens to it
the quiet light on a high nite
to think about it all when it’s off
the whole of all is home tight and warm
unless to be dead or soulless
with lust only to be left over feelings
to be nostalgia and shuffle on itunes
to know one’s contribution
to be the noise of stagnation
to be nothing the lonely chaos
stirs and echoes of an empty restaurant
a dead alley the corners of dive bars
shameless in ambience
blokes and sad girls with drinks
fish for fresh conversation
talk with anyone but no one
no one knows what to want
drink stare with brooding mind at Chicago
broadcasting screens the closest to the lamp
know that it is switched to “on”
but cannot be turned off
only does it illuminate
and so that fine white coat
the yawny cat of white blends with couch
cushiony occasionally alive limbs
experience breath and thought
as if eternal deceivingly mortal
as if fatal necessary reality

4 years ago, in Chicago- unedited stream of consciousness…

© 2011, 2015 Nisi

Stale Metro Fête

Forever shall
souls remain
weighed arduously.
Elephantine
fervently lured,
scruples of rue
forever it is not to
merited-ly abscond thee.
Leverage on life
offs a fledgling hamlet
newly razed,
tacitly seized
of nonchalance…
Skills, brutally painful
remain nonpareil. A muse
after detritus goes to pot,
bury the spirit.

5 years ago – Spring in NYC.

Lorca Lorca

Lorca whispers secrets
to me in dreams
and on t.v.

I can feel the breeze of
his heart
which beats on benches

at Columbia as I sit
under a tree in Oz
I sit naked, my soul! naked!

Naked in
the land of Oz,
and I click my heels,

the slippers
ruby-red, and
I voice her mantra:

“There’s no place like home”
“There’s no place like home”,

then mine,

There’s no place like
being alone.