The Pooring Reign

smog oasis still in stasis,
putting paces towards a start,
overcoming,
undergoing,
fall together,
 come apart,

close my I, and his pain,
the miasma on his brain,
is a halo of light,
sifted through the sun's sweet sight,

and my city, she looks pretty,
when the sweet dew dappled dawn,
glints in graces,smog oasis,
through the shallows deeply shone,

I see truth through the taints,
I line the skid row in saints, 
till my sky beckons blue, 
then I'll share it with you!

clock hands climb, you're killing time, 
but maybe you should let it live?
present the present of the present,
and just forgive,
trisected twixt past and future, 
as-you-will be as-you-once-were,
but today my star,
you'll be just as you are,

you'll be JUST, 
as you are,

effluvium, the scrawny sicker,
a habitual scab picker,
yet look see, yes could it be, that even he,
is hope and sacred symmetry,
and he's like you and you're like me,
a sweet nothing made of the all,
stop building that wall,
to cast your shadow bloated time,
and break this lonely heart

baby could you cry, out for every lie,
you're going to hurt me not, with your thimble thought,
eyes of winding watch,

darling's laying lobe, in agoraphobe,
with a weather vane, for a Lois Lane,
and an ornamental crotch,

something about,
 a pretty pig whistle snout,
and evil is as evil does,

warming your feet,
 on your vicarious meat,
no alibi save "just because"

saving all your skin, for a bargain bin,
when your sale goes live in your aisle five,
wearing winter 'round your waist,

thrumming on your bones ,
its all thro-lo-lo,
when your secrets show,
it's I told you so,
mind over matter of bad taste,

I've gotta get it all out,
with a shake-shiver-shout,
while you wear my darkest dreams,

beaming unhappy thoughts,
until my write starts to rot,
snipping at my sacred seams,

but washed upon my shore,7 times before,
 was it given to me, to dream this melody,
and then hold it to this plane,

senses set to sieve, real make believe, 
I am a-coming-to, I am a-going through,
portrait of a weather vane,

may all your color shine bright,
through the nape of the night ,
and may the smog oasis trace the way,
into clean air, for I will be with you there,
dressed up in the dawn of day,

Smog Oasis

(Sammy Gunshot)

and the one I loved she turned to me,
and said "you might be meeting him soon"
"you might be meeting Sammy the gunshot wound"

but you can be sure that that wasn't her,
it was a...

(don't say it...) (don't say it...) (don't...)

she held the gunshot wound in her hands,
just like the pet moth,
that perched upon her finger tips,
refusing to fly off,

(Sammy Gunshot)

(Whose helping me harness my faith to my doubt?
Solitude my sufferance, my drawn draught of drought,
here hidden I'm bidden stay within without,
for hither I wither, with her my devout,
Solitude my succor, my dew dappled dawn,
with all the draws blind, and with all the blinds drawn,
here winsome I lose some, for no one will knock,
on doors of rapport that I can't help but lock,)

(who'll save you from yourself?
there's nobody else...)

a-root-a-toot-toot,
BANG!...BANG!
a-root-a-toot-toot,
BANG!...BANG!

it seems we'd locked Elysium,
into a concrete pen
(what for?... what for?)
and we were climbing a suicide tower,
to jump back into the fen
(what for?...what for?)

and man's a worm on a hook,
putting a worm on a hook,

(Sammy Gunshot)

Sammy The Gunshot Wound

I'm your sense repenter,
we go up and on and all together,
I'm your stain glass center dissenter,
lets sink the brink and drink the weather!

inhale hale hail we sip the season,
our nonsense kneading beyond reason,

ought autumn be the key,
to be opening we?

carved runes shaved into the ale,

the river told her name to me,
her name is Peony,

she's pultritude, platinum, and pale

in pant 'o' mime the waves part laden
the whispered wisp of fairy maiden,

up and on and all together,

speak to me,
Peony,

no prestidigitation,
I'm all hopped up on asexual tension,
this transcendental sensation elation ,
would you? could you ? share my ascension?

a wedding dress of saffron dreams you,
the testament of trees redeems you,

making miracle to me,
light the Nyd fire where the roads cross,
taking my tears I pull myself free,
prithy to a lonely coin toss,

and every lash of longing lesson,
says blight must be betrothed to blessing,

up and on and all together,

Peony

holy, holy holy, 
what's the word?
sacred, sacred, absurd, absurd, absurd,
let it be heard,

holy, holy, holy,
say the name,
Aeon, Aeon, Aeon,
ansur, ansur, answer
and again...

Peony

Summer-Salt

"worthless" said winter,
said winter to the spring,
and every little thing,

"all good must  dissenter"
...then so too must the bad,
it's the only thing you've had,

so long,
 you've run away, 
from your true song,
 and your sunny day,

aren't you worth the while?
aren't you ready to smile?

you know I am...
I know you are...

such pretty flowers,
adorn the poison of the plant,
on a tongue that can't recant,

the things it devours,
tied to the tether of the taste,
and now it's written on your face,

so long,
 you've run away, 
from your true song,
 and your sunny day,

Datura


Magdalena Mirror was a saint and a seer,
 and a sin-eating scapegoat divine,
 for her sickness brought health and her need it brought wealth,
 and her love?... it brought never you mind,

With her mind over matters and her torn blessed tatters, 
 and her moth dusted garbage bag gown,
 will she hold a whole nation in rapt contemplation
 of the angles that fangle her frown,

She was swaddled in thorns from the day she was born,
 when they plastered her into the casting,
 in her stead it is said that the blood she had bled
 was bestower of life ever-lasting,

At the cleft of her cough, cadavers became soft,
 and her sneezing caused freezing to warm,
 with a vomiting wretch, true life's breath did she fetch,
 through the puking rebuke of a charm,

The reprise of her cries could unpry blinded eyes,
 so they kept her in burdens bereft,
 and they opened their ears as they drank from her tears, 
 which could heal both the dumb and the deaf,

the refrain of her pain could make one young again,
 so the Everyone lent her its ear,
 and the song that she sang was a high-hunger-pang,
 from a place beyond hatred or fear,

A place where the There, from the trees to the air,
 is calling, clothed in your own thought,
 again and again, the familiar refrain,
 in a language the tongue has forgot,

Jain Vangles 
