More fun with lyriku

 

The inspiration

WELP!

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION AS ENTERING A TEMPLE

or sensing, no inventing

the singular sound of

a bowl of fuchsia blossoms

to somehow say

“why is a future tense”

to reflect or project

what we alone feel presently

becomes a recurrent currency—

kneeling or falling before

a nearly purple sound

to make what 

we might ache to field

or place as scene—

a local sight

of the solo

as empathogen.

Bah Humbug!

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION

AS A HAUNTOLOGY WITH

A RECIPE FOR PERSIAN ROULETTE

(after Kaveh Akbar)

Why does life set tar along our path?

As a child nearly any thesaurus 

roared like a favorite dinosaur until

the beloved came before me to leave 

a cursive sitar next to certain furniture

on legs too short & dark for longing

how far must my sheep now wander

inside the silent ones a rose to set art 

circling round the sound of our father

like a tarot type of card in some casino

of the heart down to our bottom holler

I would grip the right arm of a slot machine

like the leftover parts of a long gone lover 

—if only I found the Farsi word for star

Elastic like Ekphrastic

a red wheelbarrow

how the rain water carries

the chicken’s white call

Happy Helen Folásadé Adu Day!

Is your love HyperQBic?

Does it have the colorpuntal pearls of a ghost poem? 

Here we go again. 

I’m not thirsty, you’re thirsty  

 

A TRACE OF IMPROVISATION 

AS MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

“Didn’t I tell you what I believe,

did somebody say that . . .”

Sade

Once, I knelt

almost nightly

to hum & strum

a red carnation

& blue jasmine psalm 

 —a hummingbird

hovering for nectar.

Once, my ruby neck

needed nothing

but the magenta lines

of prayer

your lips nibbled

at its nape

and my nipples

needed nothing except 

the cornsilk calm

of your fingers

under cotton sheets.

Was I wrong

not to believe 

what you whispered

or seemed to whisper

in my ear?

All moons wane

and perhaps because 

of the “shadow

box & double cross”

of two tongues

or because I failed

 to heed your wrists’

radiant craving

for velvet-lined 

police bracelets

and obsidian

prayer beads

your fingers

now trace

 another man’s tattoos.

And perhaps 

not wane as failure

but a decrescendo

in the key of F

I can hum

under my atheist breath.

Was our last adieu

a riff that resolves

our differences

in F flat

or a riff in the bass

looping my faith

into a fugue in the rain?

Who knows

what any religion 

requires beyond belief?

Now, I believe 

nothing—

but some nights

the outer ear

of the moon

claims to still hear

my carnation 

& cornflower guitar

tuned to the notes

of blue jasmine

you left

in these blankets

and sheets.

December dawn

 

Introducing Shroomi

The following is a collection of sayings by and poems about Shroomi, the famous and infamous mystical figure that I just made up about a day ago. 

changing the batteries

in the neon buddha

Shroomi 

re-upholstering

the Divan of Hafez

Shroomi

What we seek

is in our lapse

Shroomi

glimpsing

the wine beyond the glass

Shroomi

unreadable

in words or letters

Shroomi

Violets are red

roses are blue

Shroomi as pi

is irrational too

slice your finger

suture as sutra

Shroomi

one cicada

on three branches

Shroomi

why are whispers

IN ALL CAPS

Shroomi

Shroomi deems

all the eggs in NJ

bedeviled

Shroomi types

dog is good

all the time

finally reaching 

their adult Fahrenheit

Shroomi

Shroomi wonders

if god is the only odd

perfect number

sprout beyond

notions of sense or nonsense

Shroomi

rhyming axolotl

with “a showboat”

Shroomi 

broken guitar

nothing left of the blue

in Shroomi’s eyes 

kissing the hands

of the cuckoo clock

Shroomi 

cursive words

in yellow on snow

Shroomi was here

reciting 

Aha in his fez

Shroomi

broken guitar

the unstrung blue

in Shroomi’s eyes

the women

giggle when he appears

Shroomi

calling shotgun

everytime we roll

Shroomi

oh gee

it’s a trochee

Shroomi

Shroomi says

god is the sky

in the pi

shredding his poems

before ghazaling them

Shroomi

reciting Hafez 

versus Hafez verses

Shroomi 

more people

on the garden path

than Shroomi has

jelly of all

the obsidian beans

Shroomi

sufi in the streets

fluty in the sheets

Shroomi

knot keeping

up with his haijin

Shroomi

sooner reciting

“my seal, Liam”

Shroomi

falling into

the black rabbit whole

Shroomi

do not buy

this book if you’re high

(Shroomi says)

not bound

by what he’s bound for

Shroomi

not in bed

before ache o’clock

Shroomi

doe-eyed 

as Euclid’s proof of limitless primes

Shroomi’s beloved

twice now

multiplying in Times Square

Shroomi

almost resembling

most of it assembled 

Shroomi

December moon

sighing in Sagittarius 

Shroomi

putting the nig

in shenanigans

Shroomi

not a jagoff

except for when he isn’t

Shroomi

what tongue

doesn’t know

the E in need

is longer than 

the E in desire

Shroomi

the jay is blue

because his feathers are gray

Shroomi