The Golden Dawn of a Twilight Year

The Golden Dawn of a Twilight Year

 

In the endless choirs, the bells of new years day,

the ball slowly falling to the ground like a cheap dream

collapsing;

 

in the meadow behind the courthouse wall,

in the words so frail that they crumble in

mouths like too much flesh, rotted and rancid;

 

in the eye of a needle you can see it.

 

A land where all is just and equal, where women

pass freely, their words on their breasts

 

and where toil has been abolished in favor of truth and good fortune.

 

In this field all is free,

 

no black bodies with hair like mine

and eyes like mine face down before

the twisted fingers of the beast,

 

ready to cage all dreams and abandon faith with hands

that are not it's own. The world played

with strings of steel, no,

 

forget the white eyes of sorrow.

 

Forget all that should be remembered;

on New Years dance the night away

 

with spirits high with wine and pheromones,

lust and heartbreak,

 

you cannot take those with you.

 

The women will be free,

the animals will take flight,

the cages shall release the

orphans of a dream

 

to dawning's light,

a golden morning.

 

The bells ring foolish, blistering,

earsplitting but they can hear

you too.

 

When fools run the world the bells shall weep

and in the armaggedon of our days, they will

triumph.

 

Until then we must march;

 

 

 

 

until the women lose their girdles and

their hair is wild and new,

 

until the animals have found new homes in ancestral

forests, caves and trees untouched by man,

 

until my people have left this world and found

a hallway of kings, well above the foolish clouds

at the throne of a weeping nebula, tears

of joy throwing star showers for

an ebullient throng.

 

We must march: let the bells chime glory in our way.

In the golden dawn of a twilight age, we must

march until all mankind marches together.

Who Loves the Sun

Who Loves the Sun

 

Who loves the sun?

 

The hungry shade of a mist glowed dawn,

who told the tales of timid hills,

who chained the beast with thousand eyes,

who brought the light of evening on?

 

Who loves the sun?

 

Who brought the feast of all the Saints,

who spread the waves across the beach

who tamed the fury fingered sky,

and rang the message through the streets?

 

Who loves the sun?

Who loves the sun?

 

No one can love a mother true, all things will return to the sea.

No one loves the sun.

The Geniuses and I

The Geniuses and I

 

In the mist of noontime tide, the prayers that greatest lovers make

Soon bore they're way through life shaped holes in branchless trees to break

No lovers mourn the listless clouds, no lovers mourn the sky

No lovers mourn the handsome liars, the Geniuses and I

 

The deathly waltz beneath glare of candy windowed shame

The truthless call of hungry winds, the beast without a name

No mourners wailed, no true assualt on fiery handed lies

No mourners grieve as we depart, the Geniuses and I

 

The Geniuses and I one day went for a walk to stroll

When starry eyed young lovers balked upon the freezing cold

The Geniuses and I one day soon halted into prayer

No one can love the Geniuses, they only reap despair

 

Time

Time

 

If words should keep my name on tongues

and always sharp to mind

I'd build a ship of gentle psalm, if I only had the time

A prayer of day to guide the night

as smoky clouds subside

I'd laugh the tune to restless friends

I'd return to the sky

 

Look forward to the break of dawn

Look forward to the sky

I'll laugh away and face the floor

I'd return to the sky

 

Stay Awake

Stay Awake

Inside the heart of darkness lies the blinding spirit light 
Beneath the wires and cables running deep
Inside my heart still pumping blood up to my falling head
My love is dying, I'm falling fast asleep
The fields of verdant pleasure, bound magnificence of God
The oceans kissing shorelines on the beach 
To push away the innocent, to stay a quaking hand 
My heart beats slow, I'm falling fast asleep

But wait for the dreamland muse of slumber soft repose
Her poisoned primp of perjury and plush
The hushing low of innocence, now floating on the bay
Into the fiery clutches of the dusk

Please don't fall asleep


Don't call me on my bullshit, I'm a loser and a liar
No words can match the frailty of my trust 
Beneath the guise of chickenwire and candy coated angst
lies broken bottle bliss and haunted lust
Don't wake me from this dreamtime howl of nighttime cloaked in black 
Don't listen for the words to make me blush
I've seen the serpent prowling in the grazing fields of home 
I've watched the world and shuddered in disgust

I've waited for a lifetime for this endless crown of fire 
I've longed to see the seagulls in the air
The zephyrs catch my face and my life has been a waste 
Don't fall asleep for ages of despair

Please don't fall asleep

Midnight Girl at the Bar

midnight girl,all covered in sleetin the wombs of day
 askingforthesummer to return it's love to faceless statues
ofthe unknownNorth and pagan child, blessed with boon.
 sometimes,sometimesisn't quick enoughand dreams rot to
ruinand late-lightconfessionon painted sidewalks, the sky
rustredand rollickinga blue wind.

makes me feel and feeling is good!but feeling good is bad unless
 the goodfeeling is for goodness.Birds-
crunchedup deadin thetriangle of Williamsburg on 
Conseleyea streetand the barroom hero poured, panting spineless,
all in an old, old and ancient lumberjack, lumbering away.

the lazy collaredcoloured man sits, sipping some four dollar disaster
 scheming on anold Jewish tradition, bundled up and beaming, things
neverlookedso good!Butthe midnight girl stood
 firm andfortunate, likeanimpossibleevening, stars scratch
throughsmogand lightyearsto illuminate an ignorant flat,
 whereBig Bill O'Reilly liesonthe big screen.

shesaid i made her night, but nights aren't for making.
they come like a prepackaged five gallon bag, but the 
 gallonsneverfail! justooze on intoa
 forgottenlifetime, and everyone thinks that's alright.
 strongas i can,a man must weep cause man is born of 
woman's life,and all things need water to bloom.

the midnight girl is a figment of my imagination!
 i saw her spying on Delancey ,dancingdervish derelict
and doom, flowers flowingfrom an empty hand to
 pollinate thoseproject buildings and the sun
 wasgone.
sawherwithold ivy, laughingand girl giggle, summit
peakpeckputrid, perrierin pocket.so funny, all things
 laughed butsunshine isthe moon sometimes.

isaw her in the mirrorwhen all was too ugly to start
andmy eyeswereclouded, like a rheumy drunk whiskey-bum
 likedaysof future found flirtatious.
butshe'sin the old north, where the streets are clean and
no onespits, and i'mgoing to detox, if the detox
 doesn'ttake me.

i'll call and let the word ring true, andall things fall,
and the midnight girl knew.
summer'sgoing to come again, and when it does, midnight
will be bright in it'sblackness and the void
willtakeall sorrow, to call it home away from here.

Dan Goldman

Dan Goldman ,		in a beat up, water 
worn old peacoat, parlie perched on rip-skin
 lip chap, asking for his meaning;
never had less than twenty but was always broke,


		[stop tosmoke with the old
shit and sodom at thewishing stone.]

no one, no thing looking.


saw him looking all drench mouthed,laughing like a
razor-blade,
 iheld him up and he held me down,
clovescradled by the dead-skin fingernailson a run
down the decrepit banister,never looking away.

so impeccably vagrant and caught up in a 
homelessdervish,smiling through
 	the scene.


stole some stoli,butas a man of gods
he:
	smoked the sacrament of the bible with the great Sidharrtha
choked under the willow treethatwhined about its lover,

never seen an anthill living undersireable.

Dan Goldman,
 wholicked the bowl cleanand asked for seconds always
 finding gold in acold arctic
		lockbox, dreaming in the noon.
Construction Site Columbus,lookingfora 
 	
	late-light comrade and he found a
 summertimeredeemer
 way in the dark in the cornerin the back
out on frontstreet, witha
big blue ribbonand a 
 riddledtongue.



wejust wanderedthrough the avenues, all 
 ambush and 
			aimless.
 "the world is a whirl wind sometimes,"
 jones joked with his three dollar smokes
and a jackal under his tongue.
 i,all long mouthedmashed a five in my pocket
bum-box basking in his fifteen.


Damn, rotterthat jones
rolls raising in the pockets
 andi, all leaf-turned and bowing.

"if i shouldfall from grace;"
 mock englishgentlemen, strolling stupid
 stooping stmarks ave, back fromprospect.
40 and hashish ona rooftopbeaming
 dreaming ofa better
yesterdaywhen the chains of tomorrow reach fruition.


nostalgia:

i'm better these days;
i was a force of nature
with hands red fromglass made by
aholocaust-father:
the great fire of '07.
Never leftwhen i'mgone,
justdip downthe roadway
 withthe ghosts and the gust,
Jackson Cooper to the rescue,
andi rise.


Atthe apex,the lowestdip,
th e slowest trip,
 trippingballs in the rec-room.


	lilylaughed.
i always hatedthat
dumb-face angel,ha'sand ho's
 dripping off arolling,wettongue.
 shit always had a knifein his pocket;
 he described it as love.
got caught up in a sonnet
pullingcigarettes from an ashtray
 wondering where he left his smile.
we just gurgledpleadinglyand caught a whiff
 of American Pie and Big Mac,
	the American Hero


[How do you think that's cool?
Cause it's all i got.] ,
my world crumbles insometimes
 like old papyruswith too much pressure
 spilling an impossibly black
void of ink in my sky, but
 praise, reminisce repeated
 for guilt is the twin sister of laughter,
 and all roads lead tolife with a sigh and a shudder.

Dan Goldman, the epithetscrawler
 racked withritcher scalecognition
wants to write me a love note only
blood-brothers can understand.
 inthe bloody fingereddawn
gripping swollen cloudsof chicken grease 
and grossness,your worldis just a bottle of wine.


Pour lightly, myfriend.
Let this dark shade cool your tempers, or do nothing at all.