Two Pages From a Lost Notebook

I found these two bits of nonsense today.  I don't remember when it is that I wrote them.  They are not much and not complete, but I have not written for quite some time now and I hope that this will give me a reason to try again.  

1:

Graph paper and cigarettes

Black ink and time lost

Late Rent paid in cash

Now I can't sleep at all.

Lost my mind or I hope

There is such a reason

For this all to seem strange

Still I can't find my words.

I should have known better

If I coud I would not

Go back to those places

I left to get here.

2:

It's getting late

but I don't sleep

I'll stay awake

and think about it all...

The times we had

nothing to do

but sit around

let's huff some glue.

Nocturnal Theology

Bone marrow and body fat
collide on an illuminated dance floor you are begged to join on
That lights your way to being estranged
And losing yourself in mechanical connection
That would suggest to your heart
A misfired misgiving
The fault of Eros
A misaimed dart
You collect your thoughts and discard them as quickly
A sip and drink take you straight
To the simple participation you never would have made
And lost yourself along the way
In her flaming hair
And the golden cavern carved
In the small of her back

So there I tripped
I brought too much
I tend to think now that
Your honesty will weigh you down
When you consider the pose and placement
Next to a smooth sort not your own
That will move and contort its way free
With a shifting of the beat
And your shot was drawn back blue
The arrow straight and true
For your part
That fault of Eros
A misaimed dart

That which wanders and builds aimlessly
Lost and wondering among the eternity of blue, careless stars
Who scream their own meaning and exhale understanding
Silly, mean man who should know he adds up to less
Than the turtle, the stars, and the crescent
That he saw in the blinding flashlight thrown bright
from the mechanical chariot uglier than the pagans
It wrote a crossed choice
Among the symbols of a soldered separation
Added up to less than

The loss and change hanging in the forum air
Of all the natural shapes he saw
And could still feel beating

The Past Is Imposed

You were shocked so apparent ivory white
Because you saw a fresh face and I was pixilated
My fate present to those not available
Holy latin men of misspent theological speculation
Set out a bed of roses ridden with thorns in which I could
Bury my soul in remorse
That horrible flavor of taste known
The flavor seeping and seductive which might relieve that burning (doubted)
Percussion of a citizen
Civis romanus sum he protests as the hornets swarm his parade of opinions
His soul ripped open to
A God bewildered by honesty
In a world entirely enticed by the muse a society so apparently
Built on the MOMA
A mother mischosen and a virgin no longer
Her conception most concentrated in that logical peal that
Shatters thought and brings the thoughtful to their knees
but leaves your love so free
Whether in small town meadow
Or abstract new york ghetto
That child of Europe just runs in circles
Wounded and crying for a parent who will never come
To the soul still captivated by her result and loss
A feminist ephemeral that draws on the death of third worldlings
Simple minded fools in form
Lost bodies on display
In their prejudice and innocence

Pilgrim's Neurosis

Theres a product (for you)
Theres a portion (for me)
There is visible distortion from the fading static glimpses seen through a storm of crushed debris
Crossing a blighted landscape of women with open chests
They smile fiercely while their ribcages glower in the
Sand storm of that benighted landscape where naught will grow
But worry and waste and cynicism
Their breasts drip constantly acidic seeds that plant in the barren golden dust
And make screaming modern infants who are deformed and pitiful
Who cry to their father who is four thousand industrial pistons firing steadily
Through the desolation just over a dune I dare not cross