The Rabbit

Why i Cut my Hair

Truth is...

I didn't cut it, the world

cut my hair, society did it,

it fit to prophetically

and yall started calling

me a name i did not

deserve to be called

not with my insides 

eatin me up

guiltiness was givin me

the greasiest guts

i was ona sin binge

and the syringe was stuck

tried to look into the mirror

and all i seen was disgust

it was time to let it go

begin anew and do

right by you and i

so this verse was written

by the U-N-I

elementally it was meant to be

as sure as this opportunity

was sent to me

i was given a gift to 

deliver the word

now not even my hair

can get in the way of

the vision observed

life is short,

especially mine

so i thank every single one 

of yall for lettin me rhyme-

A Song I heard in a Dream

"If I drive into the fog

till we'll never be again

will you remember what we have

or leave it to the wind?"

- i heard this being sung by a haunting voice

while i was driving down a foggy road over a hill

there was the ghost of an old asian woman frozen

off to the side of the foggy road

and saw all the graves from car accidents,

i got out of the car and she crawled towards me

so i picked her up and threw her down the hill 

into a bushy ravine, 

got into my car and hit the gas,

the car hit a bump and flew into the air 

and over the hill, landing not so smoothly

but safely i escaped the fog bitch

Traveling by Thumb

hitched my way from Donegal

to Galway

if my thumb didnt work

i would have walked it all the way

first Martin picked me up

and he told me bout the poets

and different races of the UK

he dropped me off outside

of Charlestown

next it was a couple young bucks

on their way to a rally

down in Sligo

they gave me a bag of sweets

next John the travelling bard

gave me a ride

and took me most of the way 

to Galway

he bought me a sandwiche

and said i could pay him

back with a pint o murphy

in Lahench

where he would be doing his next gig

in Galway i met Andy, 

the London radical,

who told me about the wolf farms

Olly the skunk man,

who just got divorced

and gave me a free bag of irish green

and rolled a lucky joint

I gave the bag to Jason who 

was homeless and unemployed,

a victim of hard times

but cheerful nonetheless

he drank me up some

Jamaican rum and irish coffee

in the central park of Galway,

and Robocop the slobber knocker

patrolling around with shit head tattooed 

to the backside of his right hand

just below the knuckle

Vagabond

got nothing to my name

but my name and a bag of song

my name and a bag of song

just an aimless vagabond

picture this: a clover 

 at the cliffs of Moher

on the west coast of Ireland

in the County Clare

im sittin over here

puttin a spliff into the air

which i got from Olly

who gave it as a gift in Galway

so im gittin high like always

listenin to what the gulls say

my eyes wont pull away

from this food for my dreams

is that the sound of the cavern breathing?

or the heartbeat of the sea?

a certain yearning is expressed

upon the faces of the cliff

the water waiting for me to jump

over the edge and take a dip

every single stone has been a sentry

for centuries

killing time until erosion

decides to set them free

leaping with a lift from the cliff

gravity defied

may the dream be live 

or just a lovely way to die?

A Freefall Episode

Dry as desert summer

is the the earth asunder

and under such a spell

does much of hunger dwell

And we all wonder why

the sun just wants to fry

the crops and stops the rivers run

so hot we've got to shiver some

some do hum the days away

heads hung low to pout

they sing of woe in jaded sways

and dread that hungry drought

"I must do something" is what i say,

"To bring the rain," i shout

loud and clear, for all to hear

big and small, far an near

Stout and stoic, my mouth proclaimed

"I, Freefall from the land of Jreems,

will travel up to the land of Clouds

and bring back down the Rains!"

Now I know this sounds insane-

meet the clouds? without a plane?

"You see we live in the land of Jreems

where possible is anything!"

Anything?"- "Yes thats what I said,

Now to the clouds i must head

this ground around i must leave

and all i need is to believe..."

Believe, Believe, yes indeed

if only the rest would bless my deed

"They will see," I say, "full of will

when i return, my word fulfilled."

So I journey forth to the mountain tops 

once im there i will bound and hop

up and up to the nearest cloud

there i shall sing my request aloud

Once I do, I hope to meet

some humble folk who do not speak

instead they sculpt a piece of cloud

into glyphs and signs, with ease and style

peaceful smiles are quick welcome

these are the folk i ask help from

they smell of fun, but i cant digress

for my whole realm is in distress

One of these folks, Al's his name

told me to sit down and explain

"My people down on the earthly plane,

sulk, and mope, and complain,

for they have nothing to sustain

and all the kids have stomach pains,

they scream, they cry, so dry in grains

they wish for the clouds to supply the rain."

"My oh my," Al signed to me

"So damn dry are the times that be,

to help i would give my very soul

but this dilemna i cant control..."

"Why oh why," my dear friend Al,

I thought the rain came from the clouds,

"I Apologize, but this is wrong,

we only gather rain to run our farms"

"For Water rises up to us,

but down to yall it falls,

we give yall some when there is enuff

but now we have none at all

"Out of clouds we shall not pass,

but there is a man of lore

whom you could ask,

He lives beyond the shores

of earthly grasp

beneathe the waves 

he lives to splash-"

Al the Cloud took me down

down right above a

flowing sound

he blessed my 

quest below

the ground, and in jest

he confessed his growing 

frounge, "go now

down beneathe the tides

where nothing inside

 will keep dry

follow the Mera

the ocean's daughters,

to the city of Clera

below the waters

there they will know

the cause of the spell

particularly one by the 

name of Shell

Hopefully she can make this well

and fill the well,

before the land is ill with hell."

Beware though brother, 

of the Naga,

if you get caught, 

they'll end your saga..."

vers-atility

ima werd this verse in cursive 

while its burstin through the dam

while searchin for my worth

i been emergin as a man

i heard the world is hurtin

theres emergency at hand

its up urvy single person

to work together as a 

FAM

i wrote this for my sister

and my brother man

theres so much more to

live for than money

no matter what they tell

you on the radio 

let tell you a vision

i had when i was wide

awake, a vision of a 

one world with one

law- a law called freedom

freedom to move without

borders to be deported over

freedom to live and breathe

and sip free water, free shelter

to be under

especially for the younger 

generation

free food- if we have so

fuckin much

why do my people still die

of hunger? when we waste it

free communication

no company or corporation

to count the calls we make

free transportation

on a solar power shuttle

train connect 

everything  

to ya doorstep

the earthblooms

and when the equinox procedes

to a solar summer

she will germinate unto other stars 

to fertilize the universe

we are close

to the catalyst

Pt.4 of an Eiry Journey: Badluck Belfast

(7/8/2010)

 

Belfast smells bad, worse yet are the British flags, and some boys called me a long haired fag and challenged me to a fight when I wasn’t looking, yet kept it moving when I turned around. The bus trip from Drogheda to here started out with bad luck, first my backpack fell over into the aisle, then my drink followed it. When I opened it to take a sip it blew up all over my shirt. So when I got there I found a hostel, which smelled of sewage. Then I decided to take a walk, and a rather long walk it was. The hills outside the city called out to me, so by the end of the day I learned one lesson: the hills always look closer than they feel. I made it to a park, then took a trail into a ravine which doubled as a garbage ditch. It was quite beautiful beneath the decades of trash. Carparts, tires, boxes, bottles, cans, it was practically a neighborhood landfill, and probably the same stream they got their drinking water from. So I bust a bunch of sweat before I climbed out of the mess, and ended up on a narrow road flanked by cow pastures and farms. I strolled on to the end of the road and slipped between the barbed wire fencing and up the hill I went. The cows got scared and ran- snitching on me with their moo’s.  It was one hell of a walk, dodging  cow patties all the way up, but I made it to the top. My reward was rainfall and chilly wind.  And the second lesson of the day: Going down the hill may be much more difficult than going up. My dumb ass decided to take the shortcut, which was deceptively steep and condensed with the most prickly plants I ever met. At the bottom of that forsaken hill I was greeted by a dilapidated detention center, complete with 30 foot fences, guard towers,  and an underground bunker.

 

Turns out Belfast was bad luck. While tumbling down that damneded hill my pocket let my lucky monkey free : (

 

So I took the next train out of Belfast, into Coleraine. Then caught the bus to the Giant’s Causeway on the North Coast, which is unwordably magnificent.

 

 

I see 

Statue of W.B. Yeats

in the stonegrove

at the big park in Dublin.

If they decide to longevitate my memory

with a statue, may it have a button

which you press to make me rap to you.

How great one must be to be recorded

in your history.

Pt. 3 of An Eiry Journey: When Inspiration Falls

 

Have you ever heard

a bird hiccup?

 

Waiting on a bench by the water in phoenix park,

Waiting on something inspirational to fall out of the sky

So I can write about it,

I hear a couple of syncopated squawks from the tree

In which I am under,

And a heavy dose of bready bird turd plops upon the book

I had just layed down atop my backpack.

“A portrait of the Artist as a young man” by James Joyce.

I wiped the glob off with a leaf and laughed about it,

I guess its what I was waiting for.

 

 

Took the bus up to Drogheda, then connected over to Newgrange, where I luckily booked the baddest bed in the business, then walked over to the bru na boinne center, and took the tours to see Knowth and Newgrange, fascinating remnants of Neolithic tomb-temples. Newgrange is the home of the triskellion, and I can hardly digest the importance. Strange, back at the lodge they put me in room 36 and I didn’t even think about picking bed #3, but I did. I witnessed sunset from a nearby, nextdoor pasture. It didn’t fall too far from the tomb. This ancient countryside is beautiful beyond the bounds of words, in hills one can see the motherly curves that those ancient temple builders sought to honor, praise, and emulate. Venus showed her shine from the southwest, which I suspect was the direction of Rosa in relation to where I was. The clouds turned the color of love before nightfell, I saw six birds fly by, then a lone one taking leave towards Drogheda. Tomorrow I go back to the city, with some souvenirs I snatched from the grounds of Bru na Boinne.

(7/7/2010)

Part 2 of An Eiry Journey: A poem (7/5/2010)

“You don’t know what I found in me,

and I don’t know no boundaries…”

 

Went out solo to the pubs, and loneliness made way for thought:

 

Lost n lonely

What again am i

Lookin for? Some

Say my soul- old

Wise man say the

Origin,

As a poet- am I

Simply here to observe

And report?

Whats the purpose-

Still I ask-

As the question has

Been asked by so many

Beggars before-

My suffering is

Eternal, I mean

Internal, inside

Of me is infernal,

Might this burn

Forever?

Hell no I hope not.

Why am I searching

The world over

For myself?

 

I am here yet

I am not

My thoughts rot

From inside out

I shout with a

Soft voice

As a boy on a

Lost course

Alone to my wandering

A planet without

Life I am empty

And I wish, I pray,

For a belief to

Fill me, yet none

Pass the wrath

Of my thoughts

They clot the way

Quicker than cops

At a roadblock

Yet there is no stop

To whatever is eating me alive

Instead I am dead

Inside my head

And ready to be damned

Yet I already am

For I fell while

searching for the

trail, traversing through

the maze of all those

social ills, with the

patience of the monk

who wrote with quills,

but once the

paper is soaked it

seals the pain that

I have wrought

Foreverly evaded by

The peace that I have sought-

An Eiry Journey

Rosa can be a hulleva lot to live with but it’s her goodbye’s that make me miss her.

She dropped me off at RDU on Saturday with a very frenchly kiss. After sliding smoothly through security, I ran into Will the poet, who was on his way to Palestine, by way of New York. I turns out, we were departing through the same gate, his plane came in directly after mine. I hold the upmost admiration for him, he is a very saintly man, and willing to fight a cause and for a people who are not his own. He is travelling to help others and do something of meaning, I am traveling and going nowhere.

 

I shouldn’t have told Will about the flight I took from NY, the one where I was seated next to the biggest woman on the tiniest plane.  I jinxed myself in doing so, because on the way from ATL to Dublin it happened again, and I spent the ride with Ms. Thighs Almighty weighing in on me. I was trying not to be impolite, while she was obviously irritable and embarrassed. I couldn’t tell if I was more excited to land in Eire or let my legs loose.

 

After traversing aimlessly through downtown Dublin I feel a lot less Irish than I thought I was. My most memorable moment was when I fell asleep on the lawn at St. Patrick’s cathedral, only a tail away from the sacred well. Luckily later on I met my roommates at the Hostel, Carlos and Alejandra from Guadalajara, and we ended up tagging along with some others, went pubbing, replaced my blood with beer and broke my shy. We talked loudly and danced in a huddle, I stole some drinks off a table, and found that hearing American pop songs in an Irish pub made me more proud to be a Yank than fireworks ever have.  That night I partied with Amanda from California, 3 dudes from Philly, a brother and sister from Wisconsin, an Aussie gal, and an Irish guy. Most of the dudes seemed to be fixated on winning over the Australian chick, I was on faithful boyfriend mode and didn’t pay her much mind. The next day when she left, she gave everybody a hug, but I believe that my cheek was the only one she kissed, and I swear I could see wide eyes and jaws drop out of the corner of my eyes.

 

Did I mention the sun-shower that sprung down as I wandered the streets of Dublin? Let that be me fireworks. (July 4^th, 2010)

 

my theology

random Dream i had on 4/11/09

I was bragging my ego out of my mouth to the fat nerdy guy about all the fighting i did in high school, he probably came from the book i was reading "...Oscar Wow" he is quietly reserved,  then we see 2 suns near the moon, then they move around. there are 3 suns, one nears us, becoming a red electric orb, the sky is red, it travels quickly like bumblebee. We follow it to woods with stonehenge style ruins, people panicking, we see the woods radioactively transforming, alien crash site, very tall hideous swamp thing aliens come out of spaceship, i run, fatboy is going up a watertower, he picks up an artifact, a bracelet, I tell the alien chasing me that I am not the one he wants, he is, pointing to the fatboy. They turn around to chase him, he shouts out courageously and thrusts his chubby fist up in the air, lightning crackles, strikes him, the orb comes and disentegrates the aliens with red laser beams, things return to normal, fatboy is gone, replaced by his sister, who looks conspicuously like my sister Reva.

there was an honest and ominous sound...

was it that cavern breathing...

or the heartbeat of the sea?

Sitting with the Clovers at the Cliffs of Moher

Benny Gull

the Birth of Benny Gull

                                                    

                                

 I am Benny Gull

And I believe that 

I’m A bird, because

I’m descended

from dinosaurs.

 

You laugh at me

But it’s a fackt-

Not all birds can

FLY. But I can when

No one else can

See me.

 

I have a heavy

Body so I leave

It behind and fly

Without it. But im

Rather shy so it

Wont work with

Your attention,

I’ll get nervous

With the wobbly

Wings.

 

But if I am solo

And I run around in

Circles With my wings

out, and do the dizzy

Dance until I activate

My anti-gravitator

Organ and my other

Body becomes a

Falconian spirit

 

I may lift along

With rising hot pockets

And watch the city

From a birds eye

View, I can count the

Hairs on a cockroach

Leg, practicing my

Perfect timing by

Dropping spirit poo

On people’s hats

The Trinity of Withinity

Once I met a man, Jim Stephens,

A family psychotherapist, ex boxer

And Irishman from Boston

He was kind, cool, hospitable and

I had the feeling he related instantly

And we carried many a conversation

As the court had ordered

He offered to hypnotize me.

I sat comfortably on the couch

Stared at a spot on a portrait

While he spoke soft and

Monotonous, counting down

Until a warm tingle consumed me

he told me a story of a

Stoneworker who got tired of

Carrying stones, and wished

To be a prince, went to bed

And woke up as a prince,

Who saw the sun was more

Powerful and wished to be the

Sun and it was so, the sun

Was all-seeing, but could not

See beyond the clouds, they blocked him

And the people praised the clouds so

He became one, then enjoyed

Freedom for a while until being  stopped

In his wind by the mountain,

so he turned into a mountain

and rested for a thousand years,

until he felt a sharp pain

stinging, piercing on his toe,

he looked down and it was

a stoneworker, picking off bit by bit

into a wheelbarrel to sell

miles away in town.

At the peek of this story

I was free falling deep

Into the cushions of the couch,

When the cavernous shadow

Of My inner being was

Illuminated with a visionary

Glimpse of true self,

An adolescent me

Standing to the side watching

A toddler me, and me as a father

Run up and hug each other lovingly

I saw from all three

Pairs of eyes

Trimultaneously

For all three me’s were I

Epiphany

Searching for the werding

Of the feeling when I cope

Is the equivalent to capturing

The curvature of smoke

With this calligraphy graffiti

Get a greasy brushstroke

See I composed it in my head

And it exploded when I spoke

Brain matter splattered

And the walls got soaked

Here batter batter

That was all she wrote

Here batter batter

That was all she wrote

Gemeni

While contemplating the Art of Memory

I laid down on the golf course sidewalk 

and entered a trance by meditating 

on Castor and Pollux

who where passing through the zenith

I knew I was under when static 

on my crown began to tingle

i saw an ark the color of  sunshine and cumulus 

two ancient mariners awaiting

with smiles beneath cloudy beards

waiting for me to board as captain

captain of an ark built according 

to the blueprint of the heavens

a star ship, to be made of memory

manifesting destiny

a week later i was telling my Dad 

about the vision, and while he was cooking 

i pulled a mythology book off of the shelf

and looked up Castor and Pollux.

They turned out to be the patron saints

of sailors, assisting them with 

favorable winds and safe passage 

across the mighty expanse.

Projection

when blindfolded inside the closet

and trying leave my body behind

by inducing a meditative trance 

a dark-haired and olive skinned 

spirit walked in through the wall and instructed 

"in order to do what you are trying to do,

combine the energy from your heart 

and the energy of your mind."

then he called me Adam and disappeared.

So i consciously collected the pressure pumping from my heart

and the electromagnetic pulsing from my crown

together in my throat and awoke outside of the closet

in my room next to the window.

i noticed it was dark outside,

but it was day when I went under.

At first a tingling paralysis hindered movement of my limbs

then I remembered how tai chi practitioners 

would gracefully move their arms to conduct the flow of energy

so i wave my hands around and was able to walk slowly around the room

before being pulled back into my body which lay down in the quiet darkness of the closet

"Pull the energy of the heart

and the energy of the mind

together in the throat

and leave the body behind."

A Dream of Pangaea

An elderly mulatta gorilla crone

limped up the road in shabby cloth.

A man approached with interrogation

she waved him away 

but persistingly he asked:

"Mamm if you had one wish,

just one wish,

What would it be?"

With a sigh she replied,

"I wish my whole family 

would come together once again."

I knew what she meant and I cried.

A poemical portrait

To a dreamworker of the Weaver clan

And an Orphaned mother of the West

Something ancient manifested in the firstborn

Laid on a quilt woven by the humble wife

of a holocaust survivor

stars and flowers, starflowers

So the night before he emerged from the mystery

Of emaculation in the mother

Dreamweaver had seen a vision of her giving birth

To a bunny baby,

A mothersday boy

the leveret was born

in the human form

sharing a celebration

with the birth of the modern state of Israel

and Che Guevara, a predecessor of the same blood

a nurse foretold he would be an artist

based on the twin crowns

the spirals of his head roots

said he used both sides of the cerebellum

balancing his raw creative energies

with reason for peace of mind

he was the first of three

a male trinity

the infinite triskel

of prophecy

written on the bru na boine stone

in the middle east of Ireland

where his archfore fathers

waited for the warm smile of the solstice

they charted stars to read the signs of time

 

It wasn’t long before the weaver found out

Sitting in a Wok, waiting for the food,

He read the asian zodiac on the placemat

And recalled a particular dream

Upon seeing the firstborn’s year of birth

Beneath the rabbit sign

 

The lucky artist

His luck was chanced by the age of four

Shortly after his baby brother lamb

Returned to the world

And before Pops passed on to beyond

The rabbit baptized himself

In the summercamp pool

 

He said he knew how to swim

When the waterspots on the last lifejacket

resembled dookie stains

 

at he bottom of the pool

A rumbling blankness

washed him over

Asleep he fell

Without his gills

And nearly drowned

They found him facedown

blue as the eyes

pale at the rail

and about to bye

oxygen mask, breathe,

ambulance, coma

 

electrical reconnection

seizures between the synapse

narcoleptic naps

hospital beds

with wires attached

 

medicine, school,

monkey in the middle

without playground rules

“gimme my bear back!”

they didn’t so he

bit em in the balls

time out till mommy got him

 

they said he was special

he spoke slow and acted oddly

shy and treated with difference

at meemaws house he blew out five candles

with a ninja turtle cake

and daddy taught him how to draw a brontosaurus

 

His mother crafted a children’s book

Of him transforming into a photon blue

Interplanetary explorer named Freefall

When he went to sleep at night,

traversing the Galileo galaxy

In search of a supernova

She had him draw the pictures

He drew a few and she elaborated

 

He watched her paint murals

Of the ocean floor

On the walls of nurseries

She would paint batman and ninja turtle

Hieroglyphics on his shirts

 

At school they saw his freckles

And called him dirty,

Treating him accordingly

Little did they know those were

Stipulations of holy solar shine