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Poezja

	Anthony DiMichele
	PROFIL O autorze Przyjaciele (13) Poezja (54) Fotografia (92) Grafika (133)

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Anthony DiMichele, 26 grudnia 2013

tomorrow today

frosty wishes
santa chihuahua
barking laughter with a vengence
who asks me did hypnotic pink ever happen?
and what is this wrinkled caramel coating reeking with aging
moth balls?
first light is a painting of sorrow tomorrow today
with all your favorite mammalian adaptations
every angel in the collection bears a crystal
bouquet with coloring books
waiting under the apple tree of judgment
I cry in the freezing rain right in front of it
keeping the best company
to myself
ice cones of geometric perfection
go wavey in the calculus of the white rays
yellowed in brown dwarfing cumpled into
something else
because nothing never exists
you need a mitt the size of Jupiter
to catch the comets and hot rocks
that take down dinosaurs
who can’t remember how they got this far
despite their myopic triangulation and monumentalism
that allows one last glance
before we get here in miniature
okay the gluttonous long fingered kites
are tethered to the beaches where the dead
are served up on platters of cool glass
death kiss in the blue blue snow on the waves
burning in the bellies of skates
I think of all the plumbing slumbering beneath us
while tugs are pulling the aquarium across the river
on fire
snowballs and igloos fill the holes in my palms
Floridas of corruption irradiate the embryos
floundering in oceans of renewal
where the strangest creatures born from cosmic excesses
get passes

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Anthony DiMichele, 13 grudnia 2013

the box

unappointed
seditious
scurrilous
I hate to fall outside
the box
you make
in your unmindful minds
but in the beginning
was the myth
of reference
there really are many ways
to barbeque a baby
on the white house lawn
it's not the case in this case
fallibility can betray our last resort
mechanism that states nullification
is over 90 percent guaranteed
I am no slouch
I worked out all my contradictions in
kindergarten scripts
I was an enlightened gorilla
in a playground totality of plastic
I was an anarchist by five
I knew what I wasn't and it was everywhere
it made me sly with cunning
prefering the ways of twists and turns
to the logical line's ontology
I met every beautiful monster inside me
outside
and the life inside that showed me dreaming
was flying responsibly
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 11 grudnia 2013

Mandela

as soon as I heard Obama did a puppet show
at the funeral of Mandela
I suspected the hero of being a sociopath
a man out of time
murderous rage
doomed
to celebrity with blood on his hands
that washes off easily
after each torture session
his 2nd wedded wife necklacing kids
laughing as their heads exploded in the
ring of fire made with gas in a tire
shoved over their shoulders
which are wrapped in barbed wire
and ignited with a match
lovely
but somehow his evil was less evil than the evil
he blamed for making him resort to evil which is
righteous
so he posed with the spice girls like a sweet
ole daddy and probably
recalled all the rapes he condoned in the name of freedom
called the ANC
each could point to the truth of the others' terrorism
I hope when he died he remembered the horror
in slow motion
so it takes a lot longer than 27 years of free housing
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 8 grudnia 2013

tempest

I have no thoughts of home
when cupped in a lotus of the presence
of life
it runs through you into the ground full of clouds
and rain
through the walls of your eyes into the sea of streets
fully occupying minutes shaving hours for meals
and yards that fill an enormous loneliness
that has multiple contradictory definitions
death to the justice of the just which is just
for the unjust
brimming with the unlovely sight
becoming monstrous
famous on earth
among strangers who find in their brutal hearts
moorings for their grizzley dreams
while the tempest blows over a tea cup
of barely audible whispers
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 28 listopada 2013

Thanksgiving

Only cannibals eat other animals
Smart meat
evolves
to veganism~ consider it
meet for your mind
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 1 listopada 2013

a cup of rain

there was a plum tree
whose rich violets on green velvet
were dreaming of white gold blossoming into a cup
of rain

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Anthony DiMichele, 30 października 2013

our calling

adolescence
the last level for us
destroyers
our calling is in the ashes
kill this world
of uniformity
when you're asked for solutions
scoff
it's not your job
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 17 października 2013

in my sleep

I can't pay you back or in the fast forward
of my future's present
I can't find the present
because it is living in a fictional future
bearing my name
away
as I disappear into my work
for nothing besides the making
filling a spot on a floor for a bed
working toward revolution
in my sleep
the lies go on and on and on
I have no credibility with myself
without you involved
and you have none when you are
I want to give it all back
to you
it has always been yours
I always said never
there is always a lot of dead time
for speculation
and I find it intriguing
thank you thank you from the bottom
there is finally no where left to go
for any reason
without means
and I have mellowed into a neutral smile
a line seperating nothing
inserting its self like a scar
that stitches the tear in the face
into lips
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 16 października 2013

ignorance

scientists who deny the utter destructiveness
of their methods and outcomes
the actual historical results of their work
their compliance with and submission to corporations
that control research with unsustainable aims
these scientists who cannot account for our origins
or consciousness
are also those who claim life is inherently meaningless
and that life began out of nothingness
rather than simply admitting their ignorance
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 16 października 2013

dreams

my dreams scare me
I am an absence in them
a feeling hard to shake off
after waking up
*

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10 - 30 - 100

Najnowsze prace:

Poezja

tomorrow today

the box

Mandela

tempest

Thanksgiving

a cup of rain

our calling

in my sleep

ignorance

dreams

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