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Anthony DiMichele, 29 october 2015
The Beginning of Everything
The Beginning Of Everything
now I think I will bite the blue ice in the toy box
with an ocean of maturation
cat whiskers in chains
a bridge from the harvest to my face
that storm tossed ghost ship
that solo cobbled together
with tales of longing and a few clouds in passing
wish softly sister
the mad world is a light dancer
nameless colors cascade into a red lake
urban homesteaders fly by in a fog
shaken lovers stir the city
with a loaf of bread in full bloom
baked with dynamite
what time is nighttime tonight?
tango with the black widow
or talk to the ventriloquist in the mirror
it is sunset's day off
it is the beginning of everything
again
*
Anthony DiMichele, 28 september 2015
we were warned
I remember to remember
a hail storm on a motorcycle
it took me
it shut me up
thunder and lightning...
hurricanes that broke glass
and bent the trees back like Odysseus
bending his bow
a flood that had huge sewer rats
swimming down the street like they owned it
and a pregnant muskrat with an arrow through its head
and a turtle on fire
and we played in the clouds of insecticides
sprayed from above
we were warned
but we were kids
it was magical
and defiant
Anthony DiMichele, 8 july 2015
before dawn
they are at the parade by now
after noticing the time
little numbers
that adjust the sunlight
to the waiting corner
getting the box of shade
the chairs lining main street
where the sharks feed
were bait for the initiated
with the kids following along
too late
for me
I rise before dawn
Anthony DiMichele, 8 july 2015
The Theft
the birds in the trees and a wind chime
in the slow breeze
that is exceptional in muting
our talking
quietly
the jaws relax
we float together on the flying moment
silenced and willing to go on
further into the day's magic
stolen by the theives of our days
and we feel we are stealing back
what was ours all along
*
Anthony DiMichele, 8 july 2015
just for laughs
I see many points of light in the dark night
fires in the void
as if the void loathed itself
a white wash in a black hole
I too would call
it from inside it
no
no message
I call again
and again
just for laughs
and their echos
*
Anthony DiMichele, 8 july 2015
love poem
I love you shamelessly
and quietly
directly and immediately
here and there as you come and go
*
Anthony DiMichele, 21 july 2014
namaste
I bow to the spirit in you
with a lower case pronoun
the first person singular
agenda
dissolves
into everything
a plurality
ironically a unity
bonding us in our chaos
without both of us in each other’s way
*
don’t be negative
when your head
is buried
in the
sand
you are already one
dying
to be two
and so on
through
the entertainments
the fears
the day dreams
that can sometimes
remember
the sky inside you
*
we pick at our defects
as with scabs
always in a hurry to heal
to accelerate its natural pace
to be perfect
again
and be able to smile
with our original face
*
Anthony DiMichele, 20 may 2014
Astonishment
“I no longer want to be astonished.”
A declaration made by Antonin Artaud during the last
years of his life. When I read this I was astonished.
Why did he even bother to write this down at all?
Could he imagine the effect it would have on a reader?
The impossibility of living without astonishment
is terrifying to challenge. Is that what we amount to? Terrified
slaves to wonderment? Bewilderment domesticated?
The codification of self-delusion?
All the myths of deathlessness lead to the preposterous posturing
of civilians who adopt the attitude of happiness as a strategy
of denial. Happiness has become a Cult with vast numbers of adherents.
To live without conscious awareness of death is like being unaware
one casts a shadow in the light. Dreams have become consumer rubbish.
Dreams and Death go hand in hand into the forgotten Shadow’s land.
*
Anthony DiMichele, 25 march 2014
Farewell
There is a heart
behind this shield of fear
with its aura of hatred
pain and ambition
commerce has nothing to do
with the gift
you gave me
at the office
and at home
you probably caught me
red handed
in a dream
or two
over the years
the gift of time
with the trees
and herons
the collective solitude
of song birds
singing farewell
with joy
at dawn
if we could only unchain
ourselves
from ourselves
and not insist we all
suffer the same way
to live
through a lifetime
singing a memorized song
I will not build my own coffin
around me
with salvage wood
from the dumps
of despair
the material is light
the essence is light
but we are most often
heavy with impossibility
I have no quarrel
with squirrels
or the other absences
which I stopped reading about
accounting for
in an instant of lightning bugs
and they were gone
from the landscape of childhood
this is my folly and fondness
and most high regard
not the meditators and commentators
but those who know how do what they
always knew
let go
move on
and give away everything
to follow nothing or no one
but some strange feeling
within
there is a heart
here
under the grays
that knows no fear
the lowering everydays
we put past us
there is an island with a heart in it
a sun with a starless night in it
and friendships that make ordinary speech
a miracle
*
life is always astonishing
Anthony DiMichele, 23 january 2014
illumination
names with painted faces
breathless words illuminated
dying is a crazy dream
*
Anthony DiMichele, 26 december 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
Anthony DiMichele, 13 december 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
*
Anthony DiMichele, 11 december 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
*
Anthony DiMichele, 8 december 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
*
Anthony DiMichele, 28 november 2013
Thanksgiving
Only cannibals eat other animals
Smart meat
evolves
to veganism~ consider it
meet for your mind
*
Anthony DiMichele, 1 november 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
Anthony DiMichele, 30 october 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
*
Anthony DiMichele, 17 october 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
*
Anthony DiMichele, 16 october 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
*
Anthony DiMichele, 16 october 2013
dreams
my dreams scare me
I am an absence in them
a feeling hard to shake off
after waking up
*
Anthony DiMichele, 3 october 2013
sex and war
what sex and war have in common
besides beginning with blind passion
is their resultant carnage in the aftermath
of their engagement
*
Anthony DiMichele, 3 october 2013
war
war is not a word
full of ambiguities
it is full to overflowing
yes
fuck
love
too
but unlike them
war is always full of the same quarry
of insanity
*
Anthony DiMichele, 3 october 2013
reality
Reality
a dumpster word
if ever there was one
too full of everything
to mean anything
in particular
it is something for dumpster
divers
to contend with
*
Anthony DiMichele, 8 august 2013
humdrum
everything is humdrum how we like it
nothing going on here
in the cosmic drama
the trees surround the house and beg
for permission to believe in our enterprize
the remains of other characters on the barbeque
are being smothered in smoke
you will miss the point of my life
missionless decency
unfolding inside a spectator sport
make a place for yourself
among the anonymous multitude
it is said
you can part them like wheat
Anthony DiMichele, 28 march 2013
After Midnight
there was captain slave
and the book
and also the inner clothes I dress up in night after night
the revolutionaries’ worn out flames
the next time we will not take you by force
our aspirations are to be advertised on movie posters
I shake hands with a swordfish in a blue suit
the blood hums in his gunpowder
all of us are burning
for a catharsis
when you are gone even for an
evening
deep down I am miles into a dare
*
where do you undress
your voice?
who is really naked naked or not?
in vain your tough structure bends
an immense utterance into a whisper
but the electronic walls spy on you
black and bitter from eternity
our wine bites its pulp
above the scars the riddles are unwritten
claws sink into memory
the broken clouds appear to be breaking up
and I owe you
a long book
*
between each infinite maybe I made my way
with being being evaporated drop by drop
do you remember shouting at the earth?
and then the vanquished dawn without birds?
through turquoise and crimson clouds rain fell
soaking our stockings of ashes sunken in traffic
my nails would be delightfully undone
by a solitary arrow on a one way street
I am dressing myself with cold gravestones
in the emptiness of another picnic with all expenses paid
the overture is written on a yellow postage stamp
it doesn’t make sense because it doesn’t
motionless celestial flight
*
the overture however might go on forever
said a heart wildly alone
with a thick tongue of solitary kisses
lightningbolts exploding on my lips
slapping stars in palm trees
with the hair of water
and my semen scattered in constellations
oh! the axe was a torch though I held the light like a weapon above my head!
*
Anthony DiMichele, 26 march 2013
urban solitude
I am under a light
everything I want is a cheap fake!
drugs sex power money miracles…
there’s a line for you…
keeping an eye on that thousand foot smoke stack in the sky…
all ahead went fuzzy…
behind it was dark as ever…
bent down doubled over in a struggle
for animal warmth…
hard roads make of our royal labors… labor…
be humble
or revel in a future that looks
token green
over the irises
the garden still delivers
like threads…
Anthony DiMichele, 26 march 2013
Hermann Hesse
since the first time when the light was a promise
fulfilled
the air clearer my eyes keener
the books ladders to climb
I loved walking through the alps
in your imagination
never stumbling
because happiness was everywhere
and you could breathe
without noise in your ears
the simplest wash of cerulean blue
in a broad band across the top
of a paper rectangle
was saturated with its own magic
someone always got away
from the storms of love and poverty
plague and wild flowers
before the game got complicated
or was it all in the mind afterall?
it didn't matter what side your voice was on
the wheel covered us all
every time I am split down the middle
and stand between myself and myself
I remember the smell of autumn leaves
smoking behind the fence rising below
pale stars it was marvelous and ancient
you couldn't ignore it
which made me feel like company
the monsters were always ordinary in hats
monsters who were not monsters
afterall perhaps
since the first solitude
since the first door opened into wonder
and isolation
I only blush alone
I open you again to remember
the days that were already memories
with no futures
and happiness in simplicity that was always
oddly naive
*
Anthony DiMichele, 24 march 2013
perfectly
This morning I woke up in my coffin
I was on the wrong side of my neck
to be precise I was before and after
myself
with a message that dreamed me
caught forever in my mouth
I hope I get to you in this promise
but I was already on the wrong side
of my pain
in the neck like a medal I wore backwards
intentionally
between stars this morning
I wore hope around my neck in a noose
that I knew was meant for someone else
but I woke up hopelessly
and it fit me perfectly
Anthony DiMichele, 24 march 2013
lust
my frozen lust left an empty puddle here
fantasies
filled with lovely fillings
while nihilism leaks out of hollywood buddhism
buttery old fashioned
shamefully naked
nothing
living in underwear
a purgatory for vainglorious poultry
who are finished with thanksgiving
Anthony DiMichele, 23 march 2013
weightless
the anxiety slashed me it curled me into a fetus of fear
the fear cancered me
for years and then it killed me
many times
I am with you not of you
my pain is weightless
my thoughts a narrative of escapism
suicidal dance in the shadow of our rubbish
everything goes in the frenzy and the trance
the song and dance
of eatting corpse
I don’t know how or why
but I fly downstream to the sea
automatically
and I don’t stop there
I can hear you speak
to your self silently
as you read
I think this is eternity
I don’t want to die
Latest comments:
25 april 2024
sam53
przychodzi czas i trzeba zdecydować...
24 april 2024
jeśli tylko
nadszedł ten czas..
24 april 2024
Weronika
Sekwencja ram obrazów z dzieciństwa.
24 april 2024
violetta
Fajnie się czyta, superowe pisanie.
24 april 2024
Adam Pietras (Barry Kant)
Dzięki! : )
24 april 2024
Czy ja wiem? Tu chodzi o to że fajna jest przyroda
24 april 2024
Eva T.
"Życie w arcydziele"? Pisownia irytuje.
24 april 2024
Fajna próbka. Czyta sie dobrze. Pozdrawiam :)
24 april 2024
Spacer z bocianem ;)
22 april 2024
Martwa ale z wyjątkiem strzelistych bluźnierstw.
20 april 2024
:) Dobranocka:)
20 april 2024
kb
chwilą... jedyną :))
25 april 2024
Satish Verma
24 april 2024
Satish Verma
23 april 2024
Adam Pietras (Barry Kant)
22 april 2024
Satish Verma
21 april 2024
sam53
21 april 2024
wiesiek
21 april 2024
Satish Verma
20 april 2024
Satish Verma
19 april 2024
Satish Verma
18 april 2024
Satish Verma