Devin Brahja Waldman, Janice Lowe, Anne Waldman, Levy Gorvy Gallery, NYC 2018. Alystyre Julian, Outrider film
then there exists a magnetic stellar blackness
a carnivorous oasis of blackness
where the suns derive their power from obscurity- Will Alexander
night here and demons
one arrow for every thought
floats through
this one is demon impermanence this one
seduction
dark angel still in charge but on wane, rehearses
tantrums, purrs of collusion’s disillusion
human? you have wonder how brain stem in off mode
is node of escape for the Decider,
he wonders too, all the Deciders do, men mostly
make enough noise
but you are assassin in charge
of think tanks
and no one decides without cunning
bots of regression, the moon turns back on
itself, ghostlier ode in which you used to be loved
and you welcome eclipse,
create ode to a priceless red pearl moon up there
with glowing state building lights
we’ll get the blue on
and you’re back in Paleolithic
leaving the universe to its devices
maybe this is canny darkness
maybe innocence
touch my fear
maybe this is a sign
cut that thought
and an epic told of progress in the bellies of nymphs
how creation would be nocturnal
a language come up of grisly virgin sacrifice
hurtling stones and birdsong, wind was an ally
now they spurn you, powers, what did she say about
another dead rock star in the room?
monster of the mill
what kind of win?
world is secretly kind, but won’t return
always an immortal wishing for more attention
keeps you in focus when a cruel tune
intrudes, reeks of nostalgia
count the footsteps
my lover! my lover!
light a candle for your face
cradle your aching head (it tells secrets)
barbs of projectiles, gear up, load up,
why do they lie to us
we’re here to make a new world!
lies turn cities to dust and detritus falls
words need to be retracted
spill whole magnitude in night’s regressive tremors
hard to be in love but love the words of love
as you escape the falling city
we still dream as one
your tattered wings tucked under
no identity to hold this time
soft impostures for the steal of fire, keeps edge on
deeper magnitudes, stasis preferable?
touch my heart and where I have loss
touch the vacant wound
sans eyes sans ears sans nose sans everything
touch belly’s sweet reward
let me rise and turn up this nocturne
the ten thousand things
in the afterhours
it sounds like this:
don’t ever second guess, but listen in Liszt,
a reckoning of shreds and half notes.
and shots ring out in the concert hall
skeletons sway, the electorate gets boozy
slinks in longhouses of ritual, gets ready
another day on the meat wheel
some victory in the wings
an inch on the progressive side
hey we’re shouting CRISE CRISE
au secours au secours
counting hours in nightmare
crisis time we’re screaming you hear?
dream all hours in a reversal scenario
drums minutes in systemic cistern-like symmetries
torque toward us, then splays
all about a radiant nexus or exit scenario
blue waves of retaliation, counterpoint
a clear melody floating on left hand above
arpeggios, break chords
of melancholia!
but you’ve got to get off the planet and see
visions from atop mount sky’s dominance
the retreat of the ice
mount of an ICE raid
concentration of carbon dioxide
highest in three million years
and scientists study stomata
on surface of fossilized leaves
analyze air pockets
marooned in Antarctic ice
flying wide above synthetic missiles
my Masters and their dharmas
Mistress Nod and her serene pleasure
Molecular Madams will whisper in soft repose
“see the little people squeaking by”
another succubus liberated beyond binaries
clues me in misunderstanding cosmic silence
petty and suffocating
speak in obscure night tongues don’t denigrate
reticence for revenge, fury knows no restraint
I won’t shut up but beg it shuts me down
be stilled, “metabolism of centuries”
memorize your new name,
for a tournament,
night’s dominance of the prisoner Anne,
and her battle
with hyper activated sense protectors
& you will see into fear with this special costly lens
not handing you in a spoon but drink this now
and scry your heart out,
but don’t waste time while it stops a sec for another
“Hey! way to go!” grow back skin, reptile woman
anything you want in your sub alterity groove
be a thousand words for Mistress Chance woo her
and steal her footstool,
rollick a long day in another new century
decision in the wicket in the ballot in the body
ayahuasasca is ancient immortality clung to a vine
before it was plant or man,
or human’s guilty woe or was just an ear listening
& could read flowers, read leaves
read hours, put the cup to your mouth
and listen to the earth moan and heave
and chatter of pixels lock you in
to vomit the universe
bury in, retreat, barrel down another mountain to ring around
an echo, nothing to win
in this time of peregrination you know best
to circle and dance with elves
but you are mastodon
and you shatter hard
what new planet’s moon you on?
won’t you ever sleep
reconstitute in new plasma
ever more duty in post consciousness
lap-in-motion paralysis not the game today
I didn’t order that up
whatszup cynic,
put down your defense mechanism reboot smile
refuel
cyborg warriors come out to test the water
let the rider dip a foot
measure temperature, silvery moonlight
what do I pay for sound?
what is a night tax?
have your torch nearby
light escape path then enter bardo’s
sleep tantra, keep breathing,
visualizing a shimmery “AH”
seed syllable of surprise
good to come down the tunnel
some wilderness sorrow
can’t fake it anymore
where is our rose continent
Mt Meru here to climb
center of the universe, exhausting all meditation?
nocturne paired horns with spring
come on the heels of a wartime serenade
Chopin, imitations of twittering birds
a far off sound, a betterment, a moment
peak of a solstice
future mid-summer dream
no one saved
female choir singing between the notes of tranquility
won’t ever be tranquil enough in this pastorelle
not saboteurish,
no one saved, sisters
and go batten down our hatchless imaginary
get safe model, its premiums,
with a safety lock
of genderless person,
distinctly perfumed, soldiered up
won’t care but blast and destroy
can you see in this nighttime?
find Debussy’s lost manuscript
Trois Scenes au Crepuscule
with its mysterious songs of Sirens
who pass us by, laughing:
wait in line, suckers!
gin it up with a new motive
because the night the treaty broke
because the night more raids more bombing
because the night a poet died lonely
because the night
we stopped remembering
you think a nocturne is easy?
it’s a magnum work
a stunt job
sometimes misjudged with fluttery hands
sounding footsteps like traipse of a giant
of what are you afraid?
old stars were lost to us but left trace of
reckoning
“move away we want to know all the answers
the morning after
be armed and ready (with love) to disappear”