Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Poems by Allen Masterson10/21/2009

The Elephant From India


Disregarding my delirium, I dance
with the elephant from India

She smells of sweet heat
that rises from beats
of butterfly wings
The women are so friendly here
in the Palace of Psychedelic Daisies

I must confess my impure thoughts
to the Giant Centipede who guards
the gates of the Great Honeycomb Pyramid

The queen of Wasps invites me to kiss
her hard-candied hips

Just as my lips reach lavender bliss,
a crystal god smashes the moment

Sending me crawling back to the village of Fire Ants
where I am elected President
because my skin sweats marmalade

But I'm soon unseated by a toad on a stump
who promises a decade of dead worms

Now I sail the sea of Buttered Popcorn,
salting the stars with paper cut fingertips

I long for one more chance
to dance
with the Elephant from India







Birth Pains in Spring




She's spinning in the rain
in the same place anger
assassinated melancholy

The victim is victor again
When midnight bleeds its back door
hint of anarchy

But she can't change blue to red
Can't resurrect the dead

A razor torn sky
lying exposed in bed

She smells the birth pains of spring
the infinite pause of sorrow
when the birds sing

Lift it up for me to see
The remnant of your melancholy

From midnight to the morning plea
The faded voice of anarchy

She's spinning in the rain
The same place promiscuity murdered chaste

But Jezebel is Mary once again
when noontime sheds its skin of haste

Hold it up for me to see
The remnants of your sanity
From midnight to the morning plea
a faded voice..... of sympathy





Dew Drop Remedy




This morning's thorazine dewdrop
slant-eyed remedy

Smile on my face with sliding tiles
and dictated memory

Time clock
punched-in persona
that once touched beauty's skin

Took on the weight of the world
feebly fought....
didn't win

You want to know why my soul is green
swimming in eyes of blue?
I searched in chemical mirth for a glimpse
of thought born true

This husk now slow dances with syringe fairies
on a lake of frozen drool

But there's a spark still in here
laid-back, laughing.... cool





A Series of R.E.M.





Overhead projections in the sky
Showing slides of deja vu
and tsetse flies

Floating on the sex of an amethyst night
Climax
Then drink the diamond dew
Of an afterglow dawn

Now trapped in a dirty corner store
Regurgitating memories for the check out girl
Who's burning in a hell of perpetual consumption

While non-committed maniacs
With coagulated syntax
Rule the metal mirrored landscapes
Of insipid binary thought

Volcanoes and lily pads make great nests
For the schizophrenic's Serpentine psyche

Lay back and watch as merry bastards hatch
While senility goes on sale

But we could slide out of this
Carbon based cell

If we allow our pineal gland to
Lay down the bail

These dreams are nothing
But a window....
In jail





Liquor Reflection's Augury





I'm feeling bellicose at the bar.
Bile rising as I reflect on violent acts
in an intrepid, drunken state staring faithlessly
into a liquor reflection's augury.
I can't take heed of my pituitary.
My chakras are twisted, folded, flipped
in a kind of cosmic anarchy.
I'm a masticated mass a liberal might look upon with
sympathy.
She held me once, naivety between the sheets.
Winter sparked in midnight's comforting delusions.
We had to work in the morning, every morning.
The hive needed honey, and we needed money.
Big Brother's eye passed from wallet to unsated wallet;
keeping tabs on our limitless greed.
She left before the holidays,
and I got to know the god Lexapro.
He held my hand as we walked through the land
of prostitutes, pimps, and parasites.
My heart skipped cocaine beats
in a hotel named after the the mother of Christ,
or his wife....
I'll have to qualify that with a gnostic.
I finally fell in slumber filled with benzo-klepto dreams;
where everything I stole was blue,
a melancholy hue,
that always seems to be my theme.
Eventually, I robbed a pharmacy;
thought justified by my hijacked psyche.
Now, I'm in Montana fleeing the law
and feeling bellicose at the bar.
Bile rising as
I reflect on violent acts
in an intrepid drunken state....




















Monday, October 19, 2009

Poems by Allen Masterson10/19/2009

Thunder On The Ohio



I dig deep to remember....
I remember the damp cobblestone street cooling from the heat of the previous day.
I took a tour and walked to explore the uncanny architecture of romantic minds, as my
mind flew to a place of rapture and acceptance. Emotions placed in sharp corners of
gables peering down at inferiors; expressing a minute of intellect that reverberates
through lifetimes of declining respect. Echos of engines roaring on a river contrast my
romance and rape the beauty of discovery. Modern entertainment for the sun burnt
hordes beer-bonging and pill-popping their way to oblivion; a mass of fecundity
for the babies of generation next; gesticulating with no apparent rhythm, but still fertile with the soil of ignorance. I look to a friend, and I ask, "do you see?".




Lotus Growing




I am the lotus growing,
Blooming forth from an
Industrial quagmire

Stretching out of decay
And turning away
From Freud and his cronies

I am an alienated product
Of mutation with a tight tourniquet
Around my Id, Ego, and Super Ego

Cutting off circulation to their analysis
Letting phenomena wither and die with tactile sensation

Because I feed from the light,
The One

Colors taste true in my mind,
My Eye

Shattered is the image
Fractal is the imagery

Born the finite
To embrace the infinite

Look at me,
The nonexistent,
The Ultra

You see
I am the lotus
Growing....





Pause... In The Sugar Bowl





Gravel lot
Dusty sparks of "Doses"
ignite my senses

Shady characters dressed in dysfunction

Slip a universe on my tongue
and dance in aching joint agony
with a peach

Cathartic activities in an insect
invaded sugar bowl

A series of compartmentalized experiences
happening at this touch of space

Thrown off kilter
from a question of direction

Cold doubts of existence

Knowledge that she will never be there

Separation of cerebral functions

Faculties handed over to the hidden Grid

A new awareness of past life sufferings

Truth can't be found in semantic rantings

Truth lies...
in the pauses




Pubescent Sunday





You should be ashamed
Licking the back of God and howling at the moon
Double vision in the back of a Nova's no excuse
Mentholated memories under monkey bars with Miranda rights
A little shit goes a long way in the firing of a synapse
So...
You're a handcuffed prepubescent fallen in love
With a future hood rat whore with aspirations
Of audio equipment titillation
You never went for the good girl
With the odor-eating panties
And inhibited makeup application
With the acrylic nailed aqua-netted
Prayer session mother
And the fetish ridden father
looking down his nose
and secretly wishing for genocide

We want to save you from this-
This pulsating hormone hysteria
This miniature Event Horizon
Of consciousness

There is another side to our whip-crack of reality
A little ergot vehicle manslaughtering whiskey mentality
A little torn existence
And taste of dark rhythm
Maturing in a petri dish
Awaiting installation in a worthy host

It could be you
Just turn your back on Aristotelian esthetics
And impregnate your mind with chaos

Because it all comes together anyway, kid
But the question is the answer you give
When you get there





Long Dead You





I've experienced your swelled vein grip
On my heart

Loss of breath as I catch a ride on the train
Please remain

Smooth sticky honey for my Queen Bee
Bitter pills melt
And mingle with a memory

Never met you,
But I know your taste

You'll come to me with colors of obsession
Promising pleasures
Open doors
Floors

Offer comfort for crawling
Clawing

At shadows of an insect empire
Perpetual dawn offered to a liar

Cradle me in the cold arms of the universe
Reach the blackness
Only to find more

Disillusioned boundaries
Of the dark whore

Feeling familiar to a few
Feeling the presence...

Of a long dead you