And so begins the summer of our salvation....
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"MOVEMENT! MOVEMENT!"
This is your sign
HERE
NOW
Take this exit, coming up fast, your car's worn
out and your psychic radiator is
blowing steam all over,
incinerating the thoughtless children
licking at the rivulets like icicles,
Step up! Slam down your words, the ones
you love and hate and hate to love
and hate to write, have to write,
like a plague
scabies, they are
scratch and scratch and anyone who stands
too close gets a deadly disease that the
doctor can't describe
prescribe a shot and a glass of wine
but that's the fuel,
not the antidote
"MOVEMENT! MOVEMENT!"
No need for time travel to tag
today as the day when the
psychic train wobbled on its rails
and exploded in eternity's ecstasy
as the hobo poets took shotgun
potshots broadside at the passing express
"MOVEMENT! MOVEMENT!"
Show me your ticket and I'll kiss you
so deeply your knees will buckle and break
and your stomach will dissolve into love's sticky jelly
Unwrap your uncertainties and disintegrate
your self-hate because
I LOVE YOU! no matter who you are
or what you write
as long as you BELIEVE!
BELIEVE until you can't cry
again, BELIEVE until my love throws
you down on your hands and knees, lying
prone facing the redeeming mecca sun,
your face buried in the soft damp decay of
a forest regenerating itself from
the bacteria and the shrinking viruses
of diseased decades going dark,
"MOVEMENT! MOVEMENT!"
I'll write my own Declaration of
Independence when I break free
from the muse's satin shackles,
the short, orgasmic pleasure of
FUCKING THE FAR BEYOND
replaced by the post-coital dread
of becoming nothing
a sentenced spider who just spent
his eternal sperm
on a spontaneous widow not worth
these webbed words left behind
"MOVEMENT! MOVEMENT!"
Sign up right here and
practice your performance-
The judges are decapitated.
The priests have all gone to sleep.
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brilliant mermaids basking in the hot springs waters
gazing up the Breitenbush River as the spirits trapped
in the mountain-top snow unleash their winter-frozen
voices in the roaring snowmelt torrent,
the sirens absorb the messages of ancient forests
in mineral springs brewing before the ages of men,
bubbling hot from the timeless heart of their Mother Earth,
and these new mothers of our shared destiny
become the balancing point between the raging roar
of the river and the lullaby murmur of the springs.
I hide my eyes from their enchanting beauty,
Diana and Helen and Cassiopeia lying naked to
the rapturous blue-sky gaze of the sun, and to
the confused wonderings of a dazzled poet
blinded by the amazing divinity of a woman's body,
one quick stolen glance can become the mind-destroying
glimpse into the spiraling origins of the universe,
an eternal curse that forever freezes my thoughts
and overwhelms my soul with the undeniable joy
that springs from deep within each one of us.
I soak quietly in the soothing waters, staring
back at the Cascade sky, so thankful that
I'm blesses with the mermaids, with the
never-ending amazement of the human body,
thankful to be cursed to take these holy
snapshots in silence,
thankful that I've finally found my way
to see through the eyes of God.
------------------------------
"In the end", she whispered, eyes glazed over staring
back up at the cliff from which she'd
fallen to this last gate, "you have to
make up your own language for all
the things that happen, all the days and
hours and deaths and births and meals and
friendships and dilemmas and insanities,
you have to write your own grammar
and compose your own history, be it
a song or a poem, a sculpture or
a painting, or an eternal gaze
captured on film and spread all over
the walls of museums, and ghettoes,
you have to make up your own words
for the way this life burns into
your heart and your stomach, your skin
and your soul, the way it hurts
and heals, the way the infinite pain of
death makes you scream with pleasure
beyond drugs and sex and salvation,
you have to make up your own language."
------------------------------
Salvation is indeed coming to Portland, as the Jesus and Mary Chain are performing at the Wonder Ballroom on July 17th, in what could be the best moment in Portland's glittering rock and roll history since the Beatles played Memorial Coliseum in 1965. In honor of band that's been more than just my favorite band, something more like religion, or at least misguided self-help scriptures, I'll be releasing my 3rd book of poetry, including several JAMC-related poems from throughout the years, on July 17th. Look for it in the same places where you might have found "Dream Trains Keep On Rolling" or "These Poems Kill Fascists".
Revolutions don't carry advertising budgets. So what are you waiting for- a TV commercial or a banner ad to tell you when it's time to step out of the shackles that hold you down? There's two ways to correct the stratification that threatens each and every one of us. One is the civilized way, through laws and taxes, a Constitution and the American way. The other? Well, go ask Marie Antoinette.
I'll see you at the ramparts.
-MVK
