I am a lamb in a lion’s world

It’s terrible to walk out onto the
street at night
to see the fringe of society on its
hands and knees,
walking and wading on
through the inevitable tick-tick of time––
and it’s glorious in the winter months
when they all feel cold and out of mind––
a surging of spirit––
in the great, black abyss of night;
all holy in their own right,
all displaced and out of time,
but new days breed useless songs
in new keys and useless times
and all that there is in the world
remains one-solid faultless line.

I’ve got four fingers on the trigger, friends
and they all point to a new sign
when it comes, it comes, friends
but for now
let’s just leave it all behind––
and shake off
all the old, battered soles
find tears amid broken glass––
reshape it––
to something created
in the sweat and blood
of men who hold nothing as their truths––
a mirror for the recluse,
a dying thread
of a hero’s fallen use.

And they all say:
sing Cassius’ tune
And they all say:
sing Cassius’ tune.

for whatever’s left,
a remnant of death,
a faultline restructured
behind time’s lonely destruction;
for the preacher without a pulpit
finds fault behind the stars––
for whatever silences them,
silences us just the same.

And they all say:
sing Cassius’ tune
And they all say:
sing Cassius’ tune.

––until the words become true––
––until your heart bleeds blue––
––until everything you love in the world––
––loves you too––

are you manic in bed?
are you manic at home
with doors closed?
are you manic in lines
of hungry cowards,
waiting for sandwiches,
breathing insincerity,
and crafting bones
of displeasure?

are you manic
in times of woe?
are you manic
when you’re alone?
are you manic
at concert shows?
during television shows?
between the soft clock ticks
in the intermediary
between heart beats?

––love like you eat––
––like you need it to breathe––
––live like you’ve found––
––all that there is in the world––

are you manic
when it turns?
are you manic
when it hurts?
are you manic
at every inch of suffering
laid out in front of you
like a red carpet
leading to the Pit?

so much asking––
could this all be it?
could this be all that time ticks?
all that life brings?

us, driving in our cars,
listening to our own,
fighting traffic and acne,
minding freeways and authorities,
driving with our knees,
hands held high in technology,
we’ve got all we need
in our pockets.
we haven’t anything
we need
in our heads.

Jesus, preach me
for I am the lamb of the sewers surmounting,
breathing toxic waste,
exhaling toxic rage,
interjecting times of pleasure
during the lone-moon sky’s failing.

Jesus, preach me
for I am eternally me
in all my glory,
I am the ideal
of life in Utopia,
I am the god,
of me,
and what you see of me.


I am a lion in a lion’s world

their heads rattle on in the evening glass,
in their evening gowns,
shooting their evening smack,
pricking fingers,
pricking toes,
pricking promises of to know,
though they feel it in their bones,
they feel it in their pores,

what is all this?
milling around

they do not sing songs they know nothing
they do not sing songs they know nothing

lies and deliverance
beheld we fell
behind the sordid skulls of
the utmost
held high
in terror-fires
cast below
to the oceans
of the unknown.

we sing to thee
on this mountain
of debauchery––
we kneel to thee
upon your throne
of uncertainty––
we hail to thee
under gray skies
of flattery––
we dance with thee
in your banquet halls
of mind-numbing feasts––

Jesus, preach to me
for I am the Semen on the Mount
I am all the lies and none of the deliverance
I am the last of the marauders
I am the flash in the sewers
I am the intermediary
between love lost and light utmost.

Jesus, preach to me
for we feel the tension surmounting
we feel the cusps of tears lamenting
all in our floundering
how we fight off the cementing––

I am the hero of the new age
look at my life,
here and now,
for all the world to see,
plastering pictures
on the internet,
plastering toes
in leather shoes,
tight jeans,
angsty knees,
curling inwards,
heading outwards,
fight me on the streets,
find me between the sheets––

now heaven is nowhere but up.
now heaven is nowhere but up.
now heaven is nowhere but up.
now heaven is nowhere but up.

kill your lions with your lambs.
kill your lambs with your hands.

I am the Semen on the Mount.
I am;
I am;
I am.


Ward Notes (Three Poems)

Out of Hollywood

Out here––
Out of Hollywood
Free from actresses
And Nobel laureate scholars
With pink ties

In here––
With plaster walls and
Stainless steel showers––
Light green,
Forgetting everything

Where sun shines,
Dandelions bloom––
Nothing is safe
But everything free

My mind,
My soul,
Righteous and free.

Television Blues

Television blues
While we drone on
Inside our heads
New dreams wearing
Our hearts down dead
The waves coming, running,
Not wanting even our selves––

Blood races thin
As they flow steadily therein

Another dose,
Another fill,
––us within.


This bed––
This death bed––
Perfect and clean.