Marked

Behind foreheads and branded on frontal lobes
Discolored mind paints discourse,
Ideas mark our kind,
Known by our eschewed eye sight to one another.

No handle this doorway does as it will,
Violently opened or slid shut no control,
From somewhere else quieted thoughts squeak
To pry my hands from my face
So as to behold this reasonless truth and take note.

Disjointed and breathing memories
In ineffable sequence unfurl a puzzled peace,
All connected meaning in
This ocean of synchronicity,
We float alone and sense other's light
In the undertows and currents of this
Vast culture western pressed north verses south world.

No handle this doorway does as it will,
Sleepwalking and pathways are in my control,
Thoughtless frown, other times past I felt less meek
Beg me to re-open my heart
Allow some recollection of past covered truth and commit to theory.

Hidden knowledge we can not speak
Past histories and veiled worlds
We see the spectrum of normalcy
Is incomplete,
Opened eyes to see
Unable to verbalize
Vocal chords won't vibrate
Words, no words anyway, no words to provide
Proper interpretations of this art.

Over mind interpretation of what we've seen
In the in-between artistic optimistic cynical or grin,
Broken on waves of psyche ego self could have been,
The house of the king is vast and carbon-black,
The maidens all speak of original sin,
Trees grow bear fruit lush and endless rivers are waiting.

No handle this doorway shuts as it will
Sleepwalking and pathways laid out for me,
A pessimistic mystic frown lost the will to seek,
Something deep begs me to dig into layered mind,
Recall the desire to get lost - process thoughts bewildered in awe.



Heroics for Stoics

Come back here
Don't be so quick to jet away,
I like the way you move
Out of the corner of my eye,
Such exquisite dancing from
tree to ground.

Warm breath in my blood
leads to golden mind
Through natural doors in
The Sierra Nevada Mountains
I witness the sunset new.

Over mountains and lakes
Color and corona and dusk humming
All around me I feel excited
Positive that the world
Retains some reason.

All the past mistakes
Relived in nightfall
Is there a requiem,
And do we forgive
Ourselves?

The stars dance like you,
all fire and love and play,
Couldn't I just stay here
And feel the warm pine needles
prickle my back until
My sanity, the sun, and pessimism return?



Power

Dilated and waited for this moment and
I can feel it and I can’t tell it but they will try to sell it,
But who are we to quell that? We -
The right and the ideal and the sight we embody can begin to
Change the screen we see filled with all these crying eyes,
Blood in the streets
Almost like Rome has come back to power.

Open sight and wrought with fright sought the right
But slept through the night watch
While the crooked slipped into the mind and planted seeds
Which bloom and are like weeds not fruit.
We’ve lost the goal in the pursuit of happiness and landed
In this expansionist time and the crimes on the Tele come
Back to me, guilty, in some degree,
But unable to understand what finger on this right hand
Could have pulled that trigger,
Unemployment down, for the grave digger as he calls for war,
What is wrong with more work? A slight smirk, and then:
The silence of the Nation made my skin crawl all over creepy
Creep over the dead but hold that head high because this World will see power.

No rally cry just a disgruntled sigh from the ones who
Would change this land and start to put power in kinder hands.

Dollar clad Jesus must lead us to profit and strength (and distraction)
Poor must starve and carve a living in poverty filled cities (just a small fraction)
And we must free the poor lost Arabs from their ways by killing them (a kind reaction)
To blowback cloud smoke in NYC late mail notice from ’93
2001 hun', the world changed and we got our package late.
Fuck the sender, finding them will hinder the real agenda,
Put the planes in range
Just bomb the post office and the broken house down the street,
We’ll knock them off their feet and kill the poor and walk through door and take what’s under the sand slight of hand perhaps.

Marx sent a letter too and it got lost in the post
Because most would say that today the fall of the mall leads to
War for more goods because time and eras pass,
The dry mouths of the ruling class understand their grain is sour,
But the wheels turn and cities burn to quench the thirst for power.



© Michael Pineschi

Bio: Michael attends SFSU where he is studying International Relations.  He writes that, "Poetry to me is like a mind-painting, I enjoy composing them and imagining what people see when they hear it.  I am self-publishing a small book of poetry that includes my poetry and the artwork of two of my friends, Chris Sims and Drew Boyd. It is $8.00 and you can obtain it by e-mailing me, and soon a website. It is full of weird and wonderful scenes, words, and photos. sage_blue@hotmail.com."