Showing posts from November 14, 2010

What's Happening Here

Transgender Day of Remembrance
has occurred on November 20 each year in the United States since 1999. All this quiet far-reaching through the galaxy above us on the edge of Heaven, over the noise of counting the night’s soft curves, legs, arms and hands.

You come to me and hold my hand and we walk along the river’s edge. You speak to me of the world’s formation and explosion and radiance over the noise of counting the night’s soft curves, legs, arms and hands.

You look to me for answers to a riddle, “What the hell is going on here,all this quiet far-reaching through the galaxyabove you on the edge of Heavenover the noise of countingthe night’s soft curves,legs, arms and hands?”

I look at you uncomfortably, “I do not know... I do not know who you are.” You stop walking and let go my hand. I can hear you quietly weeping.

“Is this a dream?” I ask. "All this quiet far-reaching through the galaxyabove us on the edge of Heaven?”“No.”, you whisper. "I am the daughter of Loveand you …

The Old Man

NATO wants Afghan security handover by the end of 2014

The old man asked if air weighed more than gold, if truth held sway over deceit, the last time I knew who I was, recognized myself for me, not as a tool of greed, but who I am, my truth, my love, my hope, my laughter.

I considered my obligations as a warrior, a father, a brother, a son and a man… judge, jury and executioner… Lift my spirit in laughter and love, bring me to my knees beneath heaven’s beam, I’m weighing my answers like a sniper, one eye upon the scope, the other, my motive. Man and mankind, far from home, carrying out plans, half duty, half flesh, standing bone-deep to my waist, the exactness of a worship I cannot recognize as good.

In the bony sand, the original cradle embracing me, kissing my eyes with wet lips, my ears with truth, my body, with the throbbing of a most private flesh, a forlorn inhalation stains my finest hour.

The old man extends his arms for me to enter, or shatter, the choice is mine.

© 2010 by ma…

Since Our Gift Began to Flow

Saving Water with the Pour Flush Technique from   Water For People on   Vimeo
Since our gift began to flow we’ve seen it as our approval. Where clear silvery liquid coats our expressions we in turn wash them away with abuse.

Slippery streams of blue enfold the arid sphere but drought bathes us in a burnt and brittle wrath, a rage of bone-dry judgments as we coat limbs without moisture, gray tongues, without love.

Crimson and ready, the shade of life throbs and a haze of creatures mine for blue water and the children can be seen in the dusk splashing laughter on the living’s edge.

The winter returned like damaged goods. Odd that we think we own her like a tattered pimp owns a whore, a queen owns her yellow throne, we’ll readily wash it all away with our use.

© 2010 by mark prime

An End to Our Thrumming

(Sebastian Errazuriz - American Kills)
All clocks have stopped their thrumming, the creatures slink across the threads of redness, not enough violins, too much violence breathing to the drum of our failing love.

This, our dust, is not settling as it should, coating the skies with the scourge of loathing, placing the truth lower than the ashen claws of discourse, opening the metal gate to blindness and dismay.

Time is not needed at present, it’s ticking, deaf to our tally, unheard prayers radiating, pouring over the shadowy oceans and seas, clocks without hands... or anything worth keeping.

© 2010 by mark prime

Sebastian Errazuriz - American Kills

Dies Natalis (Day of Birth) Head-Lines 11/16/10

On November 16th, in 42 BC, Tiberius, the Roman emperor was born ~ The calendar of saints is a traditional Christian method of organizing a liturgical year by associating each day with one or more saints and referring to the feast day of said saint. The system arose from the very early Christian custom of annual commemoration of martyrs on the dates of their deaths, or birth into heaven, and is thus referred to in Latin as dies natalis ("day of birth").
Iran starts "biggest" air defense war games
Obliged by empire’s inducement they wait and counter as if they've been expecting us, as if they imagined we’d arrive there sooner or later, witness empire rear up its ugliness
remembering it’s only a game.

U.S. sees "huge" cyber threat in the future
From red, white and blue teeth plummets the feasible future fragmenting like damaged skin cells, bleeding out information and suffering.

Rangel Is Found to Have Violated House Ethics Rules
Don’t duck your head in sha…

Be Not Proud of This...

America, you are arrogant, though some disagree, and see you mighty and free, you are not so, for those who imagine you thus be weak disciples, students of a faith designed by deception, live yet, America, for your conclusion’s nigh, from control and war, which but you struggle to notice your heels bearing down on truth, on love, and in haste the best plans of you unfold upon expired flesh, train cars of death to remove you as king and queen of most frantic man, and does with envy, war, and dis-ease settle, and charms and drugs can make us seem happy and better than your flag- why weep you now? Soon, in this, our time, you’ll awaken the world and America shall be no more. Conceit, her shame, is weakening the Republic, and pious convictions be the killers of truth.

We the people, afraid to speak, are on our last fool’s errand, one foot in front of the other, noses rubbing the stars, staggering along a warpath which is not ours, it belongs to death.

© 2010 by mark prime
Death Be Not Pro…

My Love

Happy birthday!
I could not ask for a better friend, nor could I imagine requesting more of you, for a full happiness already runs through me.

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."
__William Shakespeare
My love tiptoes across the floor of you, covering you in a radiance that exposes the slope of your neck. You ease into our love, devise another world that tips nectar into warm hands with a charity that’s like hot syrup pouring over the dawn. We glide with one another, a tenderness with a smile leant to the air and a speech that touches love and breathes allegiance.

Our love wants to be a winter coat, cover for the iciness found on the streets, the bitter fists woven within the world’s rage. You want us contained by durable scrims of truth, a taut theater, a ready canvas lined with the crimson spirit. It is this; your love, that holds me like a fetter made of happiness, a seed woven inside the radiance.

© 2010…