Portrait of the Desperate
You can stab me with the paint brush
With your initial impressions
Condemning me as a cliché
In the gulag Guggenheim
Posting travesty appraisals
Like fishing hat khaki tourist
Whose idea of high culture
Is a Big Mac at MacDonald's
Enjoy reducing my existence
To sacrosanct banalities
Pontificating irreverent techniques
Of vindictive enmities
Now just adjust me on the meat hook
In your cauterized exhibit
Posting slaughterhouse celebrations
Where the brain police pollution
Egregious diuretic polemics
Under sanguine lit fluorescence
The skin hides peal the canvas
On the phlegmatic eczema easels
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Many Things That I Regret
There are many things that I regret
Like
Blowing my nose
And observing the contents
of the tissue sheet paper
Just to see the colour
Of my nasals mucous
And the interesting shape
That it takes
When ejected
From both of my nostrils
(Snowman yellow)
Or
Putting my fingers
in the Peanut butter Jar
To taste the paste nectar
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Bodies in Alignment
The wasp watches me
As I stare at it
Pensive with tweezers
Of academic esquire
That this derelicts of nature
Small brother in absentia
Should be compelled to wonder
The sedimentary escritoire
On top terrestrial ink blots
Perpendicular to my pen
For I should be alarmed
While caustically anxious
At the dagger protruding
From its cutting underbelly
But I am not afraid
Simply curious
That this Striped yellow jacket
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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The coziest place in the world
The coziest place in the world
Is between the legs of a girl
Exploring the peaks of her breast
While tracing the coriolis in her navel
The sweetest scent in this life
Is to see a smile that's pure
Escaping the trap of the cynic
I've been arrested to become pedantic
The greatest goal I have learned
Is to look in her eyes and know
That between us engaged is one soul
Looking for someone whose not in us
I would give my fortune to you
While building one for myself
Become rich if it meant loving you
Meant all the things peculiar to me
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Hagar Shipley
Memories come
to harvest her days
Down through fallows
that somberly graze
The splendor tip tops
of the boondocks of youth
Etched in the silhouettes
of ghost with no truce
She stands always fighting
the odds of the house
Knowing home is never sweet
to the aged carcass
But a prison in waiting
to the dominoes of nature
Which she rebelled on the day
she was properly nurtured
In those ninety years dwelt,
she's no wise to sages
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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All I See is a Child with Third Degree Burns
The future stairs, in pixel bites, from monochrome beams,
down satellite eyes
While the past explodes in a quadrangle weeping
from the opposite side
Embarrassed acts of devastation
come back to me and collide
As images of Europa cascade
from a fiber optic line
But all I see is a child with third degree burns
Small, ingenious sentinels, are quietly calculating
subtle maneuvers
Around Agenor's quite daughter,
unaware of machine intruders
Meanwhile, Croatian artifacts,
are ripping horrors in my ears
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Paranoia's my favourite lover
Locked looks
in a spies romance
Secure a warrant
at first glance
My affections
will get detected
But all attractions
are taped endearments
A first kiss can destroy hates convenience
But long term commitments bad for surveillance
Watching the watchers retreating afterglow
Drift in panic rooms where desire has no doors
Friends?
We can be friends
just as long as you understand
that a Lie detector test
is going to always come in hand
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Universal Zen - Blue Noir
Come ye faithful to the round cathedral
Mother night will guard her starlight children
As they travel towards the midnight stable
Crossed shores and streams of vacant cradles
In these halls that span beyond the sun
When ours is usurped by the arrows scale
Let our lords construct a magnificent ark
Towards Saturn's rings, and Betelgeuse flame
I here the sound of infinity approaching
The endless void calls to me
It dreams of things that have not happened
and shows me things that never will
Let me feel your warm embrace,
So I retreat away from me
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Le Bateau Is Hanging Upside Down
'Isn't it recondite' said the patron
Who observed the Matisse for inspection
As if he were an expertise General
Protecting culture on his mantel
'Yes it is' I squirmed with breath
Perspiration was in my brain
Hoping to come out with the wisdom
Of knowing what I didn't know
Sensing my every twitching askance
He looked at me with half a scrawl
Dalmatian conceit in his posture
Wagging his lips of disapproval
'Of course you don't understand
I can see it writen in your face
Let me enlighten you to what this means-
This artist is embracing symbolic transformation
Utilizing reductionism for grand complexity
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Summer song - Childhood faith in Childhood Man
If I were to pray now, it would be for garden
under the comfort of tall hedges, from the shade to be gaurded
from the torrents of relations and acrimony of strangers
Press ganged in green velvet where Paradise is never later
And I would make myself comfort to the roof of bright emeralds
Showering me in light rays past of painted leafs umbrella
Castaway deep in the trunk of an elk's ancient thrown
Falling through its ancient roots of withered arms that I call home
Never dreaming more then what I dare now only take
In this bright enchanted day, for which I pay the sun its name
And I would lie as a child from memories now stolen
Wondering where I had gone from the lost road of pages
That has been simply ages since I saw the next chapter
Informing me of my mission down fields of endless choices
While befallen in the spell of the scent of orchids nectar
Holding on to the rays of springs immaculate potion
Laughing tall under gold leafs, while quickly passing the phases
Into this surrealistic ocean wondering this dreams epilogue
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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