When I Die (Sung In The Naw Ahleans Spiritual Fashion)

When I die

Lay my coffin 

On top of the dusty jukebox

Of any seedy bar

That I favored 

At the moment.

Put my white shoes on.

That’s all I ask.

Well, not really...

Have fun picking out my clothes.

Don’t stop putting quarters in.

Keep the music playing.

Eat lots of yummy food.

I know you guys are great cooks.

Smoke if you wanna.

KEEP THE TV OFF.

Drink.

The hard stuff.

Keep feeding quarters

Into the machine

Knowing I lived a full

Good life

With hardships

And wonder

Just like all of you.

Let me shake and dance 

On top of the jukebox.

Just don’t let me fall off.

That could get ugly.

And at the end of the night...

Or week....

Don’t forget 

To tip your bartender.

New Jersey Spring

Blue and white plastic bags

Wrinkled and breathing

In the sun 

Like recently

Hit roadside 

Poached egg

Carcasses

Of various 

Wildlife.

Yellow bags 

With smiley faces

On them

Fluttering.

“Have A Nice Day!”

Crime scene tape

Entangled 

In trees

And shrubbery

Waving like wheat

Or back-to-pasture

Seed grass.

Bright white styrofoam

Or pretty cardinal bird red

Fast food containers

Blossoming 

From 

Yet 

Unmowed green grass.

Tractor trailer

Retreads

Piled on the side of I-78

Like granite mountains

Amidst 

The chamomile

And wild rose.

The early colors

Of Spring

As it comes into bloom

In the lovely 

State of New Jersey.

My Kinda Movie (Black & White Visual Albedo)

1.5

The dark ink of clouds 

Moves like billowing oceanic tidal pools

In front of the chandelier candela

Of the full Sturgeon Super Moon

The undertow strong

Sweeping dust and debris

From the surface

Exposing the navel lunar impact detail

Of the Copernicus Crater

An illusionist film

Cinema Melies

In the theater of my telescope

Set up in my backyard

My own little

Mahtab Bagh

The splendorous Moonlight Garden

Of 17th century Taj Mahal

To the north of the Yamuna

Abundant then

With roses

Daffodils

And fruit trees

I think I can see you

Waving

From the Sea Of Tranquility

(Mare Tranquillitatis)

2.1

Thereafter

You

On the New Moon

Looking at me

Sees a Full Earth

Through magnifying Dolce & Gabbanas

As you french-inhale

On a long skinny fashionable cigarette

Our Full Earth

Looks 100x brighter to you

Than your full moon

Looked to me

You watch the Full Earth

Rise 

At Magnitude -17.7

The Earthlight 

Illuminating

And casting shadows

On the lunar scenery

Around you

When you don’t see me

Through the brightness

Waving back

(Which I was)

You saddle into

Your red 1979 FIAT Spyder convertible

Kicking off your Hermés high heels

Pushing the naked sole of your pastel foot

Down on the hard rubber pedal

While you simultaneously gunned the engine

Spinning the tires

And took off

Spraying moonrock everywhere

2.5

From here

If it wasn’t so dark

I might’ve seen all of that

With only my naked eye

From my own little

Mahtab Bagh

Paradise

Next Level Shit

Pandit Kamalesh Maitra

Master Musician

Of the tabla tarang

Jamming out on the

Raga Deen Todi

Is some next level shit.

Jean Michel Basquiat

Smeared across the white walls 

Of the Brooklyn Museum of Art

Is some next level shit.

Mozart was

And always will be

Some next level shit.

Eliza Bennett

Embroidering the flesh

Of her own hand

In dainty rainbow colored sutures

In a defiant statement 

About women laborers

Is some next level shit.

Marilyn Chambers, Vanessa Del Rio, Jenna Jameson, Sasha Grey

Were some next level shit

In succession.

Jimi Hendrix coming off of a 4-way

And an electric high

Then writing 

‘Castles Made Of Sand’

Was some crazy ass next level shit.

17th century Japanese Samurai warriors

Ready to mercilessly kill within seconds

Unseen

Like the Bush Warbler

Adorning exquisite pressed silk uniforms

Were some next level shit.

The old grandma

Next to you

In the laundromat

That just lifted your wallet

With fat, meaty hands

Without you knowing

Because she had to feed

Her grandchildren...

It happened while she was kindly showing

You how to fold your 

250 thread count fitted sheets.

That was some next level shitl.

Small Tits

They look good in any light.

Especially in wavering candle flame

After a long uneventful day 

The taste of rich red wine long in my mouth.

Full in their flesh

Nipples sturdy and offering.

Like tractor beams

They pull hard at my desire.

There is mote that I can do

But be drawn to their 

Steady rising and falling

Like a nursing baby.

They look even more exceptional

In the unfocused light of morning.

Their soft domestic splendor

Gives me cause 

To say a small prayer

( At times, I find myself being very religious )

A few words

In celebration

To have lived through another night.

Boko Haram (Bring Back Our Girls)

There you go again Richard...

Just because

Someone bastardizes a religion

It doesn’t mean you can call bullshit

On the whole religion.

For example...

An asshole who is a follower of Islam

Is an asshole.

Not an Islamic asshole.

Painting the world 

With a wide brush

Is dangerous.

We have Christians that would go off the deep end

And we have Jewish people that would do the same.

Now...

As for the girls who got kidnapped...

Well if I were President of the good ol’ USA

I would personally invade the country

And rescue the oil...

I mean diamonds...

I mean girls...