Invocation of Athena

Broken grandfather clocks

toll the bell of the disgraced Goddess

holding aloft a Flame that She is

ashamed to peer through.

She pretends that she doesn’t know

what Uncle Sam does to her daughter,

her nephew,

the nuns,

the choir boys.

The half staff that swan songs

a collaterally damaged record.



Unsung soliloquy in Her Heart,

too Opaque for condition.

Too soothspoke for recess.

but so… Elegant

in her Ignominy Sacred.

Hallowing the holy fields

where killer angels

pejorative legitimate targets

painted as ascendant

chameleon lasers that

savor the sport and hunt

the apostate.


Oh, Liberty.

Witness me, Liberty.

witness me.


Taste me your own Grace,

drink me your own Beauty,

dine me your own

deathless doorbells that

ordain your Destiny.

Rewind me your alarm clock

cacophonous the tortured

exile you danse as shots of

cranberry cognac.

Take me back your womb,

your objectively permanent adolescence,

your sensorimotor peek-a-boo,

your pre-operational proselytizing.

Your concrete copper calves

that Stand as a testament

to your consecrated constitution.

Your formal courtship that you’re

too polite to ask for.

Your terminal mosh pit that

the system’s too fragile to frolic in

as the purple haze pedestal

on which tempted trophies are

attached is shaken through

porous walls that fall the stimulated

poverty your heretics institutionalize.

Give me your Heart.

Your tired,

your poor,

your huddled masses.

Breathe me free your wretched

refuse of these, your teeming shores.

Shoulder me faithfully,

knee me the nonbeliever,

headbutt me the heretic,

frown through me as you

jab and kill.

Parry me, my hands

loath and cold,


Let us sleep now.


Catatonic catacombs echo the bones

upon which are inscribed the absolute truth.

Root for the celebrity,

but salute the enemy.

March in formation,

but demand recitation

of the Omertà sworn in secrecy

but peripherally peer reviewed.

Allude to the axiom

you pretend not to know.


The autonomous interlude of

neo-Newtonian ideological operation

snorts the processed bones of

peculiar pests just before the next bound.

Surgical in your solemn surrender…

or lack thereof.

Under and before the call of duty

the temperature is measured in Fahrenheit,

Celsius and Kelvin as coded crypts

listen in on words I never said.

Dread the Monet paintings you pretend to admire.

Mask me your message unmemorized

and interrogated from this shell.


Oh, Belle, would you be mine?


Propose her your prophecies

too persistent to be permitted.

Burn these shadows

in your order antecedent.
No precedent,

no precipitation,

no poisoned chalice of malice

as moist as the choice between cold causeways

and diving headfirst into oceans of fire

that Parisian choirs seditiously praise

through invisible curtains that

click, roar and catcall.

The Sacred Feminine beaten,

dragged and raped through

the electronic ticking and tocking

of the global clock.

No knock,

no glock,

no warrant,

No more wanting:

just Desire.

It does not matter how tired you are!

It does not matter how happy you are!

It does not matter how split-second

temporal registry hangs heads,

streets, whole cities as lowly as squatter’s rights.

Rage with the undying of the night!

Biological corruption opens, closes

and reopens the local zoo as any

local patrons are sent to coventry,

brigands and broads both.


Broadway is dark tonight.




Binding the love of a country

that made man and woman both

from a spear, a rib, a spinal column,

an extraterrestrial gesticulation of the primal prowess

that unmasks only the worthy,

only the mute,

only the chosen.

The love of colony

that made xenophilic acidic ants

hiss the Prison of Nantes interstellar

to impregnated sacrifices to the Tao

without quid pro quo through corridors

that echo evanescent the celestial void.

The phantom pains that coincide with each

ride or die chorus, verse, and bridge

over-encumbered with fleeing burghers

that murder each other when the street

is overburdened with toxicity,

forgotten as military necessity.

Recalled as a suburban deluge of mini-mall

sanctuaries barricaded as bayoneted zipliners

get up with the sickness.


Oh, Mystery.

Witness me, Mystery.

witness me.


Phallic imagery triggers telepathic static

across the relative infrastructure

of Westphalian incest gone internecine.

The Feminine Chalice lures the child molesters,

the rapists, the school shooters

into autonomous sensory meridian response

echolocation that drops dimes, quarters and halves

as quickly as it’s typed.

Staff the tranquility of the transferent reincarnation

that Beethoven’s Danse Macabre

dragon king tunes may codify ancient voices

into solitaire sonatas that bonsoir

only the most callous of hearts

Good luck and good night.


Architecture tactfully crafted

as lullabies are sung to sleeping samurai

whose shogun naps off the temporal taxation

as a hissing lotus interred in the sensory deprivation

of the Sacrificial Temptation of the Void.

Awake, asleep, fleet as the silent run

that sung to the hunters,

killers and banana boats alike

who were revoked of their S.O.S.

in the name of command responsibility:

the one true standard of officership.

You will follow your orders or

your orders will follow you.

Find you,

drink you as Code Red Mountain Dew

for the cover you blew.

The skin you shed,

the stale bread you

washed down with poor mead.

Greed is not good:

welcome to the choke point.

No fences,

no sixpence,

no pseudoscientific irreverence

of zombie doctors who stumbled

over armed collegiate barricades that

stood, stand and will stand tall…

even if they fell, fall or will fall.

The day they get you is gone, boy.

and you’re gone with it.


Winding through the claustrophobic

cyclone of unrecalled carnage.

The muzzle flashes,

the cordite,

the smoke

that consumed the metropolis

as slow dancers in a burning room

that replicate to beacons of Liberty,

Justice and Sovereignty.

Dope pumps through the veins

of those that mansplain the lesbian

difference between chauvinist pedophilia

and Greco-Roman sexual knowledge of Confucian Self,

Virtue, and Guardianship of the Polis.

Go cry about it,

why don’t you?

We’re here to hurt you,

hearse you,

worse you.

Immerse you in tongues that

you don’t know you can speak.

Utter any word save for mercy,

defeat, repeat.


Witness me;

Her Voice that Speaks as running for re-ignition

of the ancient Flame that Consumed by

urban inferno whole city-states, countries, empires.


Sires and Madams,

scream Her Name

as they pluck your angel wings

feather by feather,

laughter Her Letters as they

seek your flesh by feeding frenzy,

smile Her Similitude as she Sings

your excruciating lullaby

as a collectively unconscious Whisper

the Fidelity of which is real, authentic, true:

whether you believe it or not.


We don’t die,

we multiply.

We don’t lie,

we amplify.

We don’t why,

we grimace.

We don’t testify,

we witness.


Oh, Athena.

Witness me, Athena.

witness me.

poempoetryspoken word

◄ Athena

Lady Liberty ►


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