Magnets Open All The Same

Magnets Open All the Same Collected Poems and Songs Sam Harrelson 2002-2005

Phineas speared the two with his sharp blade, Sending them to hell to hold forever Their blunt desire and the dull release of life.

6-8

Leave my life with your oyster heart. take back your bleeding virgin eyes where the blood rolls from and pools at your grassy feet. I don’t know why your belly stinks But your hands warm my shivering naked eyeball.

5-23 See You on Tuesday I walked into his deep cave of a room, lit by a dull yellow bulb perched on a broken stem – a flower already dead with its sterility poking on top, reversed in its nature – and all wrong. The room smelled like piss and he just laid there with his mouth hidden in the creases of his prickly whiskered face somewhere between his nose and bone-wrong curled up chin. The bulge under the yellow sheet ended at his hips and everything below was already dead. A foot poked out from under the cover and his toe nail half hung to his shriveled up toe – and all wrong. I walked towards him, smelling the empty bottle on the table beside him, feeling the plywood bending under my younger feet – and all wrong. he grabbed a tube and jabbed it into his shriveled manhood and the piss came out – he didn’t look. He smoked the stale cigarette while he drained himself then he spoke to me, but I didn’t hear him over the loudness of his yellow piss running into the bottle. I sat down in his wheel chair beside his bed and he told me how to cook a red breast.

Tree of life and candy bugs eat bright Allah lanterns. Light shining through the windows point forward to the cracked cup sink of eternal cream plaster and still life artwork. Ropes reach down and impale us to climb up to the terrestrial sphere of the crystalline

/ . / / 0 ? > , <> *

carpet cleaners perching on balconied ledges peering down into our celestial sphere.

Locality You puzzled me with refraction, (the bending of your hair in light) causing me to look the wrong way

for your root cause.

You spoke to me from heaven (and I looked down).

You answered me in riddles and caused me to drive onto the rocks.

Schizophrenia = house or home A word of advice: don’t listen to the voices from your murky oversexed perception of what may be reality.

Choke on a plum instead and kiss the heart of the one who loves you.

Smile at the great green deep and imagine a world of fencepost holes and trodden men down oaken lanes that end in tall white columns.

death bombs – 6/89

death bombs explode on your cherry red lips bleeding with the disaster that was your self confidence,

malignant with the odor of your self hatred – cut it off and live forever (never).

Apple frog bites First tastes to the lips enjoy the freedom that is soon overcome by the scorched devil in hell’s mouth gaping wide to enjoy the feast on which you dined last night. The cleft in you (where I indulge myself in the fantasies of death) The middle of earth (soft) (sweet) (damp) with the creativity of a copper axe and an obsidian blade, demanding obedience to a feathered hand dripping blood on the sun ray of anxiety and ancestry. The palatable fissure of your ossuary where you hide your secret frequencies and attract the suffering souls searching for the beach head.

Standing up

or

creation

Your two legs – Stolid timbers Soft with buttery air folds in the front – Orifices communicating mysteries and new traditions. Broken and brown from the old by recovered muscles wounded at the fruit tree. The offering from the tree fell to the ground, giving rise to our inner demon kissing and guileless blame. My length enters you, grown from the newborn knowledge of God and mamman. You cry out, your voice damp with salty smiles and an acid handshake. Two tall walking buildings, eating on hind legs eyes wide in perspective looking through sandRemaking the world.

Wafer Breath

Please kiss me then cry.

Tell me about the tongue in your life and how it feels to swallow The Finish.

Bubble afterwards in the warm salt breeze of spent life

And ask me how it felt to die.

Please thunder and then shake, disarming your robes of sacrificed cookie flesh made alive to eat.

Finish with me in the sour white tunic enshrouding our dying perfumed rubber cake

bodies.

-peniel-

Mystical moist night air points me to the cavern on the green hill under the shadow of the birch tree. Hearing myself speak, I turn to wrestle the Jabbok on a river of self penance and blame. You touch my hip and I quake. You spit in my eye and I see You burn my lips with coal and I taste. You clasp my head and I hear. Just then you left me here – on this dewy wet street sweet spot grass and I cry at having been maimed by my identity.

VOICES Your perforated body speaks loud into my head, my brain hitting the hard wall of ill-intention and poor reception.

It is here when I know you don’t really exist – except in my salt dreams – and I touch your bruised fruit rib side.

Voodoo Universe I manage time but still loose heart, my brain vertigo hemorrhage of gravitons and gluons. Hands whirl on a silver circle on the office wall, timing the heart beats until Golgotha. I smell the stench of veneer and hide in the cave of your atlantis. Yet I cannot stop the goose skin death ticking of apollo’s paycheck. Time itself is measured in sticky melted wax drawn on a wall with a smelly grin. Yet, I always will wonder if your music will stop breaking tone and find the pitch to sit on my wallowed mellowed soul.

You Gave It to Me

I thought it was the moon, but it was a lamplight. I thought you were behind me, but that was a movement. I thought I was saved, but that was the radio. I thought your voice broke, but that time it was my spine. I thought I knew who you were, but I was wrong. I thought I dreamed about you, but it was a shiny serpent on a stick. I thought I experienced the supernatural, but it was a massive ringing in my ears. I thought you would say incredible, but you shrugged in hollow joy. I thought you would eat the apple and you did – then you gave it to me.

CRACK Crack, you hard rock and cleft for no one, but the cucumber prime pickeled chosen.

Crack, you feeling less smell of your busy orgasmed organs that we live around.

Crack, you brahma bull monkey headed stone that we dedicate our apple red seed against.

Crack, you cup of cold rain that we blow kisses to when we pray soft and sweet.

Crack, you flaming green door of smelly doom that reminds us all here of your impotency.

springtime rhyme of bright light and yelling children holding close to orange green prophecies of smell and taste.

coming home Worn shin and penny smells – you greet me at the stove. Words exchanged less than one might think for coming home. Your happiness is measured in the strong direction of the money you hand to me. The differences are what I realize as I sit there on the throne you built for me with oily brown grey hands. On the stove waits the fattened calf, almost done for the buffet and again I’ve arrived home just in time. You never smile but ask how the pearls thrown are come along.

smiling

Smile, like that, for me one more time. Tell me the truth. Do you know the truth?

(I do)

Smile and say you do too.

(You really don’t)

You don’t smile or know the truth because you are still there – sucking your thumb in the teat air of your mother’s placenta that you stole from her womb filled with your own blood – (not hers) and fingers. (At least you didn’t steal her soul!) Smile, and pretend you know me, then slap me in the face with your hot hand.

remember? What was I thinking when you smiled? I wish I’d remember. You waved the magic wand hand on your arm and I disappeared into the bath with lamb and the (cock). Requiting death I appeared to you and we broiled fish on some beach head with a mango grove and not enough to suffice.

candybugs or brains Candybugs and cataract water – spilling into one small moment large brains and puzzles saturate with the distraction of a ticking daydream vigor. Reflectful moments of reprise with apes following int the gorge, the essential small moments that perform the needed function of a holy spirit in our brain.

(spill) Spill into me on the sofa, rest your poetry on me. Parking garage love seeps between us and the cushions Dripping past the fibers of cotton and ornamented tissue paper. Whisper into my ear on my concrete Holding yourself up with an obtuse

the sweetness which you pour pylon steady right angle.

Kiss me on the lips and remind me you too are now rigid. Listen to my ground level for the short death As I spill into your flat plane.

hands and knees Kneeling down, holding the cup Mary asked Why Listening to her, the son beheld his hands and knees And released himself into the death of infinity Embracing the cold shudder soon after filled with regret The knowledge of knowing and dying at once Experience of the two before who bloomed and died His release wet with love dripping on the lips of all Encrusted in the thick veneer on the face of Mary (and us all) Mockingbirds singing lullabies of freewill Asking us still to kneel And accept our present without being sure of eternity Remember, there is no room to spit (when you’re on your hands and knees).

Throwing Bricks You, so beautiful with confident assurance, turning the acoustic up even higher – and turning me on. You ask if that’s all I need today – and I want to say no – I’ve been looking for you. You look just like my heaven with your blonde hair falling long on your ruffled egg shirt holding the shoulders. You turn to find the ring and I cringe, for inside I know that regardless of the nines, this is my new life. You look into my eyes as I buy the rope and I know that the only thing you’ll ever sell me is my heart –

now entwined in some exotic knot not acceptabl e.

do not talk. Animal trials in mice resound and the spoon jumps over the moon. Sausage cries from lost loves echo in my heart. The swinging door flings open and there you stand – Ready to take me somewhere I do not wish to go. With Prometheus liver I cry out and you open your jaw “Don’t speak” I say, the victim, the deed done and you satisfied. You leave me there, we both speechless in orange tinted regret.

human compounds Study the elements in me and you will find your answer. Study the bonds between us and you will be confounded. Inside out, I’m the same as you, but outside I’m so far away. Reservations made between my heart and the next destination conflict with the reservations I have for you in my heart. You don’t know how I work, It is amazing you understand anything at all. You pretend to know the answers, but cannot find the key – Study your eyes and decide how you look at me before you study my soul and decide to judge me.

Grotto Lines long around the square. “Ye who are mighty take heed!” Smiling baptisms and white linens argue – first heavy – against the marble.

“Eat me!”

you once said then died. And here we are, eyes and face shiny asking for your bread while stars fall on our heads.

orthodox Right belief – here you stand Calling after me, I shun shy away. I look for Grace – where is she? Where is the substance? Where is the baby boom dogma of engaging tendency to do smiles? to die? to rectify? Restrictions, change and reservations progress you into a second stance leaving the flock. Maybe the next seldomness will rightly alter the alter and set things aright.

Elaboration on Something Personal yet Perhaps True

Elaborate on the Twelfth Night and Alabama me back to the Thames. Your doublet and twenties pants tempt – they even mock but I act – I act intensive for the audience – driving them back to monster truck mud (and fair hopes) and cats on tin roofs Interpreting different parts. Taken to a place enchanting them for sixteen years (like a dream in July).

Crucified All The Same I am so bored with you. I am so bigger than you. I look for brunette hair brown. I only see in your face the frown. I smell Jasmine and flowers I hear only scowl and disdain. I touch your deep dark hair I only feel your thin blood blonde there. I smile and I feel I cannot always be the one you blame. I laugh and grab the golden cup I drink it all up. I have I I wish I

to deal with you wish I did not have to. you were brown. wish you away your frown.

I know I I know I

I want you to run away know you want today. you will judge me. will take the blame – (crucified all the same).

-Magnets Open FirstYou open with a bursting house your baby owning a very nice home. Do not feel guilty feel like an earthquake. Feel empty – Make money. Let Apollo give us all the more time and enjoy the seventy third in the duel. Do not use your coffee pot, it doesn’t work on the 38th!

Baby’s Breath Your back had a spark in its eye. it had a career. Could I?

I didn’t ask.

You know the question.

I wish I could find the answer. Just repatriate and call me blue. Why does it take this to think of you? It’s all the same. Beat against metal pots while teething on her breast. Listen to speak and when to not, knowing when its best. Friends will lie and she will die, the leaf will always fall. Do not believe your children yells when they don’t believe in them at all. Eat the apple, kiss the tree, and don’t stop to think about the careful notion of melodyor the way the room does stink. Hear the bird for its song and the baby for its breath. Speak in hushed mellow tones and follow her to the death (she will know what to teach you, my dear son).

Concrete Curves in nature cannot bend to your unrelenting lines. I feel your concrete stare and the tufa stone of your soul Water my garden with your mix of hardening soup – Calf skin forgiveness doesn’t seep into your plastic gutters. Red toe nails flashing lip biting bright screaming through horns billowing black cherry smoke with rich fruit of calf muscles. My concrete inspiration point. Bleed on me. Scratch that skin. Eat my crust. Commit the first eternal sin. Know that with your arm the forgiveness of frog-bellied might and give me cricket tenderness. Don’t ask for a deviljust give me helllive in your belly and revel.