Honorable Prince Siddhārtha,
With all due respect,

Eye am thirsty!

A dreamer of dayes
Whose dance card is most insatiable,
Eye am still hungry

[Call Aside.]
More bread 4 the Belly!
More anguish 4 the Heart!

Eye’m still dreaming
{A Flash Of Lightning}

Eye’m still dancing
{A Clap Of Thunder}

[Call Aside.]
More wax 4 the Candle!
More skin 4 the Corset!

More Shadow!
More Light!

{One-Beat Pause}

Eye’m suffering still, Lord Buddha
And still en flight

Annihilation, my Sweet Prince,
Can wait

© LogosVox 2013


The Helen Suite


Amongst The Ruins

Once the unbridled envy of
Realms near and far,

The ramparts of Sparta
Are now
Mere bronze age walls

Walls bleak with soot
And crumbling

Walls surrounded
By lemon groves unattended
And overgrown

{One-Beat Pause}

En the aire of this storied place

Dregs of memory beckon us
To an ancient altar   .   .   .    of
War weary stones

They beckon
And ask for our song,
To shepherd cosmic pow’rs,

Court Mnemosyne
And be strong

To this plea,
We reply

En earnest



Amongst The Angels

What are we to do?

Where are we to find asylum
When the Ground of Being radiates
Thru Ev’rything  and Ev’ryone?

God en all
All en God

What songs are we to sing
When this madness fills our cup?

And fills the Hall?

O! Where are we to dance?

Where are we to raise the huppah
When we are compelled
By a thousand-petaled Rose

To wield a double axe, fall a Tree
And annihilate the Self?

[Aside – The Crows Caw.]





Helen’s Dictum

My Lord
My King

We must kiss
En the Garten
(Standing on our toes)

We must kiss
With our hair tousled
And our eyes closed

My Lord
My King

We must Love Allthings
And Ev’rything

Love Sun
And Moon alike

Love Earth and Skye
And ev’ry black speck
En ev’ry mortal eye

My Lord
My King

We must chop down mountains
We must chop down ant hills

We must suffer their little bites
We must suffer their little stings

My Lord
My King

We must Love

© LogosVox 2013


Carefully hidden beneath the cedar,
My ledger is found

Whereby the darkest of my dayes
Is present

And eye do not meet it well-armed
Alas! My Father’s sword is not snug against my hip

No Poetry here (en this terrible place)
No Love
No Light
No Grace

Only the beginning of the End

{Two-Beat Pause}

The Words of Making / My Words!
Have failed me
And eye have failed them

Their taste en my mouth is bitter
                          my eyes
Are dry

Behold a Negro Poet
At the end of his rope
W/ out The Hallows at his command
W/ out Saintly Vision

W/ out Hope

All this, he declares
All eye have known
And held dear

Is gone.

© LogosVox 2013

Rama Prelude № 1

Eye want spiritual orgies, Son!
(At my coronation)

Eye want to wear the crown of my Uncles
And brandish the bow of the Grigori

Eye want Gods and Goddesses
(At my palace door)

Eye want Mountains and Seas and Deserts

Eye want to draw lightning from the skyes
And give birth to a meeting of the eyes

Eye want Knights of Faith, Son!
Breaking bread, drinking wine
(At my dining room table)

Rama! Christ! Mohammed! And Moses!

Eye want orgies, Son!

Eye want orgies
(At my coronation)

© LogosVox 2013


.   .   .   .   as we prepare 2 mourn its passing

We have made great strides, you and eye
And have outgrown the glamour and glitz
Of ev’ry garish bauble this mud province has to offer

So now,

Standing at the dawn of Surya’s luminous trove,
What we desperately need is a poverty of the Soul

Brothers! Trample your goatskins!
Cup your hands and drink mightily   .   .   .
Mightily from the mouths of Saints

Sisters! Break your combs beneath the red heels of your boots!
Break them damnit!
Break them en twain
And run your fingers, wet w/ henna, thru the length of your manes

What we need 2 do   .   .   .   is put a spit-polish 2 the Grail,
Read the Vedas, orbit the Ka’ba,
And routinely pierce the Veil

We need Acts of Love;
Acts that challenge us, perplex us,
Shatter us, and re-connect us

2 the Cosmic Heart,
A heart generous and vast

2 the Truth of our being;
Its very center

At long, long last

© LogosVox 2012


.   .   .  in light of remarks made by ESPN columnist Rob Parker
regarding Robert Griffin’s racial authenticity   .   .   .

Dusky Sons & Daughters of Amistad
Dusky Sons & Daughters of Douglass, Truth,
Toussaint, & Hughes

Alas, the Fight & Anguish of your Slave kin
Has been for naught

Your sovereignty
Your faculties of thought
Are shackled still

Dusky Sons & Daughters of  Dixie
Your political lot, post American century,
Is a curious one

En this land of the Free
& home of the Brave,
You are not permitted Free Thought
You are not permitted to think for yourselves

Individuality – its prestige, privileges, & pow’rs
Have been set purposefully beyond your reach

Darkest of  Ironies!
You are the Donkey’s pet

His bray, your call & creed
A most rancid fare for the Soul yet

A fare fed & a fare you swallow
Without a single shot fired

Without protest

The Creed

Submit, if ya know what’s good for ya!
Submit to the mindset of the herd

And Root out any who stray from the path ordained safe & suitable
For Colored travel
And Stone all who betray its plantation purity;

Those who would question the strict, obvious ties that bind
Race to Party, Race to Class, Race to Shame,
& Race to Thought

© LogosVox