SPONTANEOUS INCANTATIONS, COLLECTED POEMS 1999–2007
By David Acevedo
[Untitled]
Breakdowns are breakdowns.
Wait for the future…
Travel to the past.
Advance on the present.
to move beyond the future.
Make time.
Spend time.
Waste time.
Days cannot end without sleep.
Some weeks appear, disappear; are long and short.
Time internal.
move for self.
Time external.
move for all.
— — — — — -
Grasping, not grasping.
Form to formless.
Manifest and extinguished.
Dream of a soul.
Mine, I alone am.
within among separations.
Qualities of idea.
Initially are meaningless.
To allow or stop them.
Is pointless as time.
passing from then into now.
Who can decide.
when they begin?
Turning Stones
Every thing is alive whether you accept it or not.
Earth included and what ever is alive.
That has a body has a mind, this is questionable
And the answer is fitted within.
the spaces of all bodies.
Our hands are stained with
The blood of the Earth,
Plasma and soil.
keeping the mind chained to the body.
This culture is absorbent.
to the rigid values of.
expecting what one is born into.
and asserting the self for survival.
But no body is not self.
nor name inside them things.
Dependant on conditions.
is the way they exist.
There is nothing for.
the personal self.
to take and within that.
there is delight.
The What
A nice home won’t bring you stars,
dust will cling to things.
before and after it floats.
in from somewhere else.
The hands of the wind.
touch and spin everything.
before leaving for the day.
Dreams are the mind unlocking itself,
distraught for what we call.
dreams are the immediate phantoms.
whirling though the fog of the electric brain.
Unspoken Knowing
The oldest times return,
can’t none alive tell.
when it was like this last.
Brooklyn, stand up!
And get into the cellar,
tornado will spank you like switch of yore
yesterday childhood’s fire hydrant taxi cap.
New York is a future New Orleans,
lost under water or saved in legend like Atlantis,
held in the orbit of the mind.
Some how citizens get the shaft, but climb back up.
Me and mine are no different.
‘cept when it’s the normal activity.
that queers us up on the block,
but every one’s got to live.
some how, some way, right?
The streets get so hot everyone smells drunk.
The rain is just sweat from a higher brow,
we get no cooler and service won’t
accommodate space because we live on top of each other as it is
“Get off me!” when they ride the trains.
I heard three threats in the past two days.
I’ve been taking the long way through the block
invisible through time I feel as if I’ve already left.
bag packed or packed in body bag.
either way I am whoever I will be.
Past lovers know how I break,
where this writing comes from,
some object given away.
and grown back like a plant.
I’ve got no more blessings for anyone,
but I want to touch everyone.
at the same time.
because no one’s fault should discriminate against ever,
who in deed be better than any one else at any time?
This Self regulated and thrown into the past.
path of decadence and ignorance.
still while a Self exists and dare to call it I, my own Self,
this Self, me, my Self-
It has stood up and knew even with the lack of shining compassion,
the void of the very essential practice for nearly a year as of this writing.
could see with clarity and assurance.
So let’s make a move, soul carries a body like a snail drags a shell.
Metaphors diminish as the basic elements are seen gathering.
But as the inscription weathers against time, it stands in the torrents of the world:
The Is No Love Because Just Love.
Those who shine will reflect.
all things are carried through.
unfinished and done.
Let it stand, walk away.
Make a bed to burn.
Love me in between your teeth.
One eye closed watches darkness.
.
.
Poem [BETA]
I can only accept
what is stripped down
revealed, bare
and visceral.
Are you at all like me?
I refuse myself
if I weren’t
although I am.
No matter how
many times
I sweep
Your hair
and my skin,
are here
But it’s not
that at all-
your hair
and my skin.
Flirting with dawn
extra daylight
bathes my dying plant.
Sleep on it
the way regrets
become monuments
Approachable
as a black hole,
the nightmares
of truth and self.
Am I at all like you?
Whenever I look
at someone I try
to imagine what it is
like to be inside their body.
What is the function
of projected images
What really is seen,
could we all
see the same?
Because it is unknown
is why I am infatuated
Because I can’t know
you how I choose
Because questions are
the same answers
given in between
paper nights.
Waiting for Patience.
Now that the holidays are over and the new year is on and especially now that January feels like January with frosted bites and crystalline air. Now that vacation is over humbly and in retrospect I look back and see that my biggest accomplishment was mingling and for the most part I did nothing. Which was good, sleeping in and staying out- daring sunrise and loving sunsets.
In a better world I am more confident in my doings, the home- in whatever stature it forms- is a prison of sorts and has come on in a suffocating style. I should take my vacation and find a new place to live, everyone wants to take a trip, even me. No dates they are too far ahead and being here is just too much, I know I know.
It’s been occurring to me that the networks we have set up are creating more space away from each other and that is such a bad thing. I want to touch a hand and talk through a glance, let’s untangle the wires and lay pedals to metal in this organic world in which we do work so mechanically inside of.
.
Like
Because we were talking you and I.
And like how th’ mind can get
trashed in wrecked ideas
and the way it was
when we was
institutionalized,
school I mean.
And we ain’t say so in so long
but y’know and I know
but our future’s doomed like
everyone else’s,
together I mean
like a mental pile up
and the whole world
stops just like that.
Like how I’m never that way
,but you are and it’s great
it throws me off and makes
me uneasy, but it’s you
so it don’t make it any more
okay, but like, the guts right?
They show well.
So then in the rainy sky line
holy days used to be
holidays, but I never
really celebrated any ways
‘cept when it’s time to open things
and hopefully it’ll be this year
and every one after,
year after year
opening our selves up and
learning who we are together.
Peace.
All the Loves in the World
All The loves in the world.
cycling through time.
distributing reality and dreams,
the outside forces.
proclaiming once again that.
it won’t be believed,
it will outrage,
we will want to move away.
and on and on.
without any clear plan.
to advance beyond.
present day.
epiphanies, proclamations.
revelations or.
cover-ups-come-mystic-truths.
What any one is doing.
is what is being done.
Any attempts to stop.
any one thing being done.
cannot be achieved by one complete task.
since any thing happening,
since its already been done,
is composed of numerous qualities.
all working.
inside and out.
to create the effect.
that something is doing.
after it’s already been done.
What I do is worth as much.
as others who do good or bad.
as well as them who do nothing.
and just as well as those.
who do and do not.
My dreams are rustic visions,
archaic options.
trends and functions.
outcomes are powder ash.
and that is their reality,
All the loves of the world.
screaming murderous wonder.
tormented by outside forces.
the intrusive evidence.
Advertisements for.
another reality.
subscriptions to.
more dreams.
And the reality and dreams.
are fitted to my reality.
and dreams whether they.
snap to grid, conform or should.
be tempered and tried to.
fit if they fit or can’t.
And my reality and.
dreams no longer resemble.
my original contained idea.
of reality and dreams and.
therefore are no longer my.
originally contained ideas of.
reality and dreams.
as they have become to all.
the loves of the world, but they.
do not notice it, the outside forces.
coming in and dressed in dead bodies.
going inside all the loves of the.
world, dressed in dead bodies.
You won’t believe it,
they say, name dropping.
every dream, advertisement.
and subscription.
And I wish that.
moving away were the solution.
What work works best when working.
if it works best to present the.
work. Clearly then what is to work.
to be worked upon when working.
occurs, then therein can clearly.
be the work that works best.
when working.
It is clear and visible inside.
and out, the dead bodies know, the.
reality and dreams that have.
no body as well as all the loves.
in the world, they know.
That it is clear and.
visible inside and out, what.
is to be worked upon when.
work occurs, which is singular.
compared to the cycling and.
distribution of reality and.
dreams, the outside forces.
All the loves of the world.
are singular in convention.
Of all the loves of the world.
there is only one and is hardly.
understood making it very.
difficult to share, all the loves.
of the world.
All the loves of the world.
are hidden inside and out and.
contained and fitted in my.
original contained idea of.
reality and dreams before.
they no longer resemble my.
originally contained idea.
of reality and dreams, like yours,
before advertisement and subscription.
go within bodies, dead and dressed.
the rustic visions and archaic.
options, trend and function as they.
do work upon all the loves of the world.
In the Night, Woke up Drunk
Freshly washed sheets are the best.
Two AM text messages and fifty dollar gig offer.
Freshly washed sheets with me warm
drag me back to dream.
Dreamt I bought a Wii
and had to take it to Harlem.
Explosions at another time,
I see black night
and wonder if we’re being invaded,
that I have no way of knowing-
and quietly rolled back into sleep.
Loud crashes and a blue laser beam,
I’m awake and the first thunderstorm
is vying for my heart,
I want it to get closer, to never clear up.
I feel hungover, but I haven’t been drinking,
it’s the weather that does it to me.
.
It’s the weather that does it to me.
Anamorphic Code
Dusk city vistas, peach burning in the sandy smog.
I am hundred miles up, tracing the sky like Icarus.
My heart is fickle as ever playing with moments,
it’s only the conditions of the mind, I don’t mind it.
Over the shoulder the salted past and frozen no ones
captured in a mirror, my mind; let me tell you
so that you can tell others about it all.
Dreams wrapped in leather caught in the rain.
Drag yourself in, the experience is brutal.
Be prepared to sign and point a cross
at your heart, smile right and shake shake shake.
Human logo is a middle finger, secret and encoded
to be a simple thumbs up, the world’s a buddy,
but the world loves no body unless they’re coded.
Not that it means much any way, the coding.
Hell, we can’t even tell what our original code is,
so why worry about the turning and change?
The code is lost in time, written in dust and erased by air.
The code is immediately understood as limbs and eyes,
Orgasm cheat code secret money code extra life extra life
Wake up and live a sequel, this new year new console,
pay the price, but get no consolation- this program is brutal.
Angels On The Street
Leaving work I saw him again, Folk guitarist with harmonica maw
a coffee cup strapped to one end of his guitar
and a hat hung on a pole extended from the other end
like a phallic tracker beam
I asked him for a blues
and he began picking
his tune with a match book
Hypnotic and soft
reflective sunglasses
the fresh city dirt on his fingers
tells me he shouldn’t be
on the street
but
He stops
“i’ll play you
Amazing Grace”
and breathes a note
into the plastic reeds
of his 12 hole toy harp
aaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaa
zzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggg
grrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
“my song,
it’ll make you cry”
he said and played the first tune again.
I put money into his hat
realizing that that is his dragon song,
the song that is inside his heart
that cannot be written down,
watching him play I knew that then
Crossing the street
with his song
clutching my mind
I felt my eyes swell with tears
— — — — — — — — — — — — —
Red eyed lover
a stone turned over
inside flames
The moon in clouds
tucked like the
cat in pillows
Frosted skies
cutting clouds
with blades of light
Bouquet of pins
resting on lavender
with burning coal
Blooded image
from position
my moon is yours too
I love you low and sinking
Orion stapled to the sky
burning through time
Galaxy of Emoticons/Fortune Telling With Blood
Are emotions reactions to nervous systems?
The mind not knowing or knowing
is always nervous
and any duplicate mind
will break down after time,
but unlike our own minds
we rarely upgrade it
or protect its warantee.
No spirit, no sense
not any more
than the shortest distance
from the past and the future-
what sense now
to post stock in what is
disappearing?
Magnetic fields
trace the body,
the sunlight is
passing through.
Inside the body
it is very dark and warm.
Emotions preceed humanity
by unknown lengths.
When we sleep,
we lose our sense of this
waking experience.
Standing on two feet
is a strange experience indeed.
Spoken before the written,
a screaming mind
heard is still inside and
cannot be pointed to.
Over Concrete Mountains, Humming by Star Side (a silent response)
Nothing ends as it begins, what changes is the arrival of departure.
Nothing asks for questions starting out
expecting what can’t be owned
and anyways;
Though nothing really is the heart of onions and reality
we mistake it for something and yet
the process always begins as days and seasons passing.
Where is perfection in the change?
What balance arrives soon departs
and so the cycles are tests of time.
Process one more time
Me thing I became
without thinking
and soon come on up to find
dead bodies of myself
millions of years old
and the light passing through
is light years away-
this past that we view,
you see it’s already happened, all of this.
…
True no promise comes in except that what is will become undone.
The cycle of an eye blinking, how long is it?
Smiles are infinite and reflect the mind,
is there a simpler truth?
Empty hands hold all
An empty heart contains
a dragon’s song
The coming rain,
and cloudless sky
invisible notation
wandering through the night.
____________________
Whatever you think or I think or all of them and us as we think
about whatever whoever however and in between whatnot
don’t make it real don’t make it true
don’t make it real don’t make it true
What else can I say, no thing is absolute- it’ll all vanish some day
whatever is made or said or proven or held
will become undone and fade away
will become undone and fade away
The only thing to believe is that there is nothing to belive
Whatever it could possibly couldn’t compare
to what is the real situation at hand,
the lost work and unknown reason of man
!!!
To know our relationship with all beings regarding the space of reality
To know our relationship with all beings regarding the space of reality
Even though we’re doing it subtly
even though we’re doing it
subtleties are filled with emptiness, it’s not like it’s not a quality-
it’s there and it is empty because it depends on something else
to exist come into being become active and disintergrate
So don’t feel so bad or feel so good
whatever it is will go and return,
it’s true like the vision leaving and returning to a blinking eye
For K.M.
Climbing out of the sea
my love awaits
in a explosive genesis
a sound, a vision
a feeling, a thing
A particle of love
travels the cosmos,
my love is a tiny part of things
As distant yet as large as the stars
that’s my feeling
when it comes to me
I am ready, yes ready to go
How far is far and were do we go when we’ve gone
What’s form got to do with the wind?
My love is the action
the connection shared
with all other beings
It returns to the sea
sea of land, people and mind
Sea of my breath, sea of my being
The sea of sound
the echo of explosions
I hear and see it everywhere
That is my love
evoking the fruition
of my heart’s realization
Got Nothing
The other night the moon was large
My eyes saw it and with them
I saw the sun through
lenses and it was different
We’re not standing still
on this rock spinning madly
as the rivers of life
spill from heart and mind,
beyond any dream to recall
Couldn’t Google a mem’ry
just yet in the fog,
change stays the same
at the bottom of the well
And so the walking commences
as staying still is very difficult
and indeed regardless of
earth movement below,
upon the top of its ground skin.
Where ever my mind might notice
therein washed in light and air
accept activity, what then
in the midst of this feeling and watching
where does the pilot sit?
Who moves, who stays still?
Let you believe in all my cells
as I love every one of yours
dividing the same for constant
instances and pray one would
come along and see the color
in mind what eyes see in seconds
and what is written off the page.
When What Has What
How fast does time move
who are you
where is all the knowing going
how far to the future
who are you
when is it now
who are you
when is it never
How is time established
when is yesterday
How long until later
who are you
where is who past are present you future
Tin Can Dragon
No time like any time to get all to spontane-o
maybe leach on to the night time AM
your television is loud
and I want to watch crap without you
Gonna ordain a thang
for some day when,
Gonna let it stand
written in air
Unfold the cats
the night can be had
during the day if
you dare to ninja Time
touch yr feet,
be naturally
unorthodox
like a blowing
breeze
Surveying All That Is Seen, Allowing All To Be
In the electric frost
Georgie Like The Vodka
climbs altitudes
to be awake
like the yogi
in the Himalaya
In the electric frost
I can only sense
what the spinning
gears of the fan
sound like outside
The window shelves
are forests of dust and clay
the sun light brushes
away all shadows
Our floors dip and rise
like the hill and gullies
of the breathing raw earth
In this situation even you
would make yourself a drink
You probably already have
Cheers
!
Imagine if you were
as careful about
doing things in the real world
as you are online.
Imagine if you were
as careful about
doing things online
as you are in the real world.
Poem
Submerged in a sea of sound I absorb and expand with every single note.
All art is a question for the senses, play things of the mind.
Walking New York alone in the rain, a head full of ideas.
Lightning strikes out as the voices ring in a new day.
Getting to go to work, some privilege in this land and trust me I know.
Up at 5 AM forever, my lunch time are eternal escapes.
Sitting with meditation, the standard challenge of mind and time.
How does it all work, for all these years broken up and
I Am A Living Exorcism
All the time in the world
in this city it still feel that they don’t have enough.
All the energy drinks and drugs, can’t
speed it up or slow it down
I am a weed tumbling at my own pace,
steadily onward to city spaces and dream lands.
A silent phone call is an emotionless electronic post it note.
Anything to reach out and virtually touch someone,
better than going for than the real thing-
Instantaneous.
The smile I wore when we met
is just a grimaced sour image. I am here, I am here
any where but next to you.
Facing a blank wall I know my means have faded.
Returning to the city and digging the graves of the past,
I have found wonderful souls decomposing.
I am here, dancing alive in life, defying odds next to you
Smiling in cold, dead eyes wishing for more opportunities,
but I am becoming ill and can’t continue.
Look for me and it will be too late.
Find me and I won’t return.
Come to me and I will leave.
I am a living exorcism
in the face that kills
when I dare to live.
Static Magnet
Air conditioner grinding particles
while the velvet air
blows the orbit of more
and more than no more of it all
Rancid soup of skin and cloth
draped in air, melting
in the cool dreams
Water pools holding dust,
angels tan themselves
above overcast
Pour me another glass of sand
it’s all moving anyway
sand to snow
poisonous and electric
The Summer
births large operatic booms
of thunder and wears
the claws hot sting and clarity
Steadily Hesitant
Maybe it’s the slight of hand dancing in light reality
the idea that we’re halves of a whole or a hole in a whole
Making up a part of the mess
It’s the beam of light recorded and replayed through memory
I remember you and I don’t want to lose that idea
Please preserve yourself, but do expand, just don’t leave me
Holding on to a yesternow fleeting moment as the present of the past arrives
ready to leave the clinging identity behind, nothing is set
Who we were is not what it is now
Maybe it’s the cosmic dream of memory that
forces the hand to pull out the heart
Without enough practice the process rusts in a locked and fixed position
Laying at the bottom of the self(ish) sea
Nothing known, a fearful lesson unlearned
Maybe it’s best if I ran out away from the world
Untried and unknown, the future of the self and guts
Anxious hearts burn fast
You Want To Really Know
I wake up and avoid your eyes
The world leaps up, shrieking
My mind stares in thought
while my eyes avoid
The skin is so sensitive
what soap do you use
how bare are the bones you stand in
on the train avoiding hundreds of eyes
forcing multiple identities
staving off the next hungry ghosts
blindly thanking God for Jesus
at day break and slaughtering time
for absolutely nothing.
You won’t call me back
I don’t even bother with faith
I know why the sun pierces my bedroom
just what I do when I wake up alive and alone
tangled in time and avoiding
the promised princehood of my future childhood.
You couldn’t be bothered with a tattered soul
as sacred as myself, I flake away at mere adoration
I am living backwards, alive as ghost who wants to know
I am the original zombie
searching for the other intellectuals and bleeding hearts,
but I dare more so often than a night’s dream time.
In a day I complete your life and fill your grave
Running late I was found to be what you wanted yesterday
I am uncomfortably natural while the rest
fake their way through, embroidered in phenomena
The very first stone to be kicked before
the land is proclaimed ready for construction
What could I say but speak a deafening silence.
In my sleep you defeat me, destroy me.
I die and feel every branch of vein burn.
My body is a rag of ether
my breath is bitter exhaust and chew
spilling from puckered lips.
I lay still as a corpse under a blanket
of songs no one could sing to me.
My dreams are the mind chasing
the cellophane heart trying to
fix the real time fuck ups of my life.
I wake and stand up
sitting down I know
walking I know
Laying down asleep
I practice my death
prepared to reside in eternity
Autumn Poem
Virgoian temper
rustling leaves
rattling waves
shivering chests
Dulling the hue
moving the sun
off center
. just a bit
Driving the eyes
to soft mud and clay
the grey rolling clouds
sending no rain
The hoary warm winds whisper
Autumn’s child is born
lay a golden finger in the sun
Grow hairy wheat
and sprout
shining thoughts
to be caught
in the
thresher of the mind
Born of thought and food
Rustic and bronze
fleshy metallic
that is never undone
Died and born fixed at Summer’s set
Rising in wrinkles and born at
the rising moon
Short termed and ragged
Autumn is a hand-me-down
to the outstretched hands
of cosmic DIY children
stitching stars
Catching rain
Talking to trees-
Smiling at dirt
ready to plant
ready to grow
Autumn, short lived
Falling, pulling the
world with it
Trees sky and sun
clawed by a heavenly ghoul
smiling with
raw hot teeth
laughing dust
crystal frost
calling a name
long dead and living
forever
— — — — — — — — — -
Lost my pen
Lost the will
Lost the vision
Lost the thrill
Take the city some more
Have my part,
but leave my share
Take me with you
stay right here
Anchors are traps
digesting time
The situation
so clear it is
avoided easily
Out of body
Out of mind
Take my mind
but make me
some body
Lost the view
Sold out the new
Wadja doo
Wadja doo
All the things I knew
All the things I thought
The borders are bordered
It Comes As It Is
I don’t know just who they think I am anymore
I actually don’t have time to care
Obsessive concerns are backward mirrors
feeding the eyes of the ego
I don’t have the answers or the reason about it
It’s there, was always there
before me and you and probably
well after you and me too
So couldn’t we enjoy it
as it were, right now
Being so terribly in love
Realizing what it really is and will be becoming
without any release except the
empty echoes of my past
and other present moments
that don’t belong to me
Actually there’s no me in media
and the empty idea is the cursed truth
of myself and the sad realization
of my deja vu reality
that I can’t help but go on with
because it’s all I really got
Realizing life is the teeth gritting
solitude masks of painful sensation
that is born and dying all over things
and not being able to confide or be consoled
is the worrisome glance and flash
fading into pierced darkness of
the manifestation of emptiness being pictured
every time it’s said and the blank explanation
you say about it like that’s just what it is
====================
There’s really no other way to put it
the fearful notion of rejection
spins me around in fear of discrimination
chasing me the same way I dish it out
but
if I’m just being my honest self
then is this occurring naturally
or are my actions forcing the
lesson to a blunt point.
This is the life
where a hideous beauty
permeates the humanity
of realization and journeying
the many perceptions
and seeing how there is no true one,
except the one that we chose
and by choice what we force
as constant themes-
Life is a bitter sweet dream
I am swimming in the amphibious mind
and drowning when I want to drink.
— — — — — — — — — — — — —
The Internet being the techno electric organism that it is
Allows us to beg for more vision and insight into
the mind for more content, more visceral knowledge
to store and reference, bend and question at whim
The Internet is to modern times what LSD was to the 1970's
Everyone’s plugged in and logged on
Everyone needn’t push for room
space is not an issue, but getting more information
as fast as possible without information mongers
ruling the gates to the heart of knowledge.
Minds want to know
We won’t mind our business
I know what you’re doing
when you know what I’m doing
and the mind is our business
because it’s the only objective
observer we have with a point
of reference, for where does
the Internet exist but nowhere?
Digital zombies are crawling
through wires chewing the logical fat of facts
linking hype on heaps of hype
Digital zombies are hungry for knowledge
and are falling in line
to get their blogs full of info
while we who watch each other
are watched and kept by
unseen and known paranoia minds
more treacherous than our own.
I never acted as good as I look
and where I write what words I want
are subject to label and interpretation
beyond eyes I’ve never seen
and what actions done in this First Life
held accountable by reference and association
In the Second Life
the mind exposed
is unknown by the projector
as well as the observer.
The source is a mystery
and mind suspects mind
out of fear for the truth
For the unknown sanctity
For the fabled Peace of Mind
whatever it is for even mind knows
nothing of where its heart performs.
Bodhisattva’s Suffering
The black and white mornings
dot my days start
A grainy exposed strain
moving, melting
through
A light burning brighter
yet never fully realized
exposure- just a
flash in the pan
A dash with time and space
You know where I’m going
Where I’m getting to
How’re we gonna get there
together?
Wearing a vest of thorns
my heart moves close
to pain, strong in weakness
I just am not sure
how I get by
Color sinking in slowly
dying the world vibrant flares
High noon’s kaleidoscope
I see everything all the time
at least once
A bony leaf
crashing down
My tears pulled out
and mustache’s
hoarfrost caked
Closer to pain
beating faster
excited and dying
Clinging to death
afraid of it still,
but what else is left
when life is known?
Enough war will end in peace
You know where I’m heading off to
I don’t know how I’m getting there
I wish we would go together
Nights end like days start
Fade to black and light
Wake from one dream
right into the next
A subtle movement
vibrates everything.
