The life of night & The life of day

Day in

-Retalliation just for an absence,
fair prize to make right
fo’ bein' busy at work,
fun play time, no dime
no fun, come dime come, come come dime, come on,
come shine, come, shine on,
come,
shine
on… you crazy diamond…
no play fo' José, day in & day out
all rests in sick peace, black peace, dead peace.
Ever thought, how come nite’s nite?
as black as black is,
as it is known, with all it’s poise & all it’s might,
as whatever stands contrary to white,
the brand of life, the shine, light time!
The time to work for a dime,
So, opposed, way way down,
Beyond the reaches of all that is known,
The void with no sound, the big empty gallows,
The gap with no end, the grave rising shallow,
the Oh-so-great below, the superunknown,
The house of unsouls, the uncherished tomb,
The unbabied womb, the killing moon “… will come too soon”
The duplex, fully furbished, Ikea-catalog-furniture-filled, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, living room, kitchen, studio, guest room, balcony & chimney inhabitable living and liveable tapeworm,
For the man with no name, no sex, country, job, no God,
By God!
Alás!
By Jehova!
“Mohammed my friend, it's time to tell the world”
We both know Kane was a girl…
And he lives in the house of black,
Where they punish busy work,
By stickin’ eyes out…
Retalliation, and many other things that would rhyme,
And that would be so awful, since all the worst apocalyptic verbs end with the same termination,
The same used as above, from beginning to end, the rise of a man, the end of a nation,
“ation”, the damned termination, the “black” of alliteration,
Negative vindictive ‘blacktion’…

Day out…

Revenge, Vengeance & Vendetta,
The grand judges of the trial by fire,
In which what’s just’s just not,
For them, just is their judgement,
and what is not, is just not.
Fair trial, by judges unbiased,
unpaired by none n’ impaired of sight, hearing and talking,
Revenge sees no evil,
Vengeance hears no evil,
Vendetta speaks no evil,
And their performances of rightgeous vindictive violence,
one action each, for many extents of their reach,
as a proclamation of vigilante justice impeach:
The law of vindication,
in the eye that remains unburnt,
the one sitting in its socket,
left from the Father, as the other,
the one sitting to the right of the Father,
was spent by negligence of the willing kind; the “right”,
burnt out of its socket, the right socket.
A blind judge speaks in madness: “Avenge thy eye, for just one spare was designed to serve a fighting body which would be rendered defenceless and vulnerable, if tampered with the vista that is received, created and gained from the vision of sic eyes”;
The law of retribution,
chanted euphoric and without restraints,
emerging from the thoracic rythmic chestbox that armors the treasures of the human condition,
blowing air-wave-like-ammunition
that goes ape-shit with antagonic contenders’ and indiscriminate passers-by’s acoustic-shaped cavities,
vibrating from the diamond-esque thrachea, the vocal prowess of the judge juror n’ banshee, freak with the silk vocal strings,
righteous reward of some deity of the deviant kind,
in violent, reactive song, the action of the screaming vendetta:
The principle of ricochet,
to whom pleads and deaf words fall flat and bounce back, come crashing down to the floor and hit and become hundreds out of an anorexic-embodiment of a sick-as-a-dog-sound, in the just-as-just-as deemed by the negligence-prone criteria of the powers, passions and vices
of vindication,
retribution
and The principle of ricochet.
In the room of the wiz, in the tow’r in the town, at the end of a road made with yellow bricks,
the man behind the curtain, the voice, high noted, down-low-rooted-on-bottom, altered, doctored, tampered with, vocoded, read-load-as-amperage-boost-then-reloaded, amplified, marketed, produced, focus-grouped, demographic-fig.-assigned, planned, shipped, stored, advertised, promised, sold, bought, stolen, restolen, lent, rent… rent? Yes, rent, lost, sold, bought, lost & found-by legerdemain-canine-hunter-fox-hound-Dexter, gift wrapped, well-wished, given away, taken with innocent-authentic-excitement, torn-out-of-wrap, admired, studied and stared, unbelieved, well-beloved, listened to, a million times, play-by-play, back-to-back, bumps to prove, true fandom, AC/DC – Back In Black,
This is black, this is the-absolut-everything-lack,
-vengeance is, for good people:
the worst nuisance,
The reckonings in the age of naissance.
-revenge is, for the great:
bizarre, weird... just strange.
-vendetta, lowers me to ur level;
turns me no prettiah, makes me no bettah,

Night rises…

Black is, as is,
As in mourning, from the time day…
‘Til the next morning, goes away,
No requiem for the dead, no song fo’ great allies,
A passing, a reckoning, a reaping, a sawing,
Day seizing before the hour sets upon us,
Sprinkling death dust like the fairy reaper,
Sawing the fruits of the rites of passage,
Of the minutes, of the hours, of the day,
Into night, of the white, sun soaked living thing,
That is the 12 ribbed man, the husband color white,
Going to sleep, going to die, day by day bye day, bye…
Day, bold and brave, caught by fate and torn by it,
Like Prometheus, the god-fire stealer, like day from the sun,
The golden god of so long ago,
Forever waking with the day, to repeat with it, the same sullen fate,
Prometheus, chained to a rock,
on a cliff, destined to be eaten by vultures,
and reborn every new day, to repeat the morose feat,
Prometheus and day, one and the same,
For day, much like the man, is due to pay,
The sunlight it steals, from the fires of the sun,
A mad god with a hot hot temper to boot,
And just as, and after living itself though,
Day journeys into night, only to be devoured by it,
Eaten by the blackness that creeps up to it from everywhere,
Like the blackness of rabid vultures feasting on bone and flesh,
On man, like day, that lives, though anyway, it lives to die,
To live, to die, to shine, to fade, go bright, darken, rise day, night dawn,
That is the way, every day dies, every day, just by running into night,
Into its mouth, down it’s throat, a willing dinner with twist of a sacrifice delight,
So day, becomes night, and it becomes it’s victim,
So night, well after day, rushes so cool, to it’s own demise,
Does what nights can do, with the aide of a full moon, in full bloom,
The lady night, the girl in black, the wife in dark, widow in mourning,
All night, mourns for as long as day lived, until the next morning,
When out of grief, or for no motive, she regurgitates her husband into the sky,
She gives birth, much as the women she is,
From the womb in her moon, baby day comes out of her mouth,
In a natural birth, baby morning cries the cries of every day that dies,
And comes back, again,
Renewed, to live the same, to make mistakes again, and deal with the same pain,
And again, night will come to paint it black,…

Night sets…

no wonder they say:
“In the dead of night”
n’ then pick my eye out with a fork,
night comes n' goes, but none thinks of the nite,
but I, who promise to think u', nite, tonite,
from the second u' fall on me, to the hour finale,
The life of day & the life of night,
Who could split their hours, who would tell them apart?
Who will turn the ancient once absolute “two”?
back from sad old lonely one,
Who remembers…?
Am I the only one?
I would place a bet for the gold in your eyes,
For all men I deem to hold in praise as manufacturers of art,
Is there one worthy of the praise I speak, who could top, cusp or peak
The quest of truth from times which did not produce any such memory
For the challenge worthy of a colossus-head,
All the gold in your eyes, and the pearls in your teeth,
All the bone in your cheeks, and the strings of our hair,
To the one and only man who could tell the tale
Of the life of day and the life of night,
Of the demise of day into the mourning night, into the morning light,
How it was, when night and day, were not sewn together in a double gendered day,
But how it was the man day and the woman night walked with sun and moon and stars above, and light and darkness, and black and white, were not anywhere to be seen,
There was just what was, just as is, just as just is,
The age of these things,
The coming of age of the moon and the sun,
The teen age of the stars and the shooting stars,
Of Revenge, Vengeance and Vendetta,
Of how everything was so much bettah,
And the night was ready to join the day,
Before they did, as they did do, so as to make things as they are too,
Night,
Nubile,
Jubilee,
Gleaming darkness in the Nile,
the black river, reflecting upon the moon above,
before it goes running rampant into...
the fest of the sun,
the hours of Mercury,
the shinning,
the meridian stray,
the son of Lady day, chanteuse de jour,
the time of Day;
-
thus, the time of recoking is upon us,
and this is how things came to be,
On a Sunday set on Venus,
The nigh married the day, and light and darkness were born,
And so did baby mornings, deaths of day, and mourning wives by the names of night,