Lizard King Incarnate

I sent this poem to my older brother when he was living in Bed-Stuy, New York, along with a mixtape of a bunch of songs about NYC (I’m really dorky). It’s inspired by Jim Morrison, who I always thought resembled my brother, both in looks and energy, and Allen Ginsberg’s “ Sunflower Sutra .” The piece was originally published in  The Catalyst Literary Arts Magazine.

I sent this poem to my older brother when he was living in Bed-Stuy, New York, along with a mixtape of a bunch of songs about NYC (I’m really dorky). It’s inspired by Jim Morrison, who I always thought resembled my brother, both in looks and energy, and Allen Ginsberg’s “Sunflower Sutra.” The piece was originally published in The Catalyst Literary Arts Magazine.

No fear

seeps like moonlit rays

From he who walks as the Lizard King

In big swaggering steps through Bed-Stuy at blue midnight—

He who dreams without sleep

No fear,

For he understands the vision

Unfurling like brilliant petals

Of the sunflower

from his forehead

Not yet revealed to him,

But felt

The pain of Ginsberg’s sutra,

A glass door discarded by the wayside

That reins high king over its litter heap,

The flitting soul of the coke queen on her eternal subway line

It’s all part of the art:

A collection of precious gems

Glittering like drops of blood

To be transfused to the medium

In charcoal and acrylic

No fear,

For it is the poetry of life

Emerging proudly out of thick dust

And black oil leaking from

The tangled roots of machinery—

Like the sunflower, splitting up through dry earth

Tall as a man,

Swathed in a veil of filth,

But smiling

in all its glory

towards the red-eyed sun