just shut up. no one cares.
The Half-Finished Heaven

Despondency breaks off its course.
Anguish breaks off its course.
The vulture breaks off its flight.

The eager light streams out,
even the ghosts take a draught.

And our paintings see daylight,
our red beasts of the ice-age studios.

Everything begins to look around.
We walk in the sun in hundreds.

Each man is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.

The endless ground under us.

The water is shining among the trees.

The lake is a window into the earth.


Adam Ragheb (feat. Aisha Ragheb) - adampoem
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I will not just forget this. I will burn it, sprinkle the ashes on my spaghetti, and eat in bittersweetness.”

"adampoem" c. New Years 2011

Written by Adam Ragheb

Directed by his sister.   

It’s absurd I can’t bring my soul to the eye of the odoriferous fire.

my soul whose teeth never leave their cadavers
my soul twisted on rocks of mental freeways
my soul that hates music
I would rather not see the Rose in my thoughts take on illusionary perogatives.
it is enough to have eaten bourgeois testicles
it is enough that the masses are all sodomites
Good Morning
the ships are in I’ve brought the gold to burn
I’m in a tipi joking with seers I’m smoking yahnah
I’m in a joint smoking marijuana with a cat who looks like Jesus Christ
heroin is a door always opened by white women
my first act of treason was to be born!
I’m at war with the Zodiac
my suffering comes on as a fire going out O beautiful world contemplation!

It’s a fact my soul is smoking!

That the total hatred wants to annihilate me!
it’s the sickness of american pus against which I’m hallucinated
I’m sick of language
I want this wall I see under my eyes to break up and shatter you
I’m talking all the poems after God
I want the table of visions to send me oriole opium
A state of siege
It’s possible to live directly from elementals! hell
stamps out vegetable spirits, zombies attack
heaven! The marvelous put down by martial law,
America fucked by a stick of marijuana
paper money larded for frying corpses!
THERE comes the Gorgon! THERE’S the outhouse

Come up from dead things, anus of the sun!

From Hypodermic Light by Philip Lamantia