THE NASTY gOd by Stanley MARTIN/Nana baBa jaH-aYe: from "THE BOOK OF LOVE" -(re-CONSTRUCTION's STORE: www.lulu.com/group_1579 )


Let loneliness empty me, pour from me, into the fill of your ebony cup, taste-to-taste of my life, the essence of a man: and if your_understand, satiate self with me, and, in the incense of the night, the quarrel of desire, skin-love shall be gentle, forgivings need to be given complete, skin-love shall be gentle, tender return to kind.
Shall you invite me to the welcome-in, sure of sweet and kiss shall I surrender, times lovely in your warm and laughter join our ways: but sugar honey sting, to better being flight, shan’t I reign in pain nor raise gale, to better being flight, lost-love bests never-love, but as your love has welcomed mine, too cruel to hurt kind: white-flag mast to love kind.
And winter-wilt the blossom of the root, shall old age toast green cheer with ginger wine, love effresvescenting still, bottled the bubbling balm, mortgaged house for champagne, romping rampant rompage, pension a passion for our age- we shall storm and fire-flood, return our hearts to rage! And now young shall future heat shame us too cruel to our kind, meet we not kind to kind.
Shall I now spinning meet a pour with storm, and kiss that would love with quarrelsome lips: she with the choosy jaw, he, named with house ajar: meeting man meant mention, women would woo worship, they sparred partners for a round: but lately she vexed with him, of late he rued her dress, asked she equals of house and name for name and house were his, his and hers split strange ways: so shall she free she saw build voices, and voice equal listen as listening is to ear, like sensible to peace, and as sisters one in threatened, so shall be bred One-Word, one word be all the same, same key entry into Eden: man-made-God is evil, evil and men are strange….
Life was gunsights in a voyeur’s eyes, living rape on a pornographic scar, your surname was ‘King’, your first name was ‘Conquered’, you’re at the front at war, a few make your children – you: bitter in a rented jar – would manners mend the fuse? would avant-garde pay rent? When stranger life’s a robbery, strangers claim all in tax: your stranger wife wants change!
From that first fire in the womb, tang of sweet tasted honey in that belly dance of love’s, father was mine molten, mother mine into cup, samba was African, and rhythm was to dance: I speak the need of dark beat bass, pluck of jazz and blues hips, march of baton-erect! lightening make me with sun O fire, on tan night hang the moon and love: I must skin gold.
Should I other colour-wise than sun shade, that shade of lamp would mere mean my shadow, shine my skin shed of light sun (rainbow is vulgar tan for spread in rain-shy sky), my whole-nut is bean roast, sunbaked as toasted coffee I, as brash as bragging brass, brilliant as bright bronze, my polish is valued copper, my is for jewel: know my beauty is gold.
Am I nation flag of my brave colours: first citizen of the Nile’s fair ochre, sun-set-blood warrior, hers a court of dawn hide, and child the noon-glow fling: less fashion after dark, then tissues to fancy clothing, clothe in to romance dark, flesh the flash after dark: wear my real cloth as raiment that spark: I shine somebody golden….
From tales of tall thing telling limp the lie, sparkler as bars of prison that’s fool’s gold: here cells the dregs of dream, poisoner as the chain that forgets the chain of slave, mine heavy metal made manacle measured mountain time, doomy through distance down, yawn yet yesterdays wake, today’s radioactive fall-out, and heavy water, tears mine full more than fool’s gold.
I am too lead my sister/brother base, and metal shine is dull the colour night, worthless less than silver, ink-debt I-O-U sign beside the rich moon coin; tenant mine empty space, and yes! my laboured word to work, and yes! to the Brute force yes! lie down laid-off work, yes yes yes! To management yes! and shy the eyes to change: I’m the fool for foolish fool’s gold.
I’m sprint as the race to own garbage left, nomad yes-man garbage right-on right too, giving praise to sunset, yet worshipping white heat, free to bull-bucker but, church tied-up double-cross. Of course: in the black the not fair! and be cursed in the pink! Of course beyond the pale, be bled in the red the blood-red than jet set return cruise: fair returns is fool’s gold.
Sing shine songs in me, praise Thee lilt my soul, as can I music with the tongue my Love, my love shall singe in songs, blithe as blessings breathing brings loving Thee to lips, as lover to Thee kiss, honey and sweet shall taste my lips, my lips never sour, bite gall never bitter, ever married we mouth-to-Mouth, mouth taste and marriage meet: my singer song the true Speak.
And wither-root the tongue, never new speech, never new spoils the merchant of the mouth: sign Thy song still out day though noon my wife wanting, midnight moon mentions sun, night tanned already sun: each breath forgets the death of day, and as day the toasting mass, and gospel hymns choir, balance still levels on the thread; my mouth shall recall Words, and my tongue true to Speak.
Forever as the open breast embrace mother to child, shall I swallow your milk. Rise cream in me moon night, as grass stir from the soil, fledgelings fling from shoulder, morning sky into eve, shall I complete my young sounding, by Love Sung Utterly, destroy of discordant, my times a tuning fork losing material noise: and my spirit rise true Speak ….
Child flesh us this brewing of man-made-fresh, times sit in a meeting my birth-wrights bought, kissing shall we cuddle married night without church, loving material and desire thread for stitch: shall we lie in romance, sing true and exercise the Snake, exorcise the apple: Eden shall be regained; if you want confession: welcoming me won’t lie.
And I’m as Christmas as a wide day holiday from clock of taskmaster work; you and a padded purse are train fare for a fun: can you borrow needless resistance candles in ruin’s church, life is orgy for achievers, natural believers welcome home life, don’t lie.
Far from song thrush the inkling in a cloud, I shan’t nod out sleep in cotton wool of ‘keep’: notice shall be given, royalties shall return book to the Muse in chaos, life, desires and its tax: gifts as following to the wind; shall my love-eyes be earth, food for a forever and anchor to the awing stars; shall earth fertile ever, welcome renewing truth. 






This romance has me loved warrior elsewhere, in footsteps of deathdance somethere scene, else word spoken whisper, also thunder, a shout; a tribe else, a loner, a giant, else magic: You: of whom no mention come, otherwise colossal, am I stranger other, or famous face among common: am I epic in dreams, am I wakening else.
Else am I woken as magnetic storm, spot in raving sun to unruly called, rebel in title named as well as outside vision as raging water spilled as creature curtain drawn; and will I raise high triumphant thus, or a broken fist, or nowhere safe for dream: I am the wanted hero talked whose difference means drive: haunted till and awakes.
So shall I stubborn as sun raise daylight, march against midnight as moon trod on night, shy and shift rock never, and the question rather, sharpen on soldier share; and merry mine the main, shall I champagne and chomp on rein, marry to monster Sane: and weary though the wary pain, shall I cling to fire aflame, and this grave a gong spoke, to shout the sleeping woke.
I unto cloud and sparked electric born, slow-fuse suicide walking into bomb, free was an ancient tongue, was listening I ear, more stranger the light, day, night more dangerous sleep. Mother-mine was mad asylum, father she doctored I, touched wood my patient time: as eye awake was watchtower, watch and clock was hour: I unto cloud would sleep.
Dream me sky, I must be surrendered space; dream me wings weightless, window into wide, I am creature fancy, bird-sung in a sentence, swansong within a thought, a lark of enclosed zoo: empty as eggshell without yolk; I am quib white feather, upturned hide in self-same sand, and nest with the scarecrow jaundice, coward cold migration: I soar in sleep maybe.
Shall I with ending mercy-me asleep, dovecote on eyelids and a brood of dream: nearer an inner beach, nearer root of sea and evaporating soul: tide me into roosting. Then may my clutch of nightmares launch into nightingale flight, today’s into-sea-storm tomorrow as ripples of calm: may I under sea gull, and mine inherit sleep…
Breathe bud at this distancing should I always and partner in plaything this bonny bloom and boast of self-applause; child youth at the wilding, fury and shattered glass, shall mirror make ghostdance: I lightning in a sky out cloud, I thunder in a forge mint by iron hammer; fire if smoulder, shall the wood flare, fire furnace for fanfare: I always kin the new.
Mine bobbing a bottle bob-sleighing storm; tight-in-trousers whiskey hugged from chaste sea: woman beware cheering, woman taste: your thirst worse, sip: meet your bubble burst, drink: again again toast: blood needing makes marry most hurt; bleeds young of blind blessing, roar and wrap of twin loins: ever should rapture seal us skinned, roo, woo and never rue: should vintage taste a new.
Blast brother breath from me, sistering fire, and in my tall echoes yodelling rock; mother-made-mine is earth hung upon father sky, I to their distances as mountaineering climb, volcanoes reaches mine as rock, I bleed as blast furnace; young to likening: day is family for me in fund joy, night is back turned to keep; dawn finds Prodigal home ….
Died in my manner death, my much mother, loving, when my sickly her hand scolded, mourning her grave warning: means morning manor death? But Maria like manna, morning; was kingly on tethered rope of sun an immigrating star, bringing a kingdom: hope, and an end to dying; even as my mother’s love knew well: as mother’s love handsome, so was she life in death.
From my first rooster rising from the night, my first crow of cock, love of hen and lay, was my marriage mourning for cock-a-hoop of coop and not my need killing wild and sky and nomad; no man is not a murderer too: was I slow fuse of fret; though my woman heaven, her haven is my sepulchre, for though this know not love: Love is a little death.
…. So Youth with your kiss of smiles and circus, but circulating bad weather forecast, but lunatic at play, but “can’t you?”, and “why us?”: fear you receiving lines and tomorrow’s dandruff? Give the cynical an A-plus: today’s hot-potatoes will be ripe tomatoes for tomorrow to create-so, while you Youth who hate so, marry death you lived in….
Come let me taste thee lips to mouth for thy kiss sips of cherry wine; and tongue, sing me with your caress, let love-oils drizzle through me rain; and room for you my womb to join me in joy, shall joy drink champagne.
I am she whom many pressed, but not given fruit, yet am grape and ripe, mine has desert spoiled: I have gorged some, some been hungered , point me to fulfilment and your harvest bed: shall I soil for seed ….
“Loft in a sitting-of-air the hawk brakes and business, bides the buying of dizzy noise and dash here-to-there: those feathers of passengers-through-air, sparrow and spark robin, rush of thrush and divers in din, gull and crow, and in peak hour passing, pedestrian passing pigeons- all! the entrepreneuring hawk appropriates and appreciates and everyday businessman this and that – and crash! fall of feather and ends-noise and scatter and – shh! …. C a l m….
Pandora, find me in the suffer and the next dead, and the deeds of the already dead bird; mostly in the sparrow between this sky and down-to-earth, being hauled up winds-stairs-air towards a new heaven …
And so coo my love my place of jewel: each bird that dies it is my same kind, same cruel ….” 

Excerpt from Nana/Stanley MARTIN: "THE BOOK OF LOVE": http://stores.lulu.com/jahaye