She reads into me

 She reads into deeply, considering just what kind of creature I am.
She is half sure but still making up her mind.
Oh to be dreamed about,
Oh that my words would have any weight outside of my imagination!

The further in she goes the stranger yet brighter her world becomes.
I will not pollute it with these thick veins that pump skeptical blood.

Flow of ideas, care and surreal excursion.
Junctions, there are many hidden paths.
Insist on going deeper where the child me is found.

Godlike and peaceful unaffected by chaos of others.
Unlike the man who stands before you affected and mediocre.

Back lawn January morning 81 replaying every hour.
Touching the garden and pretending to bless it with his finger.
Come deeper he ushers and the lilacs flower purple and fragrant.

The begonia dream and personal magic have enchanted the day.
He is me even now, I am still back there in that Waikanae garden.

Or the hemi matenga hills where I would often roam all alone.
Something strange unidentifiable inside the forests.
Something that thought me prey, saw me, then ran away.

Hours alone, Inside the lost reservoir lake.
Where giant eels would sniff me like dogs.
What creature am I?

Am I the nameless wanderer in the dreamlike forest?
The oversized eel with thick veins pumping curious blood...
Am I the ghost of a dead hero seeking sweetness in a garden?
Read into this creature I am.
Go deeper, go deeper i am not one single layer

Where does my dominion end?
My physical form?
My imagination?

A world that screams

 He sits there as the other children clap and scream in glee.
His frown becomes apparent and even from meters away i can feel his tremors.

I want to comfort him and tell him it's okay as the other children start singing loudly.
He starts to panic and will now remove himself from the group.

I would like to protect him.
But I can't he's not my son.

I feel like I'm losing something as noone goes to comfort him
As he simmers in the state of his won reality.

I feel everything he's feeling. A world that just screams and never thinks.

A room after death

In a room
Broken off from the house
Surfaces are clean flat and sharp
This room  has been ripped off the house
Sent up into the stratosphere by some freak tornado

Inside the room
Now I'm looking out of the window
No longer seeing the earth
Giddy as hell
A level of disorientation that feels like destruction.

In this room
Everything is slippery, spinning yet still inside the tornado
Here I will learn unending terror
There is no earth below
No space or solar system above

Outside this room
A deep sunlit blue taunting and surrounding
Lit up by a sun I cannot see
Here I'll learn just how wrong I've been
I grip furniture as everything spins

There is no pity here, it is unrelenting panic
There is no safety here, I am falling upwards like Shiva
Searching for the inner strength
Instead of being grateful for this immaculate perdition

 

A sacred world

 All is sacred of the world
Yet inside many things are also frivilous
where's the path? Covered by the wind blown dust
And yet the world is sacred, but you didn't pick up the broom

So it was hidden under the dirt and grime
Now a shovel is needed
Dig your treasure
Blunt the shovel

The world is sacred
the way we absorb it might be iniquitous
interacting with the liveliest parts
ignoring the quieter ones

People are reckless 
motorcycle brains
Running on lard carbs and sugar
Covered by wind blown debris

Yet the world they live in is sacred
A holy rolling stone we sit stationary on
yet the restless ones try to accompany the spin
The drive and the hype

The world's invisible balance
Is seen by the rare spiritual one
The vision is the treasure
The seeing is the value

Winning over my eyes

 She sat on the bench i'd often exercise my chest on.

That is where the heart physically lives.

She crossed her leg over the other one and chose the song she would finish the exercise on.

She started tapping her foot in such a way I was drawn in.

I had to use my keen peripheral vision.

I knew If i looked at her directly the possibility she thought I was a creep would become ever present.

I guess she'd found the song she was searching for.

Because it went from a foot tap, to a bouncing knee.

let me tell you something about me, I can't pass up a woman's bouncing knee.

Perhaps the coup de grâce was when her head started nodding to the beat.

Slowly and elegantly.

I tried to pull my eyes away. Because now I was looking at her directly.

Where was my shame, my self control.

Nowhere, I just wanted to see her sitting on that bench like a miracle listening and lip syncing the music for my pleasure.

No longer worried if she thought I was a creep.

She wins my eyes everytime.

The flow and flush

 

You might want to check your plumbing

 Maintenance is key for the great S bends of life

 Before those stinking shapes accumulate

 Avoid giving yourself yourself a blockage

 The cleaning never ends

 Negligence is a world for diseases

 Life is about flow, grab a plunger

 For when it all gets backed up

 Hide your problems though smell lingers

 Too much paper clogs the system

 Use the duck and don't forget to brush

 Enjoy it all before you get flushed

A place in the hills

 The restaurant sits in a grassy hollow.
Exposed to the sun.
The sun hits each blade of grass.
The grass rises in response.

Absorbing the intensity.
Then speaking up.
With a subtle golden language.
inside bright tips of reflection.

The restaurant is tucked into a clump of tall dense tropical trees.
Providing the sharp catching contrast between the exposed and the shade.
There will be eating and satisfaction there, joyous gatherings
It will be built.