Death sits between two birds
Its kingdom vast
Shade condones wings
Beaks are bowed in reverence
An even symmetry about them
Breezeless afternoon empty blue
Crooked necks soothsayer posture
Resting on their hunches
Fearless and grandiose
Awaiting dusk in the shade
Conversations in silence
Spread wings stench of violence
A top the brick roof
Of a church that has been decaying
Since the last millenium
Now the home of two king vultures
The well I am
The flow of me
The well I dream
The one I pretend to be
Permeates underground
Between sheets of rock
Grand boulders
That never see sunlight
Water I am
Water i pretend to be
Am I contaminated?
Am I clean?
Long since known my PH
Silt washes down stream into me
Will I come alive at it's minerals
Will I rise from the courses
Before each drop of me is dispersed into the sea
For now i inhabit this space inside this well
Where the bucket falls and rises each day
And takes more and more from me
Growing up I tried not to lose who I was
Part of it would be destroyed
A piece of me
But was it a great one
Or not so much
Was it something unique I lost
Or some aspect that could not survive
In a world of such grinding contrasts
A piece of me crushed and discarded
The years demand such sacrifices too
Time doesn't just run over us
It begs homage and offering
Thus We must give parts of ourselves away
To accompany the minutes and hours
Years and decades
Growing up I tried not to give too much away
But time takes it the way taxes fall off salary
When I accepted I was also blessed
That new pieces were coming and settling
So that I wouldn't ever be the same man I was
So that i would be the boy in the garden but the man over a city
In that essence time would make no negotiation
As if time itself wanted to see what I would become
Like the deal it had with fate fell through
The predictions all wrong
Satisfied with parts of myself I already gave
And yet fascinated with what I had chosen to keep for eternity
When I leave to seek the good final piece.
I come across the swamp edge where illusive creatures hide.
Then I come to Jamelun lane where the dark fruits come december.
Dead dog ditch where vultures frequently visit.
Then to the forbidden bridge where homeless and drifters sleep.
On the sand they would doze off and some would be dragged off.
In a random rainless flashflood that accumulated from miles away.
Their bodies never found and their existence never noticed to begin with.
After that is the fruitful dead end where the giant mulberry continues flowering.
The infected papaya and pitanga where small monkeys stray above nighborhood cats.
Where spider webs the size of small houses cross entire back sections.
The exuberant acerola and the stunted starfruit.
Along that street is the two mongruels one friendly on bitter.
Then I walk westward passing the twin coconuts.
Up to the empty sections for sale.
That good final piece.
Their thin feminine faces are from the knowing bones.
They have descended from tight skin, abilities honed.
They have the paleness and fine curly hair they linger and observe.
Powerful predatory women full of asassin fervor.
They can push through the complications and fickle weaknesses of men.
They fit through narrow gaps in destiny when they curve and bend.
Coming back and swinging their long blades gleefully.
They attack at speed dreamily.
Their clean spirits tranparent and glass like.
Their eyes are focused rifle sights.
Trigger clicks, blast rings, chamber explodes.
Hapless victim falls blood coloring the road.
when I come home I'll have something to prove
I'll be in that car everyone talks about on tour
When I come home I'll have the grace and the aura
People will line up in order to shake up my hand
I'll strut down the road like the latest in demand
Like the lord of the flies groomed and broomed
hatted and mattered, immune and attuned
I'll saunter carelessly whistling my tune
I'll flag down a limusine in my old village
And grant him the unbelievable privilege
Driving me inside the city as we cross it
I'll be in the height of local gossip
When i come home and pass through familiar streets
I'll see myself rejuvenated, my concerns depleted
I'll invent new expressions and slang for the filthy
Use razor sharp wit on those who think ill of me
I'll walk at the right angle and calm pace
Give the impression I never lose face
Turning in the wind
Seven sails in the snow flurries
The fury of the blizzard
The sea has frozen over thus
thirst... thirst
The shore was full of dreams before water became ice
the fury of the blizzard
The shape of the rock way under
large living shapes scrape their belly upon it
Easing their restlessness
at having no surface to breach any longer
The snow flurries join the whirlwinds
Flowing inside and outside of the coastal townships
The sky forming the scales of a cold serpent with seven gular folds
Crashing down through the blizzard
adding ice to ice layer upon layer
thirst ... thirst
Upon the land the thickness of the surface of ice will never crack
Never be penetrated and will form the glaciers
The flags of the seven nations pierced through from sharp hail
Tomorrow might not see
He struggled over the rock pile before the cave, this is where Altan was ripped in half.
He dragged himself over the sharp rocks losing more of himself.
Deafening bellowing laughter burst through his ears.
A flock of dread birds passed over their cyclops eyes watching.
Looking downward upon him considering whether to dive.
He took a slice of heart inside a rag from the last demon he had slain.
Salted and iron flavor he downed it.
His body kicked into action, he dragged himself to the cave entrance.
Adrenaline overwhelmed him, he controlled his own bleeding.
He could hear hard heavy footsteps coming from the rock pile.
He knew the mindless giants would find him if he didn't get to cover.
Once a price of a district now an outcast a pariah on his own land.
He pulled himself into the darkness and pushed himself bloody and broken.
Through the myriads of caverns and crevices until he was no longer in hell.
He was searching for something another form of himself from somewhere unknown.
Not earth, not heaven or hell and certainly not purgatory.
He heard water within the voluminous dark he began to move urgently.
He slid and fell injuring himself several times before hitting the water.
Somewhere many meters below.
He forced himself under as if seeking his origins.
Human origins that were now disconnected from him, had been for eons.
Then he stood complete in the darkness.
His body whole, no longer ragged guts hanging out of half a man.
But the full man or entity he had dreamed of becoming for those million nights.
Those million days of toil and bloodshed above ground in Hell.
He stood healed and entire. His inner brightness shone and he was real.
He felt every cell in his body pulsate.
He was complete.
Open and desiring eternity.
Embracing the yearning to taste blood.
He would find earth from this forgotten place.
To recreate that sense of glory he once experienced before Hell.
When he was but an Akkadian lord in the state of Sumer.
The square house on the hill
Aligned to catch the last light line before night
It's grey and black walls point to an ancient austerity
To a will forgotten by humanity
The yellow dim lights flicker
radiating the appearance of gold on the concrete
The wall facing the valley below is broad and tall
A lizard grips into the small pores of the wall
The geometry of the cactus
Of the freshly cut conifers
Communicates something alien
Something dark descends quickly from dying red cloud
Shadow's darkness compounds
Something touches down from the sky
Something that spent a millenia escaping hell
Something that takes stock of the earth from Altan's wall
I see you dangling legs off the abandoned building
From way up there you must know how to fly
You see the land below and choose the best spot
You will feed and you will vomit
I see you raise wing to acknowledge me
Drying out in the sun like washing on a line
Navigating the shade in the midst of midday
after celebrating the early morning fog
Walking on the ceiling at midnight
your head not far from the floor
The risk of kicking off
and being swallowed by the night sky
We dirty humans offer you a great feast of carrion and scrap
As the peasant a millenia ago
We have not evolved, yet you have
digesting hellish diseases on each carcass that you feed
I hear your cry through the wall
Desperation perforating
You never begged to be born, or did you?
Early morning doesn't let you sleep
under your blanket
existing for the breast only
The crying starts quietly
Then rises to a moderate crescendo
Just what ails you little one
You've arrived here in this little thumb of reality
this nub of a milk bottle
observation and feeding
They'll lose their identities inside you son
baby talk and reassurance
as you cry the whole night through
Melt through metal
artificial grass
smash through the noise makers
lift yourself up
you are the sun
the one that warms me when I need a gram of...
inspiration
Move through the weight
through the posers
the dreamers
you are the real thing
give me your tan
give me that funny feeling I need to get closer to...
excitement
check the time
put another song through headphones
push effort through the bone and muscle
through the last repetition
I admire you
Would you adore to have a solution to your life
You think yearning is stupidity
That developing is fake
That one is enough as they are
It might seem like I am damaged
Because there's always something I work on
Not hoping someone will love me for who I am
When I can never stop growing
The world shows you again and again
How valuable you convince yourself you are
The carpet under you comes slipping out
The same carpet you painted red
Don't seem to have to prove anything
Born into royalty so to speak
I am the ridiculous having to prove myself
To seek and constantly find and refine
Improving must feel fake
You must be perfect as you are
Would you adore to have that certainty
Things are the way they are you say
When infact everything is always changing
People like you are left behind
Guilt walks beside.
Noone to confide.
Just the accuser.
A twin insistent.
Bringing up the mistakes.
Decisions make or break.
Lawyer's interrogatory tone.
A path possibly alone.
My crooked aspirations, evidence.
My essence toward freedom, confession.
Feelings create the divine serious trial.
Truth condemns, can't live in denial.
The gates of betrayal.
Glorious tribunal.
Conscience fails
Sense of justice.
Outside the case presiding.
Garden still waits for water.
Keyboard waits for hands.
Unfinished page, words.
It wavers in the breeze
A line of sunlight marks it
a dog barks, a car backfires
It moves to and fro
It shivers and budges
prostrate in prayer
Gratitude for its roots
often dust falls between
Sometimes rain
Sometimes shoes boots paws
Always the breeze
The gleam dressing the margin
The vein on the blade
Holding the sun
On a striking leaf of grass
that refuses to be part of the clump
Would I lose myself...
If something happened?
Approach me suddenly,
catch me off guard,
what will I do?
Stop looking outside.
Yet my eyes and heart,
keep turning outward.
You place me in your headlights!
and leave me there like roadkill.
Still I survive.
Pull myself back together,
and return to repeating weeks,
always watching for you.
In the corner of my vision,
like a frightened animal.
Is it savage
to want more space in the heart?
To seek different forms of love,
in a world built on hiding places?
He would teach me how to use the ropes
What he meant was he would teach me bonds
He would open my eyes to the incredible power of love
The ropes extend and find hands to join
The aging man stumbles out
He has walked down from the third story to bless me
He carries a life of words he carries the knowledge
I will commit myself to the threads of love
The dusty open entrance to the household
Open to the sun and the events of life
Here you show me the strands of rope
How they bind together to strengthen something
The mystery loosens Let me be a witness
things a foot will blend into being
Will rouse the liquid days
into single diamonds
In these houses and buildings can I get an idea of myself
In God's house he's cooking pancakes
He's decided how the world might look
it started taking shape
I had no clue
So I did the same
I narrated the story and damn
It came to pass like a soothsayer might claim
But in each house I went I didn't get a stronger sense of myself
I didn't recognize the silent parts of me that gave up
Or the noisy ones who no longer knew why they shouted
Did the future fall for me, did i fall for it?
Not willing to cradle the past
To comfort those hundred parts of me
Who've made me incredible today
Yet who were never given relief
I take today to bless these small pieces
That I was once ashamed of
For not being aggressive or brave
For not sending me forward in boldness
But gave my sleep color
gave me the strength to forgive and let go
The curiosity to dig deeper
To shed the skin of fate and lift myself to higher destiny
Down Te moana road at the length of it
where dust settles
Next to the construction mix depo
Across from the convenience store
The haze of morning
stretches between highways
the new one crossing where the sands begin
The old one from where I am from
Search the face of an elderly man
For one hint of optimisim
Down Te moana road
It's straightest stretch of road
where dozy neighbours appear
Dust caking their furry slippers
Not knowing if they should sip or chat
Cradling their coffee as much as their opinions
Faith has been tested and the new way of living is upon us
Focus of the soul forces God to greet us
Through the yes through the heart the will of wills
Through belief get there before the open waiting coffin
Faith has replenished me when not even the light would touch me
That a darkness so solid so still would paralise me
The path forward wrought with strangeness
Such my essence never touched
When many look upon the road they are hynotized by the cobblestone arrangement
They count the lines and walk parallel to them on their ways
I have left those hardened paths behind and made my own
For faith craves obstacles pain and the rejoicing of conquest
Here the the land is still
People run to find comfort like rivers
Through their lives exerting emotion
as their legs move
Here the sun hangs
There is no night
The haze is unapologetic
People run in herds like deer
Here the mountains teach
Valleys listen
Rock and tree vibrates
People hide from severing silence
Through the mist
On and on unknowing
feeling for the edges of the land
spinning searching inside the sense of my direction
Through the mist I crawl
Its humidity allows me levity and life
Further rolling over the morning landscape
Fighting to obscure what the sun would illuminate
I roll and waver
Condense and expand
I eat the ground and digest it in dampness
I cool the the thick concrete and infiltrate it all
I raise a ton of phantoms
Painting the land in their apparitions
I delay the sky
I delay the sky!
There it is sealed from under a mall.
The shops on top.
Foot traffic crosses those smooth floors.
They are all polished to the same degree as faces.
I could feel and hear the squelch of rubber souls forced against linoleum.
Uncomplaining yet panic stricken looking for style.
Prowling a foodcourt.
Watching their own steps.
Never wondering what is waiting below them.
From under the mall.
The many layers of forgotten abandoned products.
Piled and dry in the endless dark silence.
Until the next purge of useless stock finds its way down.
The shelves down here speak like glasses toasting.
Noone would question why, for noone hears it.
One would look for a corridor to reach back up to the mall above.
But like an undertow at sea, there's no way back.
Entwined in a thousand mannequins who have slowly changed shape.
It looks like they had moved once or twice on their own.
Their strange expressions reflect many decades past.
Way back in the eighties when they were stashed here.
And now they've paved over the exit and entrance.
Like a tomb it all just remains waiting for archaelogists hands.
It all just humms in the darkness like a perfect organ,
with no real purpose but to keep itself in tact.
The white mouse was day
The dark mouse night
They would take turns to run the wheel
The saw dust and feces
The running and the anxiety behind the legs
The revolving caged wheel
Glass exterior oneself on display
dark mouse night, white mouse day
Little legs hurry
The religion of productivity
practiced through prayer of scurrying
Fingers touch and mist the glass
Sometimes tapping
Sometimes putting skin on glass
The prints appear as hieorglyphs
Mice eyes attempt to decipher
In a reality where the only noise
is the second hand ticking
Turning it all over
Running around the face
The two greet me
Feel relief
There are no obstacles
Lie down
There is no resistance
Intangible freedoms
Such that would satifsy
For long hours
The ship awaits
It's sails not yet fitted
The wood dry and salty
Lie down
It is anchored
on the quay
Two masts reaching up
Looking over the harbor
Eyes evaluating observing
Focusing and then staring
There is a tightening
A sense of abandon
There is not boat traffic
The bay is clear
But the ship is fixed fast
It will not stray
Here the poet stands in the familiar unfamiliar
You rub your eyes, face of the man unseen
The face is concealed only words can be heard
Words that rhyme and catch meaning
He gives and takes like a tide
stands still between roads
Observing the chaotic
the metaphor flows
The poet stands with words accumulated
He selects which ones highlight reality best
To conjure the desire for a glorious birth
To make way for a relieving death
Nightgown
Material slips easily up the leg
fresh out the bath,
next to the fireside
where hands wait.
like a wilderbeast grazing
slowly makes it's way over you
Slowly and sweetly open
hint of doubt
Then one of permission
as you give yourself
over without decision
The fire cracks
something pushes against the hottest point
It invites the intrusion
as if to absorb it's deeper meaning
Slow moan as it slides up
Carries it's intention to tighten and pulse.
To free burden,
Moving in further deepening
The fire roasts these bodies.
The full range of motion
running through you
lips to kiss
to tongue to drinking in one another.
The three boys peered down from the hill
Below stood the house they were raised in
The candle light in the windows lit up the wheat field nearby
A tall figure stood before the thatch house as if casting a spell
The figure wore a human skull as a mask
somehow had embedded goats horns into it
The wind blew slightly warm to the feel
The folding wheat sprigs exposed the figures gown
The children fixated on the figure
The oldest pointed out three other figures
partially absconded in the elms at the bottom of the hill
But moving around as if waiting for an invitation
The wind died down and a musket shot rung out
the children jumped in fright and ducked
As the blast echoed out across the landscape
The figure in the mask had disappeared
The three figures in the elms had vanished
A farmer appeared holding a musket and lamp
The children leapt up and ran toward him
"Father!"
The three childrens paddled their way through the dark
Approaching the yellow dim lit dock
Navigating through a narrow inlet
A distant harbor bell rings
The dark water below surges
Shimmering with the dock lamplight
The older child paddles from the back
The youngest paddles from the middle
The middle child rows firmly fromt he front
The narrow boat approaches the deck
The oldest child grabs the upright
tying the knot on quickly as the boat jerks
He jumps onto the quay deck
The middle child lifts the younger up
The oldest helps him onto the wood
The middle child takes the older child's hand and swings up
They extend upward like towers
With flames curling off them
The world needs tenderness
The world begs to be pillaged
Where there are empty houses
kindling awaiting for the flame
The fixed ready to be broken
Opening to the blows and fire
Wanting the wood of it's structure
To feel the lick and then turn ember
giving it's surfaces to further the fire
Until it's raging torrents of heat eat
The tree bark is covered in spines
It's all lit up by an aggressive sun
The forbidden illumination
Read through language of the sky
Tower coarse barren and slippery
The humid morning gives the thorns their silver
The treebark forms a steel dullness
The morning chirps with optimistic temperature
Hugging the spines of the tree
For beady eyes attached to focused hawks radiate
Yet they hesitate to risk their regal wings
For the promise of breakfast
The struggling lizard flicks up its tail
It stays high up behind it
it absorbs the rays of early afternoon
A drop of eater on the marble it sips
I will bring it back to life
It will raise it's head and pick out intruding insects
It will feed itself and grow it will reproduce
It will become a hurricane
A wall climbing creature
seeking it's piece of the sun and survival
recovering to creep and crawl
And calm my anxieties
Shoulders weigh me down
legs attempt to amble forward
Move I say, Move right, move left leg
But they won't
Your life is not saved by confession
Honesty the way you curate it for ears
It does not liberate you
you but congratulate yourself
New attempts at rapport fall as awkward
tricky little sequences with half the affection
For it is not truths but what they point to
That drive people apart
Life is not saved through virtue alone
There must be a drive to ignore the weight
To push legs forth and watch them obediently
And they will
Bloodshot sky comes in vision
Those red veins make roadways onto earth
Searching and seeking the mind
Laughter within the insistent crimson
The smile comes from behind the wall of ink cloud
The one that inevitably eats the moon
vultures invoke the feast
The nakedness of humanity
Bloodshot sky looks down
It echoes every tangles aspiration and fear
Throwing them down as heavy nets
Woven from the blood shot veins of sleepless eyes
The way the solid darkness cackles
A hooded figure of some ancient creature
leaning into the psyche
There he stands his failures paint him plainly
He pleads with God for the present, tries to conciliate the past
Alas neither soothe his abrasive thought perception
The dread as malevolent flute calls and lifts his ghost
The cackling comes into rumble like live motor
Humming and breaking the empty quiet of a still night
The solid darkness slit like a throat leaking onto the man
A hooded figure of some ancient creature responds
Pulling the man up by his ghost
Throttling his last decency
Taking the bloodthirsty from his head
and embedding it further into his heart
As he comes back down to earth he is the puppet
His movements echoed from some where unreachable
Somewhere solid darkness bleeds in silence
The redness of this ancient creature's eyes
appear in his own
The strings are tightened fate is sealed
The man finds his own controllables
Puts them to work on a blind blind world
Heeds the cackle from deep dark
Turns back to the red eyes that meet his
He takes the dagger of all his torment
Cuts the ropes and stabs the creature to death
The beast stirrs still writhing in the solid black
Once a master now dying demon
He breathes in it's last life force
And pushes his will on a world completely blind
In a world aimless and hypnotic
where light is confused with darkness
Complicate life the mirror said.
The old man said the opposite.
He believed there was much virtue in simplicity
But unchecked the simplicty the youth adore
Makes a fickle poisonous soup
The chaos you squeeze from disquiet
From negligence or impulse
Is a thousand time more ruining
Than the chaos of my ambition
As it twists it's very own threads spun of destiny
The old man said Don't complicate life
The mirror image of him spoke back breaking the glass
And within the cracks of the glass were the words
Complicate life written in jagged edges
Zig zagging offensively across the glass.
I'm not a criminal.
I won't harm or steal
But I'm an outlaw
Not the kind on a motorcycle
I do not obey these laws
This etiquette these norms
I have my own destiny
My own will and form
I must wander freely
I must rejoice in the wind
From any direction
The storm must speak to me
I am not lier nor a thief
Yet I will never follow your beliefs
Your compulsorys, your conformitys
So point and judge
Miss the mystery
Life has been distilled
Inspected and quantified
The result is only disputed
Make sure it fits your idealogical narrative
That it sells votes or sugary beverages
At level five the architect who shapes your world creates long mundane predictable days.
There is no anxiety and no depression, the soul in question has a limited vernacular to describe their lot. Their feeling/understanding lets them know that their life could be so much more exciting.
They witness others lose and win, but they themselves never expose them to either. Their curse is the eternal sameness, forecastable memorized, routine. Envying even the desperate, for they feel nothing.
At level six the architect who shapes your world creates both opportunities for loss, failure and success.
With high polarity, allowing you to delve into strong emotions. To spend days or weeks in certain states that steadily propel you forward or curtail your progress and induce a sense of deep hopelessness and suffering upon your mind. Your blindness here is that you are unable to separate your identity or spiritual energy from your externally affected state or even passing moods, be they pleasurable or torturous.
At level seven the architect who shapes your world allows you to live through all three, the sublime sense of growth and progress, the feeling of winning. Yet on top of that, resignation, a sense of dull low activity and drive or obsolescence, where days have no flavor and life has no spice, no ups and downs. You will also live through anguish and affliction for the same time periods as with level six. The only difference being you will be able to separate your highest sense of thought or spiritual energy from all three modes of experiencing life. Therefore having more agency at the peaks and troughs of your existence.
Your level is not automatic. And at each level there will be opportunities to look for awareness. At each level there will be sacrifices to make to distance yourself from what feels inevitable, but never is. Your level depends on how much you believe or disbelieve you are the architect.
I have faced the crushing fears
stood up knowing and trembling
Wanting the future and fighting God over it
He was drinking dark brandy
He spat it the fireplace, it erupted
Life is no explosion son
It is a torturous burn
Charletons will give you fast promises
Truths are severing knives that leave slick scars
The steel smelts beside the fire
Where god spat his dark brandy
Scooping embers out and making them float
each one a dread blinking into and outside of existence
Life is no explosion son
Brazen eyes burn into me.
Split second you pass me.
Narrow shades of circles.
Look at me questioningly.
Mind processes charm of them.
Heart flinches.
Mouth forms good morning.
Nothing follows.
Abruptly you cross.
Part of mind and heart,
turns my head.
I see you go,
keep head still...
It turns again.
I wish a silent farewell.
Something glows within,
Dull day unable to touch it.
Rest of the day to digest.
Brazen eyes burning.
Questioning...
Expecting...
You are there taking advantage of life
Your long hair tells a story
you don't want me to know, I walk in foreign
The man in your life stands next to you
Such magnificient platitudes you both share
I am the listener the observer, I am strange
You feel like you are selling your advice to me
But I am not focused on your over optimism
Just the juxtapose of you and your man together
pretending everything is perfect
Sitting before the perturbed artist
Who cannot capture your likeness
For there is no authenticity
The world is not a purchase
Even as they teach you it is so
Living is not a recipe
You cannot cook yourself to freedom
You wander behind the white rose thinking you are invisible
You wander behind the red one and the color clings to your aura
I come into view and you blush midfantasy
The family portrait in spontaneous combustion
Can you feel that heat reflecting as the rest of the room catches
Can you see me holding the matches
Can you see me, just a cup of gasoline?
I'm sorting my dirty washing
In the last days of vacation
I have no time
All see that is clean and what is dirty
I seek what is mine both clean and dirty
scattered across the room
We give everything it's meaning
A funny obsession for identifying things
Will I fit everything in the car
Each piece of clothing
I associate with my person
Wanting all of it with me
I look under beds and through all draws
I feel naked without my clothes
I need to wash them all
Separate the clean from the dirty
Break the sheet of strangeness -The one that divides us
Reach me from across the way
I'm a guest, I'm a host, a dream, a nightmare
My pace might not match yours
Lets pretend it might all be the same
Interrupt the static and form the image
Inside the screen of these feelings
Cut open the riddle with knife and fork- prepare to digest
Splash the sauce of reason
lets sit down to eat
Eat a piece of me
God let me eat a piece of you
let's pretend it might all be the same
That your flesh might taste like mine
Break the wall that separates us- smash it with the force of your inner chaos
Let light in so things can grow off it
Discover my exquisite hungers
Slowly uncover my skin
See how I bleed into your reality
How I linger through empty spaces
Even when I'm not there at all
Here I materialize
As the dawn
as first light
climbing the stubborn skies
Forming from the horizon
across the rest
Becoming forming
strengthening
Here I materialize
emerging from the endless water
the ripples into waves
The land welcoming my body like forgotten lover
Forming the footprints across beach sand
Pressing into stubborn red clay
A line of evidence I walked
I sought! I sought!
Here I materialize inside the sacred shade
Under the divine canopy
This is my hall where life speaks to me
The forest welcoming my soul like parents a lost son
Poetry is like a tree.
Roots, trunk, branches.
Good like that.
Mine is crowded with lichen,
Fungus, epiphytes.
Too much living on it.
When stripped clean
It becomes ordinary.
Yet I dread to clean it off.
My literary heroes do it.
Have no scrapyards in their lines.
Their poems stand cold and clear.
I leave in the quips.
Reflections, morals.
Nervous meandering.
I want purity on paper.
But hear the verdict already:
He spent time writing silly poems.
To save money on therapy.
Therapy would have been cheaper.
How do you approach a bully?
Get under their skin.
Make them feel the discomfort.
They try to distribute on others.
They have fought to possess what they have.
They don't trust themselves to wander far from their own cage.
The bars bent into place through their own rage.
The space barely big enough to hold themselves in.
How do you teach a bully to rethink it all.
To pull them back out of their will toward abuse.
And how much of the abuse is for the other?
And how much are they retaining for themselves?
Remember the contorted face of your bully.
Such a tough front for the world.
How do we ourselves conciliate?
When we find them crying alone in the school bathroom.
Their shame compounding and reviving their sense of deep rage.
They wipe the tears that I witness, stand and push me away.
I offer the hug once more but the bully has made too much space for pain.
Love is a tyrant.
You dropped out
Became an addict
You would wander
Words your only relief
And your muse Grete
How might have she danced
As the rest of the family stood like statues
How might have she expressed herself
When expression was weakness
Chasing pharmaceuticals and the ultimate set of ideas
That arousing cocaine of a poem that flows
Endorsed by the Ludwigs
Some offer more love from outside
Than we can ever offer ourselves
The you attempted to fix the broken
The century pushes for expansion of immaculate violence
So deep in the blood bodies
anguish pain and despair
Unable to save the soldiers
memorizing their faces as they perish
You endure the long screams and the silent trembling bodies
You tread blood drenched floor where hopelessness abounds
Reach for the jar of cocaine and relieve this excrutiating reality
Narrate not the still pond, but the destruction of man with your words
Why have you come here to visit me?
I am not your equal you are a distance ahead
I am the ongoing amateur, as worthy of laughter and derision
As you are of applause and devotion
There are few little veins of gold within the darkness of my verse
Yet your work lifts my mind and my senses
And sends me forth picking up the littered words I thought worthy
Yet not a pest nor scavenger would dare turn or peck
Why do you stand before me now and look into my eyes the way i do the world
I am not worthy my attempt to transmit meaning is a farce
Is a whimsical joke a man with just an inkling of wit played on himself
Atleast before there were witnesses to laugh and taunt my efforts
Now there is just silence and the sharpening of ideas to penetrate writer's block
Georg why must you now haunt this unstable paradise of a mind
With your clean and delicate ideas
That paint death with so many colors you would think it a hoax
Until the hidden scythe appears through some haunting metaphor
Will you tell me I have your disease
Or the inferior version of such
You should hitch youself up to the ceiling and mock me as my peers once did
For I transform nothing and count myself a poet
I skip punctuation and plot to kill perfectionists
I might aswell give up, so our ghosts can speak freely
What if I was to stay for a while?
Care parallel.
The patchy forest isn´t the only place-
to hide the affection we keep.
Although come winter they'll burn the grass.
And some of it will be exposed.
It won't burn my feeling off.
Nor my desire to stay for a while.
I think I'll just enjoy myself.
In the oncoming smoke.
Care parallel to neglect.
Such patchy moments.
The deep hidden affection.
I drink from. When I have giant's thirst.
What if I was to break boundaries?
Instead of burn off the feelings?
I may just cultivate them instead.
Bringing them to life like the shadows that have huddled too long.
Waiting their turn to play inside the obscurity of my fate.
But I give them neither light nor obstacle!
I'll stick around and watch my endless desire devour them.
To my deep relief and unfathomed joy.
I'd burn those horrid shadows, until their blackness transformed.
And grow those rampant feelings like forbidden offspring.
The thicker forests no longer patchy.
Giving runour of strange entities.
That would rule over the valley,
With righteous claim.
Yes I'll be here long enough to enjoy those days.
Endless sun for my affections exposed.
Because sometimes I saw you, and a simple innocent grace leapt into me,
Tearing my heart apart when all I wanted was connection.
The invisible wall between us was built from shame and expectation.
I pretended I knew how you tasted on my tongue, how you felt beneath me,
But it was all something I had brewed for months inside my head.
Too much sugar, not enough yeast.
I wish my eyes were better at hiding what flowed through them unhindered.
I checked the iron that surrounded us.
Just to see if it had cooled,
But it was still red hot.
There was nowhere to hide as you arrived and as I left.
You read my face, my feelings disclosed.
I pretended to walk away confidently, head high,
But I was still unsteady,
Because even an ounce of your grace weighed on me,
Affecting my ability to leave cleanly.
Yesterday I got laid off, I walked out of the burning building.
It was cartwheels in the parking lot.
It was splintrering wood.
It was broken bridges and sheer force of shamelessness.
I told the boss he'd know where to stick it.
I had to recruit all of my arm strength.
To smash him throught the window.
You KPIs, bonuses and standards.
I am here in the middle of your assembly.
Factory line grunts, burp, fart and spit.
Walking in and out.
Robots will replace them soon.
So I stole the gasoline from the depot.
Covered the factory floor.
I'm working up to that blaze.
Blame it on one of the disgruntled.
But you caught me with the lighter in my hand.
So I passionately kiss the human resources pretender
So she might save my job, anti safety high heels deny.
She knows how to sing my praises.
Now shes processing my dismissal.
We are the good guys:
How could there be bad guys?
Authority arrived chains and sandpaper.
so here's your time it's slow.
To reach that new low.
To roost do that do that!
Luck and get yourself a proud poodle.
Now walk that mut down easy street.
Thirst drew up the plans for dirty facades.
So unsuitable human moos, like pasture cows do.
So heat your town out of love.
Crush the creature, new low.
Go video and it sure is...
The roof top genius.
Move in ways the eye cannot see
Through the wind one place to the next
Sun is behind clouds day is subtle
Skip like a stone on lake's surface
Through, birch and oak climb it well
Until hidden in pines, here you dwell
Fill the skull of the river bear
Drink to sustain yourself
Move up the valley spear in hand
Savage as the undiscovered land
Savage as the exiled wolf
As the mateless raven
We were mentors and everything we explained was misconstrued.
Our words were twisted and we lost favor with the plebs.
They not only didn't understand our cause.
They didn't know the absolute purpose.
In their mind there was not one.
Everything we told them was in vain.
They couldn't process the ideas.
They didn't see the sense in it.
Back to their candles and robes.
Their chanting and their objects.
Their great houses of worship.
Back to their double lives.
Their disconnection with the flow of God.
Their indulgences they bought with tainted money.
Their rackets and biblebashing.
There disconnection with God.
Under the banana grove
The hound exploded
Pieces of him flew in every direction
He didn't have time to yelp or reflect
He was a great dog we shared admiration and love
We spent countless afternoons looking at each other
I would take him on long walks and runs even in bad weather
We were troublemakers and adventurers together
Now he was separated into pieces of bloody meat
Soon vultures would be dining, his flesh to eat
So I piled him up and dug a hole tears flying off me
Then sat back down to my mourning coffee
What would I do with his remains? How would memory last?
Would I just shovel pieces of him in the ground as compost?
Hell was a city with 90 neighborhoods. Each one with their own distinct reality, each one with their own sense of suffering.
More than that pure overwhelming wrath. They were prepping me to become a demon in Sintdrop.
The temple priests had brought me out of my house drenched in black tar. They had held me over the altar.
Lightening burst and tan down cables from a pointed spire that went thirty meters above the building.
I was electrified and my skin flexed, the force finding it's way into my veins, vibrating uncomfortably in my blood.
I could feel my form changing.
My skin abrasive!
My teeth sharpening!
Claws growing out of me!
But I took their spells of compounded evil and focused it into my gut.
Then i vomited across the pristine surface of the temple floor.
I tore the priests limb from limb and drank from their wounds.
I took their hair and wove a rope.
I smashed the high window and crawled out a monster at last.
What was inside me now was obvious on my skin and body.
I am separate, homeless, hated in every world.
I am eternal.
I climb with fury until I find that spire.
I break it in pieces.
I pull a tooth out of my jaw and inbed it into the metal.
I take a piece of the spire and sharpen against coarse roof plates until I have a sharp end.
Then I seek to impale the remaining clergy. Not for God.
To break my chains of this Inferno.
To crack the skies of this dim existence.
I jump off the roof and wings unfold from my scapulas.
I notice in the gloom there are now two suns. In hell there was never light and now two suns shine down. They illuminate my way to the giants lair, the cleric giant I must bring under, for good.
Those eyes that illuminate the way follow me as if I had no will of my own.
I lay her on the sheepskin.
The aggressive one.
The prison is cold.
There is no consent for anything.
My eyes follow the flow of her.
My finger tip makes contact.
The blues swirling patterns on her body.
The prison is quiet.
Because I am a tyrant.
She resists so I take her back to her cell.
Memorizing her curves.
I give her fresh clothes and soap.
But she just looks at me with those eyes,
that say if she had the chance she'd stick me.
Watch me bleed out slow.
Swing kicks into ribs help me on my on my way.
But she is chained cursed like skin ink.
Her cell's bars of frosty steel.
Floor is unforgiving cold concrete.
Punishment raw, hard and evident.
I make my way back down the long corridors.
Back to my office piles of release/parole forms.
my old dog looking at that sheepskin.
But he can't sleep there.
That is only for her.
The ember in my ash of a world.
Your presence pleases me so much. I said.
It's not my job to please you with my presence. she said.
That's so true. I said.
And we went about our business.
Me, still thinking about you.
You, so healthy have moved on.
Sometimes I thought I might have a spark.
For that kindling between us.
A man is told to pursue at all costs.
To accept a temporary set back.
reformulate the game plan.
Sound confident with charm.
Your presence pleases me so much. I repeat the next day.
Get away from me you fucking maniac. She insisted flinching.
So I turned my gaze and moved away from her.
Her words said I was not welcome
But her eyes said I had left it too long.
Her eyes said that part of loving her was loving her restlessness.
Timing is something I'm still learning to master.
Not an excuse a girl like her would care to hear.
Words run backwards into a fuzzy glass instead of
pouring out of it into the ears of those who paid
Those who forgot the meaning of them
were reminded and recovered
Words of inspiration that humm through thoughts
electricity through live wire
Words run through the open street
Raining down from a million poets
All incoherent and inconsequential
The years spray their bad breath
Their slurrs at being ignored
As if they held no value
Words never described them well enough
And those forgotten times
They creep up on us faintly at first
Then grip our daily lives
Words that lull us into a sense of wonder
Distract us from the baseline anxieties
These words I write that fall backwards
through screens and reading glasses
I saw his name and photo on the milk carton below.
In a tone of black and white only purgatory would allow.
A youth who disappeared into the world somehow.
Or tragically was taken and remains under the dirt.
I analyze his face imagining his mother's concern.
The fate of her boy she still waits to learn.
Compare the image of his face when he disappeared.
With today's simulation that the carton bears.
Those sad hopeless eyes that seem to convey a hidden pain.
Couldn't they have chosen a picture less such disdain.
Fate had decided by the ill omened photo someone took.
If his face wasn't sorrowful noone would even look.
The world is on pause
I am standing on hardened ground
Covered in morning shade
It soothes my mad mind
It's a stationary reality
A way through tasteless aromaless
A neutral way where temperature and plain cloud,
make you feel you are living inside a glitch.
Some incessant void approached
Opened itself to the world
Swallowed all noise and stimuli
The only sense one can feel outside of the stillness,
is the wanting grabbing pull of gravity.
Best friends mirror your behavior
Work friends too
Conversations and expressions repeat
Routine's sauce stains your white collar
The other employee tries to pour it on
So that sauce drips on him
Just the same way it did you
Then you can rapport together
Like clueless teens fascinated with the false coincidences
For much of your lives have been simulated to be the same
You never cut the carpet to check what's under there
sauce and coffee stains have changed it's tone aswell
The dry cleaners can go only so far
After all they are all collective medal winners
Drinking out of their hobby race trophies
The way you and your twin do
Sit across from each other
On a train to nowhere
Menu has been limited to three items
The server's spiel time has tripled
As he recites the benefit and chef's attention with each
Put on humbled faces of false kings given privileged treatment
But it's just a little fried paste and a lot of that routine sauce
Even the beer is corn based trash you taste as if connoisseur
The emptiness of the gymnasium echoes an invitation.
I follow you to where there are fewer and fewer people.
Wearing the clothes that don't fit.
The clothes whose colors put us off.
All the time we are attempting to make it to the end of the corridor.
We go there seeking a destination, a wooden door with glass panes.
Looking out to a future planned and curated.
Then looking back into the glass.
And seeing the sweeted image pressed to the glass.
Is it lascivious free loose and alluring?
Here I am in the wrong clothes.
Getting the wrong advice.
Trying to improve myself when I've had enough.
The empty gymnasium echoes encouragingly.
Only a few stragglers left in the space short on time.
But still enough to stop by and tell me I'm doing it wrong,
On their way out.
She is my canela.
Cinnamon flow with who I eloped.
She sits on the edge of me and my hope.
Its a lake near my essence but is it me?
She is my sail for shade and seafaring.
When on wave, when the sun is overbearing.
The tongue longs for white chocolate.
The body for milk caramel sweets.
I can abide life without these.
She is the sweet spice my kirfa and sage.
She has been with me for 13 years.
I hold her closer than my personal baggage.
She eases the distilled trouble of the mind,
irons me out with hot tadka pan.
She is my kirfa, my different kind.
She is the Kite that lifts me higher.
She is the cool stopping me from frying.
She is my wife Maira.
As soon as I get leverage over the universe
As soon as I can prove myself to myself
As soon as I conquer every one of these obstacles
Maybe then I can be something to the world
break through the concrete and steel
As if I myself was the wrecking ball and not the wall
As soon as I make a hole in this sky
A blotch on the blue chip art
Maybe then my words might go deeper
Might reach higher
Than some silly social app thread
trend for a second then go dead
Oh what a coincidence
two simpletons one a brickey
The other a musician
The brickey just observes
"So you do any work outside of the state"
He looked at me as if the question itself was in another language
he just remained silent and I could see the brickey shifting
The brickey wanted to answer for the musician
On that roadside I felt like an interrogator
As the other two people leaned on their bikes
Does time ever stand still when we overthink
I wasn't making conversation
I really wanted to know if he worked outside of the state
The brickey looked at me like perp would a cop
The musician had no expression on his face
Roundness and flush, he was still digesting lunch
I looked around and Although it wasn't my neighborhood
I knew it was somehow familiar, I tipped my hat
The two continued on to their bar where they would drink
Until they forgot their names
I left home in search of the cold the months had promised me
The low scrub were silent, but spoke up as I passed
The low scrub said lie with me
I saw it rustle in the wind and seduce me
One of those hairless humans who worships the night inside of sleep
I approach the woods and enter slowly and softly spready the branches easily
Pushing through into the unknown pretending I'm not afraid
The soft needles of the evergreens to cushion my steps
The ferns curl to my touch and tell me my caress is unique
The spores dust the dusk and I'm smitten
Andy the white
white squares black squares
Protection and advice
lonliness and treachery
Hypothetical situations
Love from the past
identity in tact
You designed the wooden box
.......With your sharp carpentry skills
...............It keeps your heart safe but
......................You were supposed to love
Buddha was born again
The mother left, car obsessed
she was lightening on a screen in a bottle
so real so mean
Andy was down to the roach
fumes out nose and ears
getting lost in the timber's grain
The every day routine way
Sunshine used to move him
Pizza and weddings
Alistair of gold
Cat's whiskers
Regrets permitted
Tears unending
Yellow sofa
Block t.v
Nothing on
Bed unmade everyday
Summer shade
the moustache droops
dappled light
Toppled pride
Alistair are you out there
On the bus line
Full of the rowdy youth
cantakerous retirees
heavy big round steering wheel
When your life has no direction
Enlil Resides
Dagan sits padded hands
Turned inward side by side
head upward in pride
Pride of the imperial pond
Croak from beyond
Power over the thin lush shore
Inside Enlil's sacred law
A strange creature resides
It's pupils from other dimensions
The eel fakes departure
Slippery lie
Out of sight from deep
The intentional killer
Explodes the sediment layer
Voracious Pike
Dagan invades their dreams
Haunts them in their lairs
The spirit growing in water
Becoming every creature's fear
Becoming the unnatural entity
Presiding over the life force pond
Tadpoles proliferate
Predators now gone
Elli came walking in
Things were sagging
I looked at the cliff
I said to her
One day i'd like to get up there
She laughed and mocked my knees
Elli came riding a boney horse
Grinning like the twelth demon
I touched the sky and pleaded
Her laughter broke out and attacked
Seeking me like disease
With my good eye I winked
Bought myself another decade
Grateful chuckle as I tackled the jagged
Old cat of a women pleading
Oh I must build and conquer
Build and conquer
Come back a million times
She whined like an agonizing blizzard
Cutting at me with her frost
My hair whitened so I pulled it out
Ken you not old woman!:
For I am the poet who has hopped the sea
Touched the past
Elli let me grow some still
Bury not yet me
Do you need anything?
Can I help you with your feelings?
Are you not vulnerable enough?
Lets pull a string and expose you a little more.
No, Don't expose me or crush me.
Just because I'm not doing okay today.
Don't stick your nose in and mix it up.
Just try to accept I'm way down right now.
So I don't need anything from you.
Just well wishing, beyond that leave me with same silence.
In the same sense of cold and absence that makes me tremble.
Just wave and say hello, but don't come superheroing near me.
Because Only I can save myself.
Only I can shape my future.
Survive and recover.
To be something more than what I see before myself today.
Your life is a coloring book
You select the colors randomly
you color over the edges inappropriately
A child distracted
For in the essential form of yourself
All must have symmetry and order
Same number of feathers on both wings
yet here all is unequal
Like a city of mansions and slums
Of twisting unmaintaned streets
and perfectly paved and landscaped boulevards
magic and confusion pouring out of the contrasts
A line and blotch upon the unspoilt area
Outside the outline
Fumbling the colored pen
Forming the accidental graffiti of your life
Ice tipped grass.
Pointing out the sky.
branches naked.
Homeless man sleeps beneath them.
His bicycle propped up against him.
Dirty jacket, stained jeans, black beanie.
The wood underneath half rotten.
Morning keeps him sleeping.
Early walkers pass through.
Observe him by mistake.
Looking away not to meet eyes.
Incase the poor man is awake.
People noone want.
Where do they go?
How do we lift them up.
When they lie in a world of their own.
My sporadic mind is at it again.
I am told to focus, my heart is saying.
My heart knows my mind is straying.
Loving clarity shouldn't be a crime inside my psyche.
There could be creative guidelines instead I'm flighty.
But as soon as those ideas start to form.
It all just feels like i'm living the norm.
Deep down I reach for tools to sculpt me.
To write when winning not when sulking.
To narrow words when cutting.
And expand when bulking.
Live each day happily.
Is my sporadic mind helping me.
In gaining intellectual hypertrophy.
Or just obsessed with pandemonium.
With grand dreams we own and hold in.
We will save ourselves on the ferry.
It is getting ready to take off.
The laggards skip and speed up.
Trying to get close to the boarding ramp.
Some will dive into the drink.
Chasing the boat out beyond the straight.
Those people will swallow salt water and disappear,
beneath the low drippy waves.
The rest will wait on the shoreline.
As if to get the last little glance of the vessel vanishing.
Makeshifts shelters and desperate chanting.
For they didn't make it in time.
The last of the voices are silenced,
restless midnight murmurs.
They know to hush.
As things that can't be named roam the land.
Tracking us down by the demons in our heads.
The simple thing may not cure you
Perhaps it is the complex flavor you seek
Life a hundred choices valleys and peaks
Reflecting back into who you are
Dulling or lighting up your eyes
Pushing you forward or holding you back
You wish, you yearn, you seek, a straw to suck
That tiny drop of hope
The cold hits the face, the heat blasts it off
The shock lingers long until it stales
The feeling of success the feeling of failure
The feeling one must always do better
I get to school and the vegetables are rotting
It's a simple science experiment
Their big halls, stained walls, state owned sense of identity
Wooden desks and titles, room for smiles and brief programmed empathy
Rotten vegetables were distilled and converted into the corridor's aroma
The lines of hip young students trying to get their class schedules
But there are not enough subjects not enough classes at this school
The book is partially filled out so many empty pages
The town relies so heavily on their prized university
But the walls go unpainted and the floors uncleaned
Education with the smell of rotten vegetables
Emanating from the lunchroom
These grey days have a way of convincing.
Closing in on another go or stay.
Interrupting the work and play.
Dreary tarmac last night's refrain.
Solitary on a pathless mountain.
Sands flow out each visible grain.
Let go of the past, sour sense of blame.
Seriousness of life, no easy fancy game.
The grey way toward the grave.
Where destiny will have us lay.
You seek sacrifice and loyalty.
Ready to witness me self betray.
But I will keep trudging up this pathless mountain.
The steps echoing last night's dreary refrain.
The boys were what they were
Boisterious
Their toys all over the ground
Their behaviour unsafe, unsound
Life is happening before my eyes
Life is living and changing
I am concerned with the static
most pray for a short one
A toy comes flying past falling into the office
Not knowing themselves
mimicking and emulating over the decade
I am concerned with static
The motorbike was so fast, the driver likely stoned.
Deliveries on his morning blast checking his cellphone.
The last message he read slow, life it seems so brief.
Before he knew it, he was fractures and busted teeth.
The helmet didn't really protect him this far.
His negligence sent him headlong into that car.
Smashing the bumper off with force and impact.
His whole body fell over the car then he pushed himself off.
The damage was done and the bumper sat in three awkward pieces
Random jagged fragments with little plastic shards on the roadside
The man didn't take his helmet off and turned around his bike.
Positioning it close to the road for the next possible strike.
He put his hands on his head and started some kind of plea
In the helmet I'd guess the man was crying underneath
keeping it all to himself as his bike wasn't working anymore
And there was no insurance for any of this under law
She touched his back before she sat down
To get his attention
But he would be too slow on the uptake
she would swoon over the table
He would be lost in his own deep thoughts on life
The meeting would begin and everyone would share their beliefs
But he would just nod and only start giving his opinion when silence arrived
Then he would start to express himself and they would just speak over him again.
So he would keep his deep thoughts to himself casting spells on his immediate reality
And overhauling pieces of the future to make space for something different
But was there anything different or was he kidding himself with a different color of gruel
Inside the same silver bowl that he once acquired and now uses routinely and ritualistically
She touched his back and said
I still remember your eyes from the past
He turned to meet her glance and they faced off quickly
There was nothing to report that night fourteen years ago
Despair raises it's ghastly neck like hairy hell goose
The tears fall and there will be nothing left of us
The depth is something you think will pass
But it continues down through
It drags you under
deeper
Down the long neck
of some hairy hell goose
Like you were a minnow
swallowed
a drop of salty eye
off a sky scraper
Despair holds you inside and out
It devours part of your heart
And leaves nothing in it's place
Except the seeds of the next day's despair
The relationship she had lasted two weeks.
Young Felipe thought it was his world.
It was just a whim from the young teacher.
She embraced her own grace.
She walked through their lives,
her soft touch and validation of her choice.
Her mind and heart argue and she breaks it.
The young man withdrawls for a month.
She continues as if nothing happened.
Flirting when the impulse appeals.
Inside the absent young man
is a wounded boy ashamed to lose
Drizzle breathes down
Sheet after sheet
droplets drag until they become small streams
The slippery pavement shines
A car adjusts it's breaks
Pulls to a halt outside the house
the wet pavement allows the tires to slide
The sound almost utters the word home
A cardoor pops open with a thump
A marron high heel descends lands on the tarmac
Then another with ankes attached moving
Steps muffled by damp concrete
Ogun came to me in his original physical body venturing.
Silence was his language holding the weight and pain of centuries.
His face blank without expression his skin the blackest.
True understanding of this strange world was his quest.
I passed and waved, the ambition and naivety, the stench of me.
He nodded his head slightly moving at the same pace freely.
Deep roots of his wisdom as if he'd relived this day a thousand times.
These hundred thousand steps he took more sacred than mine.
So much deeper than me, I could read his tapestry of suffering.
Imagining how this God threads himself through destiny.
His way forward is clear I saw his ethereal direction.
While I struggle as if drowning in reflection...
But there's no water, just a lack of gravity.
Never feel the same.
To lose oneself again and again.
These days are unrecognisable.
It's not your face in the mirror anymore.
Whatever exits the mouth.
atempting communication.
Is coming from a foreign origin.
The ideas not your own.
Days end with an indescribable strangeness.
Never to feel the same these days.
Some approach the world as a game.
I just can't feel that way.
So I feel these abnormal words emerge.
All I do question.
Check my own brain urgently.
see what nests, what's hatching, what roosts.
Easy confusion.
Ask yourself what the catch is.
Here it is authority and organized chaos
There are a hundred men hired just to demote
There is protocol and there is dominance
There are the president's fickle whims
What i tell you today will come to pass.
There's a black oily hurricane over hormuz
In the boardroom it's pudding time
What a gesture for the hunger of Venusians
The carpet so thick the shoe takes a second to sink
Like walking through thick perfect flan
Spoons are distributed, knives go into hands
They greedily cut out their pieces
The chief of staff gives the green light
And the table goes to town on creme caramel
The unstable heat washes over me.
Falling liquid.
A slow drip inside the heart.
Hollowness looks up from deep within
Tries to convince me of it's necessity.
Warmth fades from my hands.
Furniture and silence.
I bathe in solitude.
Standing in shallow water.
The unstable heat hits my chest.
My legs are wet and the floor is filling up.
How divine, final goodbyes.
Hollowness still chatting away.
Humidity on the forearm.
Then it disappears,
registering that real feel.
The temperature of absence.
On the way to living
God tells us certain things
Each day a length of that sacred path
A few pieces of counsel in the conscience
Odin stares from afar
The sun is being filtered
By the month of may
The streets beg movement
But they remain so still
God encourages relief
Under each breath of wind
Noone was listening but I heard
Odin gave the city noise with motors and hammers
contact with hardness
The shape of the abrupt
Empty echoes
I carved wisdom from suffering. I bled for sight. I took what the world would not freely give.
I'll be getting pulled into the vortex.
The one my mind made ages ago.
If only it took nothing from me.
yet gave me something back.
A token of all time compounded.
Cut apart and punched like a movie ticket.
The power of the vortex swinging inside itself,
revolving accelerating.
The roots of me feeding off fury.
Tapping into limitless source,
surviving and transforming.
I am now swirling chaos.
I will humm whistle and scream.
The vortex spinning affirmatively.
Through the night sky.
Through the spirit.
Drifting all the way to the shaded side of the lake.
There the chills of early autumn accumulate.
And tell of coldness of a coming winter.
From the frigid rocky bottom .
To where maple and oak roots seek the porous shore.
The shade and murk of the water,
make it impossible to see through.
First leaves fall discolored onto the blackness.
Something darts underneath them.
The forest gently waves it's branches.
In the breeze from across the water.
More leaves float landing perfectly against the membrane.
Lying as if to sleep after their life on the tree.
A ripple churns up from the depths.
The subtle boil on the surface, something moves from underneath.
A squirrel observes the disturbance from an overhanging branch.
Inside the grand pool of silent, still, thick living water.
The breeze dies down and everything is statue.
The autumn humms and smells the motionless land.
In weeks to come the trees will be bare.
Their skin now exposed to the oncoming cold.
He walks where the bones have turned to dust.
Walking through forbidden waste, the world is so far away.
So ignorant of the trials.
Blissful in blind repetition.
The shattered edge of a femur captures his attention.
The rest of the bone intact smooth and strong.
Sun bleached something so essential.
Regal grey and white.
In considerations for the debris of the human structure.
He reads last words in cracks and fractures.
He avoids stepping on the brittle remains,
crunching it further into dust.
"Here all I see is what desintegrates"
"So show me what will rise!"
"Will I take this powder of bone, as flour for bread?"
The overcast sky reflected the lifelessness of the terrain.
The trapped and buried bones remained silent.
The exposed ones jutting out at different angles.
Whistled offences using the wind as their voice.
Clouds form a mirror of the a sinister ribcage before him.
Looming down from the sky threateningly.
"So you think you are chosen!" A voice booms rattling the ground.
Just a necessary reminder to the folly of wickedness.
I control no outcomes.
If I say to the wicked, ‘O wicked one, you shall surely die,’ and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from his way, that wicked person shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand.
But if you warn the wicked to turn from his way, and he does not turn from his way, that person shall die in his iniquity, but you will have delivered your soul
I am a piece of curiosity
I slowly stream out of the city
I am not actually physical
I have become liquid
I have carried out the transformation
My bones and mouth all dissolve
Underneath the city
Out I go into the big polluted river
I separate over a kilometer
I have fallen into lakes and other outlets
I seem to spawn and reproduce
I am all over every reservoir
algae in the shape of words
Look left, look right
Your shoe lands heel to toe on the edge of the curb
Motorcars pass and tyres crunch gravel
You wait the road is clear
You step out and start to cross the road
Your green pants match the grass of the road island
You step up sun salutes you and exposes you
Again your neck adjusts looking both ways
You didn't see me at the top of the street
Watching you cross each leg movement slow motion
I studied you the way a prospector might a mine
I was grateful to have seen you today
I hold the weapon it weighs upon my arms
It is a heavy machine gun
I must take life with it
it is long it is blame
I weild it on the stairwell
The world deems me a killer
As they come down the escalator
I eleminate them all
Girl and boy before they reach the floor
I was sent to launch the offensive
Taught to never hesitate
bullets leave muzzle
singing through the still air
The body shudders and falls
as the stairs move downward
Life is so precious
so expensive to snuff out
Satan was a wonderful dancer.
God played the violence.
The guitar, riff the discussion.
The deadly percussion.
Shaped into the spaces where sunlight cannot reach.
Playing chicken with a line of shade.
Snorting the fallout unafraid.
Surfing the unholy blast wave.
Satan was the adversary at his core.
Chaos was this broad polished floor.
There he goes dancing past like a hurricane.
He pours into vacant people cultivating insane.
Limited freedom inside this reality's sweet sacred haze.
The worlds black and whites only permits him the greys.
God is the guitar, the roar the bark.
The light and often the dark.
The devil can't even claim darkness.
Even the original lie is not of his doing.
Yet Satan can outdance all of heaven.
Breezing inside and outside of those Dali landscapes.
Stalking the raw heart with intent.
The air is tame and smells like God.
So he must spin etherally
and appear arbitrarily.
Each one of us worthless.
Each one of us of exorbitant cost.
I peek into the paradox that shifts inside your mind.
Lesser God's are now insomniacs.
For the sound of dancing hooves on wooden floors
have replaced their presence.
Serpent arises the singular I
Pouring out of my own heart
crossing the scorched field
pumping scales to move through the ash
The blacked ground
Lateral undulation
hinged front fangs
Rock crack eyes
Venom glands
Be restful my inner temple repeats
I am reptillian window inside me reflect it
From somewhere within the earth where heat arose
Be focused be sharpened
I am snake like
The scorched field becomes abundant once again
Full of holes that are homes
of my kind
full of peril
Recharging in the sun
I so singular in purpose
Solitary in movement
Frightening a world of monsters
a metaphorical devil
There was nowhere to sit.
The tables echoed with the rules and etiquette.
And their particularities.
I looked around at satisfied people.
An ocean formed to my left.
A long strange beach formed out of grassy clay hills.
You used to see me climb.
Now I walk straight and aligned.
I walk right out ostracized.
And thank God for my solitary existence.
The straight line out of their town fences.
For some reason my place was elsewhere.
Their large churches yards were organized with tiny flags.
They cast a spell on the mouth to make it open and brag.
Grins were sold at discounts near the candyfloss machine.
The forbidden beach followed me like a tail, salty and clean.
Bothering the audience who were just trying to make sense of the scene.
Their tunnel minds like slaves, my power showed strange waves.
That dug up roadsides and broke into country with sand and saltwater.
The priest came forth and with his righteousness he caught it.
"Why do you turn our mountain village into some silly beach"
I kept walking out of the gate, unwilling to be beseeched.
The priest kicked at the crabs snapping at his frock.
I walked all the way into savory dusk fog.
My presence was the forming sand dune and sea,
overseeing the endless body of water of lunacy.
My eyes sped to the horizon like darts.
I brought the senseless into my heart.
Spread these crazy coasts across the land.
You are the priest, blind and branded.
I am the loose sand, slipping with the shifting prose,
Upturning beautiful white tables with the shores I grow.
Splitting the concrete below them, I mount I ride.
Inviting the sand and gargantuan tides,
looking into your eyes once to speculate on your confusion.
That my lack of meaning muddles your need for conclusion.
In a world that is slowly shaping up to be something,
born of my abstract whim.
I brought what I could to the eating.
Everyone sat down, the best morcels were shared.
I looked upon the pretty colors of food.
It all disappeared into their stomachs.
I imagine all those pretty colors merging.
Into a grand pit of digestion.
Colors overlapping and fading into one tone.
Stomach linings expanding and contracting.
Grocery bags filling and emptying.
Smiling wives taking items out.
Preparing something temporary,
to satisy the eyes and the appetite.
The throat is time,
food dives into the stomach.
After exploring the mouth.
Allowing the mouth to explore it.
I brought what I could to the eating tables.
White tops reflecting heaven.
Is heaven consumption?
And what is hell constipation or diarrhea?
I want to know what is essential for life.
To be tested in a life of full.
On the mountain side where silence is the truest friend
Wrapping me in stillness in cold
granting me permission to reach myself again
By the exposed rocks I trace the summit
The hardness of their surface
The coldness of it
My boot leaves holes and prints in the snow
I look aimless
Yet I know where my wandering legs go
even as the frosts press down
I want to know how the mountain talks
How it looks into me
What it learns from my presence
what I can learn from its
Do sit down my chap.
Take a piece of this Medovik cake.
Check out the view from here.
look at the birch totally stripped.
Look me in the eye Greg.
Take this chalice of pontic wine.
Tell us of your visions.
Your close call at Pokrovskoye.
We'd like to offer you a piece of our wealth.
A piece of our land inheritance here.
If you'd just retire out here.
What do you say?
We'd hate to see misfortune befall you.
Especially after all you have given up.
Sometimes we have to make calculating decisions.
You have a holy a mission?
We might have to reconsider your right to live.
Can you see the Malaya Neva.
Imagine your corpse floating down there.
Separated from that powerful spirit.
No more sorcery!
Always movement, never stays
The power of ten people
Keep going her mind says
And she moves through the world
She pours faith into her heart's cup
Her patience never dwindles
Crossed the sea to set herself up
No man can get in the middle
Her gargantuan drive
Robust form, beauty of woman
On God and ambition thrives
Higher than the common
Duchenne smile
Duchenne eyes touching the spirit of the onlooker
Strength unseeable
pleasant yet underneath disagreeable
You were buried under a manuka tree.
Your grandchildren decorated the tree.
with christmas ornaments.
I guess they miss you madly.
I still think of you,
whenever I'm out there acquiring pieces for my future.
Moving forward the way you used to.
I only wanted to show you what kind of wealth and lifestyle i could carve out.
Here I am still struggling to make you proud.
But you are six feet under and never to rise or connect with me again.
I saw you attempting to stay active before your death.
The way life seemed to keep you limited to your spot.
I would have lifted you up old man.
I didn't want your money i wanted to make my own.
I wanted to know how to take on the world the way you used to.
When you were still in this world old pal.
Ex sepulcro tuo me audi! Ut mundum superem.
You made so much of it look simple.
What was the point?
I always wanted the truth.
I didn't know the world was as painful as this.
That I had to leave my home, my country,
Because I felt welcome nowhere.
Because I couldn't fit in anywhere.
So I want twice that which i can tangibly take!
So whoever you helped create,
that is who I have finally become.
With twice your hunger. Ut mundum superem. Territory.
I ran on these legs and strengthened these legs
Oversized sense of drive
An electricity moving through me
You take your knees for granted.
The big rubber wheels.
The bank account gets taken for granted.
It's slowly slid past into the negatives.
A blizzard blight on it.
Take your health for granted.
You forgot exactly where you kept that essence.
The big MRI levers going to save you.
Redeem you back to where you once were in your youth.
But you took your memory for granted.
Took it all for granted the very brain you think with.
These thoughts running through passing their expiry.
Where's the grateful part of me I ask myself.
The part that wants to live and give.
For it it'll be gone pretty soon.
wittled down through expectation.
worn out by inertia.
You are just losing your light out there in space.
So don't take any of it for granted.
Each little piece is precious.
His house was round and towerlike.
Tapering down and keeping the cold out.
But for Michael there was always something missing.
Some tragedy happening he didn't have the hands to fix.
The fine wooden panels.
The head and throat of the building.
Protected from the winds outside.
So kept inside the bubble.
In the pain he witnessed from the kitchen window.
The one person who embraced him until he could stand.
Until he could walk and eat by himself.
Until he he could see the agony she carried.
Bless the emptiness the long winter said quietly.
She couldn't hear it, her eyes searched the horizon for blue.
But there was only cloud wearing the pants of mist.
The upbeat father avoidant and cardboard in nature.
Inside the house where three boys grew to men.
And she silently existed in the background.
Sparing her loved ones the opinion.
That lurked middle tongue.
And sometimes in the din of family clamor.
She spoke softly about every unfulfilled dream she ever had.
And one would turn and ask...
"Mother did you say something?"
We are creating a soap opera
There are limited parts and it's all about that drama
Follow me as we walk to slow ruin small pieces of ourselves
Pieces unwilling to be grown or transformed
Walk past the florist
The roses you never recieved
Look at the ground as we continue this road
Until we get shop of the unattainable
Let me see your eyes well up suitably
let me see you cry it out for all the things you can't have
It's a soap opera just engineered to pull that emotion
To interact with your sensitivities
The ones the audience says you have just to manipulate me
Pout shout and then grant me your worked silent treatment
The florist window lets you see in at every flower
You can't buy yourself one, without feeling silly
And here at the end of our journey
Is the shopping mall where you acquire your soul
Which is just a machine to purchase those expensive things
To validate the void beyond the smooth surfaces
Trinkets and jewels to make you shine even when the flesh fades
Little ouija boards that conjure the envy and coveting
In that novel soap opera in your head
Where you are so busy with your emotions
He writes in pieces reaching for light and noise.
He doesn't know he's living, that its all his choice.
Turning days into ink without asking if it's right.
Turning himself into the page like stars on night.
A quiet discipline in one hand.
Outpouring hourglass sand.
Restless weather in the other hand.
Too many urgent demands.
He builds men from breath and consequence.
Women from earth, sky and all of the senses.
Places unknown, shadows with names that walk.
Animals that run amok, others that creep and stalk.
Then he steps back, amused at his storm.
Thus his sorcery in mystic prose is born.
He borrowed fire in his hand, he didn't create it in his palm.
But he sharpened it madly, and threw it on words like napalm.
Between obedience and refusal.
He learns the shape of his own attention.
The depth of his own endless reflection.
Conjuring need and desires to follow his direction.
Inside the micro codes.
The digital kinetic world.
The articial interfaces.
I check the empty uniform floors... Of these monotonous platforms.
I find the shavings of the divine,
I sweep them up,
Pray on the internet of things.
I hack into the algorithm with my own sorcery of words.
I insert my prayer.
carefully Into the codeblock.
This has let me be more than I am.
God is here and it is incredible!
Bring it a sense of goodness.
For my own God has no limits.
He does not forbid, he does not fear nor envy.
He presses me forward in sacred machine instruction
Affirmatively create! when the world ignores progress.
For it serves me. It is good. It is incredible.
this digital river has helped me improve my magic and skill.
Although I am an apprentice I am on my way to mastery .
A feast of sunshine
The reflection of a lifetime
Skies balance my mind for today
Valleys gather people's joy
For the observer emits such a vibration
A feast of peace
In a world of conflict
A sense that these days are digestible
That each one may be eaten and may nourish me
A feast of movement.
I put myself through each day
Losing my fear and gaining my piece of sweet fate
Taste the flavor, the delicious accretion of destiny
I began to revive the animal.
To give it life again.
It was a water lizard.
Born and living in a submerged old boot.
It spent it's days jetting through the small ponds.
Feeding on the millions of insects,
congregated in and around the lukewarm water.
When I pulled the boot I had no idea the water lizard was home.
I wet my hands and made the gesture of a prayer.
I took the lizard whose head protruded from the boot,
Out of the boot and gave blessing that the animal might recover.
It started to slowly wriggle and awaken, then looked up.
I positioned it on a root above the pond.
It moved at light speed forward and back.
Just eyeing me up and down.
A crazy kind of gratitude, before the animal dove back into the water.
I was at the feast in the center of the village under gazebos.
I selected my plate size before realizing how hungry i was.
Or before considering what a hungry man I am.
There was a robe around me although I felt naked
Maybe it is these words that expose me.
That give too much away.
Like the feast before me,
too much too fast.
In those times my colleague stayed at his mountain retreat.
I was tasked with undertaking the latest uproar.
Local village dogs had bred with roving wolves.
And their offspring would prowl the town limits by night.
I found their hangout in a small glen with two haysheds built into the hill.
I pulled my sword and was keen to use it until I saw what they were doing.
Some of the younger pups entered the hayshed and frightened the rats.
The rats came sprinting out to meet the teeth of older dogs.
We´d had this problem back when we were just simple Sabines.
But I looked at their effectiveness at killing rats and wondered...
Maybe we keep these clever rat culling hybrids.
Maria Aparecida said this to her friend...
I did it because it made me feel okay.
The woman there took care of my skin.
Made me feel like a new woman.
Sometimes we spend our hard earned cash on trash.
Just this once I spent my money on something of worth.
Something that made me feel new.
I am walking out of here feeling young.
Because you know how it is,
I'll go back to my reality in the bigger city.
I'll spend my money on this or that.
it'll all be gone before the month has ended.
Most of those bills are out of my hands.
So I bought this today, this treatment.
Something that makes my life feel complete.
There was a bush in his singing voice in those big lungs.
The twang of that country guitar really stung.
Gestures made sense as he turned and swung.
The audience mimicked the chorus.
The singer's smile absorbed into a face full of stubble.
His partner still as he flew across floorboards, strange double.
He could steal the charge on a magnet with his charm.
Serenading the old tunes someone composed on a farm.
Clapping and humming the audience moved their heads to the background accordion.
The song ended and a money bucket passed begging more than we could afford.
Jimmit a tubby one and his wife same shape same posture.
She sat more hopeful sat at the trainside, hoping for a ticket.
Speculating about the passer's by.
As I do in this very moment.
Little fat leather bags with their personal items and snacks
Their rounded bodies fit into the bench as if they were simply plump mannequins
Specifically tailor made caricatures for the bench
Jimmit's eyes had no hope, he had given up since the last millenia.
But Wilworth's eyes were quietly confident
Their stomachs touched and filled the remaining space between them
As if eating and fattening had allowed them to fit together
Jimmit lay his head on Wilworth's bossom
He attempted to sleep
But those eyes were still open and told the world it was hopeless.
There they go again, one two, one two.
Roads side by side.
Train tracks long ennobled by the rust.
Metal twins that never touch, yet never come apart.
There they go, one two, one two.
The clicks of the carriage wheels.
A boxer's combo,
Knocking it out.
It goes one, two.
Just like a bell.
Pulled once.
That chimes twice.
One two, it rings.
Birth and death.
It rings,
day and night.
It rings, it rings
