Bring in the grains
and open a circle in the desert
mystical string
Open a hole in the universe
Invite us to slide right into it
with starburst supernovas
Golden flowing mist
all disappearing in the blink of an eye
Work is love
And love is the cosmos itself
You were the new hire
they relocated
from stolen car find the new premises
They have conspired to exploit
Reluctant you almost bail
But fold as they apply that lucky lotion
To smooth over the rough edges
of your busted ego
I am not what I was
I´ve acquired a new limb or two
A powerful brainwash
My smile is out of shape
watch me blush
I acquired hush
titles stamps and cash
Waiting for the boom brush
The bull rush, the crown
The unrequited flirt
That automatic frown
Wait for the hurt
to pass and blend down
into some solid truth
we can chew on for years after
I am the admirer, the king hiver
The high fiver of the ring wraith riders
ambitions multiversed demons tamed
by the destiny worshipping swamp tiger
my whiskers on fire
No prayer or awareness denied
The regal garden bed
invited like a foreign dignitary
To the grins and outrageous provocations
Of some time sensitive royal dame
The humid heat of the morning
is going up against prohibition
To mow the field short of midday, obedient and robust
manifestation of sexual play inspired by early lust
Maybe a quaint conspiracy in jest
Just for a gram of grace and quip to test or possibly
half a chuckle or an ounce of glee
A few tonnes of misplaced love from a misplaced me
There just to fertilize the flowering beds
at an appropriate hour, that morning itself said
What pokes out from the human nestle of flesh
In the form of lava like spirit wanting to consume dawn
Spiritual flattery
Yet I come up lacking
Blessed are those who see and bathe
in the glow of godlike otherworldly messages
Looking at the portrait of my life
pointing out the spaces
Maybe they are never to be filled
Like a pet I am to eat spammy existence
You wake me like I have some lesson to learn
And here I am wide awake
I plead, I appeal and I meditate
The humming of my life low and unwavering
I ask those special questions
so out of the silence will come some incredible sign
a torch or flare or metaphor aware
yet I guess I need more wrinkles
To interpet the 3am spiritual flare
To learn the language of sun
To remove the heart from the body
To learn euphoria not from stimuli
but from dawn´s merciless epiphanies
To watch the child as a seedling
Grow into a role and a labyrinth of emotions
To know your body as a sleeping bag surface shell
but not be able to grip that which you are, in spirit factor
If comfort was a concrete box
Surely I would furnish one for you
You, the one who seeks straight answers in a crooked world
One who burns the boardgame of life with the friction of too many rules
Yet still unable to turn your face away from the nonsensical chaos
To learn the percussion of the rain
virile and fluid, a wash, a flood, a watery stain
To welcome the storm, abundance and destruction´s unruly child
who wrecks the land if unadopted
Yet it´s not a lesson you´d sit down to
The essence of this life too hidden, too concealed under your bias
your conditioning, your wardrobe is common error
your clothes a chinese whisper that was never ripped nor stained
and retained even the same tone
The tone of an echo in a concrete box
Finely crafted out of the fear of loss
and surplus debris overused gossip
mixed into desperate brands that cement impulsive anxiety
And marketed as the noble western cowboy
wandering into the sunset
My father out nowhere
The one who taught me
My father gone
I see you
I cannot free you
You must free yourself
You are not alive
Yet the story hasn´t died
Nowhere you are
I don´t know
skull on wood
ground closing in
Above earth somewhere
I cannot free you
Once upon your health
Once upon your life
The blessing that you read into
A keepsake in forgiveness
binds you to the light, old son
follow it to the new one
I´ll see you there
like you saw me here
the earth but a sandcastle
eternity of existance a day at the beach
Or maybe I will be the vigorous annual
never to wooden
with mere admiration and pigeon speak
to greet you with pa.
He was a tree, a plant, a blade of grass
until that no longer served existance
He was a speech, a phrase, a word
until silence invaded the living noise
His soul light blue hovering over the sloped clay bank
rocky and uneven and all grey light brown
tinged by the land´s own weeds and dry brown patches
All stained by the late morning´s predictable high cloud
Slightly darker still below the cattle scarred hills
the tall overhanging valley evergreens shading the edge of the river
restless soul shaking it´s ghost leg and scrambling over the stones
Dying to be part of the river, to know it´s flow
So that he could be a drop, a liter, a pond´s expanse
Until there was little difference between him and the earth and the air
