Keep driving

 Biggmont just south of Ohura a small settlement boutique or quaint are suitable adjectives. The morning had its own overpowering beauty. Huge broad hills green and inviting along the narrow but well maintained highway. My wife and I were driving through when we spotted a petrol station with an old orange colored popsicle sign with a popsicle being held in a hand out the front of what looked to be a gas station connected to a house, on the sign the paper was a little ripped showing a tiny space of blue lining underneath. I gathered it must have been an old and abandoned town, for the fact that kind of popsicle hadn't been sold in decades.
we pulled into the gravel driveway running parallel just to have huge stones kick up and hit the underside of the car chasis at the same time as a slight skid gave off as I braked.
we got out and the morning summer sun was pleasantly warm, a slight wind waving in the huge sorrowful eucalypt's thick long leaves leaning over the road just north of the petrol station.
Noone came out for about 10 minutes, then an old lady appeared as if she had been there the whole time with two very small hairy dogs. She looked up first almost accusatory then a smile burst onto her face as if she knew us. But she didn't know us and New zealanders are friendly but that was the most friendly someone had been with us for about two weeks on our travels.
She spoke to us with an eery wandering in her voice, as if she was searching for something else about us. Inquiring glances.
"How can I help you you young ones?" she asked. we said we had only wanted to stop for some gas and maybe an icecream, this was before my wife became lactose intolerant, giving me the benefit of hogging anything dairy.
She pointed to the edge of the building where I suddenly saw there was a gas pump. I got back in the car and drove it over. As my wife followed the old woman to the opposite end of the building, through a side door obscured by thick flowering wisteria. I finished filling up and she came back with a bag of snacks and an ice cream.
I went around to pay for the gas, pushing the low hanging wisteria away from my head as I entered the shop part of the building. It was a light green color, exactly as the inside color of my parent's first house had been.
it seemed  for a horrible split second I was an infant crawling uncontrollably on the floor, aware of my awkward attempts to move. yet in less than a second I was with it again, my body normal, yet my senses rowdy and intense. The old woman looked at me as I gave her my card her head straightening from a sympathetic side position her wide smile narrowing slightly. 
I paid and told her thank you. She went into the room behind the bench as I headed back to the car.
I was just about to head out of Biggmont's only gas station, when my wife perked up, "Oh I need to use the bathroom." I almost scowled but thought better of it. I turned the car off. You'll probably have to ask the old lady around the side there." She nodded and went around the side, just to see no wisteria vines or flowers, a middle aged woman by a small pond and the same two dogs standing infront of it.
she said what happened to the tree that was here, the woman turned slowly and said "time passes so quickly here, they must have been here a few days ago to cut it down."
Perplexed my wife just went directly for her original question, "where is the bathroom?"
"Around the back" the middle aged woman said. Shocked at seeing the exact eyes as the old lady who had been there minutes before.  She quickly use the bathroom behind the building.
Moving back to the car a little more hurriedly now she burst inside quickly flinging the door open. She spoke nervously "The old woman must have a daughter, there was a middle aged woman by a pond there, except I didn't see the pond there the first time I entered the shop. What a strange place." I agreed with a nod of the head reversing the car to aim it toward the exit.
Looking up at the popsicle sign, no longer was there an ad for a popsicle but a deep blue sky on it with an aeroplane in the foreground. An ad for a local cafe that was built inside a small passenger plane.

I turned back as we pulled out of the small countryside gas station to see that a line of tall scantily foliated pines were in the same place as the eucalypt was. It gave me the shivers.
The first grassy verge rising up on our left side presented two hitchikers sitting legs almost fully extended, dressed in clothes that resembled the 70's, my wife looked at me. I said, "I'll just keep driving then".
She nodded happily, as we both had the incredible sensation those hitchikers would pose some form of overwhelming surprise we might just not have the wits for.

When I find my legs

 when I find my legs
I'll find my wheels
said the young woman
who had gotten such a whiff of life

beside her sports club
where people would yay and boo
and she would see them both the same way
soundboxes rubbing against each other

tickling the ear with cheap slang
forced laughter and calculated bravado
when I find my legs indeed
I'll find my wheels and drive

yet the sports center was a piece of her
even the confused attempts at comeradery
all colors and sounds and ego candy
when I find my legs I might just stay

and not walk out
or find night so I might drive out
Not find somewhere in an assembly line time to kill
trading all for sweet voyerism from the treadmill

Disappearing herdsman

 Oooh they cast green grass o'er the land
a few dead trees half burnt cover the land
these high hills go on for miles
Sustaining a few false promising many

as we arrived in droves the farmstead was already full
An aggressive group who knew everything and everyone
Their purpose for living was to control and decieve
We helped them make a living on the land

as the dusk gleamed on grey under cloud
yet bright enough to leave the land well visible
the farmstead group disappeared altogether
as if they were never there

Parts of the farm itself were no longer there
materials were gone and all evidence 
There was no trail, no vehicles nothing
Just the slight aroma of cow dung moist hay

The farmstead was empty now
Adjoing roofed areas devoid of fodder on the mud floor
the silence was deafening
Yet relief was that mountain stream

quiet flowing full
not a ripple
not a rapid
where few of us survivors might drink

Lines Poverty and wealth mind the gap

 The title becomes him
a photo on the wallframe distinctly thin
dressed to and made up for that hero face
to be renown and blinded from disgrace

thick ignorance a gift
behind titles and riches
for the poor whose extensions wrap cities right round
The rich whose legacies in the next century are found 

The title wealthy man or woman
whose portrait glistens off the wall
for centuries stories false and tall
who exist like tiny gems in a coalpit haul

Unknown survivors who beg and whinge though stunted grow
clinging to superstition excite the boredom of economic woe
Life is their coalpit carbon dusting stains them deep
Injustice sustains clogged arteries of outrage fail to seep

They blind their eyes and ears to the exits and upward stairs
only opening them for idle gossip that self slanders and impairs
In the ritual and unconscious march toward a false retirement
every untested superstitious belief a conviction requirement

The title rich young master in luxury wardrobe
telling half truths of the over ridden poor's road
Offering insights into the nature of the world that finds us
Playing hide and go seek with his own shadows of bias

Both lovely melodies timeless and predictable
covers of overplayed music from artists so typical
Both tracks on repeat just rehearsing the unnecessary
Lines of trajectory like railways to the cemetery 

Polish a dream

 the neighborhood cul de sac
boutique shine and brill
aprons glossy make up fresh
junk food swarms and clings in the stomach

a fatty piece of meat gets separated 
with a long sharp knife
and all your dreams
and feelings of love come true

and all the inconveniences
we will sweep them under the rug
and stomp them down in anguish
when no one's looking

candy cane colored stalls
at the end of this sweet cul de sac
where civilized families have arrived
polishing the panels and screens as if life depended

cause you know what it really does

What the heart calls the brain

 The head is the mind tube
The skull a kind of home for the brain
The place of dormant rooms
dimly lit

Academies bright and full of young cells
open and virtuous
energetic and intrepid
A viable environment

The heart sends up it's feelers
To connect itself to thought
through vacant apartment buildings
Where vagrant spirits loiter

yet through the feelers go
wandering on desperately seeking
those brilliant academies well lit
churning with life and growth

The future complex

 way to a greater world
divine ghost looks at plans
told you that you would be busy
making space for coming stock

garages and warehouses
The size of cities

abundance of life a messsage
life is food and supplies
trails under a fair God
in the disguise of a tyrant

beauty offers the world complexity
love makes it all more complex still
paths of kinetic energy gullible feet tread
sending energy to the heart of the complex

paths of kinetic energy skeptical hearts tread
sending to the brain of the complex

Plans for a greater future
an architecture not seen by man as of yet
Desperate to amount for more and offer the unknown
New bridges and gateways to traverse to higher places

in yerself

 you move you move
across the world
sometimes the restlessness drives you
you won't be judged

like a different species
the crocodile doesn't recognise you
for all your falls sins and misgivings
you won't be judged

you tell us this day is nice
you move and off you go
something to discover
an excuse to grow

legs and a brain
thats all you needed
new places abound
novelty and curiousity found

like a different species
among all of these human windows
polishing up to become the perfect mirrors
what do you see in yerself

Just one blade of grass

 One blade of grass poking out of the mound
from the middle of the park
cherpy and so cheery
Grateful to not be buried

lapping up the afternoon sun
smile in the parallel veins
avoiding dog piss by milimeters
raising itself up to the afternoon pinnacle

surrounded by billions of other blades of grass
all connected to some matted rhizome
This blade points out it doesn't necessarily fit
demanding to make it's quota of photosynthesis

dusk tames the vegetation into submission
this blade of grass curls back too
farewelling the light acknowledging the darkness
The cold well forming in the middle of the park

The cure is as the poison

 Tall and confused fresh out of puberty
careless and self absorbed
turning his back on the city
he wonderfully contains concentrate of disdain

thick sombre and detached
he ambles toward his motorcycle
grimace and apathy
anger and fear

the head heavy with some invented drama
these magic potion dramas
taken like medication
to replace those sunny days

young mix this paste
for the gaps in their knowledge
serving bitter misery
flying kicks to knock us off ourselves

dazed the young man stands
the face of the city screaming loud
the volume overpowers
the tone is accusing

he speeds away
to no avail
for there is no escape
the cure is as the poison

it goes with him

At the dinner table

 the party was a long tongue licking the front door
speechless women
old stained wooden walls
surrounding the banquet hall

eyes of a child
ideas too new and strange
the mind attempts to digest
unknown flavors of life

night falls within the confines of laughter
anticipation at the meal about to be served

mouths salivate in ignorance
sustenance and encouragement
body and soul
the face feigns patience

party such a long tongue
a scroll with which every rule of life was written
empty void inside the roll of it
waiting to be extended

Yet no meal comes to this table adorned
to the most deserving people
to the most sacred of places
hunger tantamount to wisdom

sitting there

The idiocy of the stray

 The bouncing dog hark
abandoned some way from the park
mindless and full of energy
bounding around ruthlessly

running on instinct
carefree whim a stint
no owner yet so bold
lost lonely lil world

pertubing the park goers
disturbing their peace
seeking a piece of appeal and release
a reaction interaction or just a tease

tail so violent waving widely
tongue hanging out as if guiding
eyes shine curious almost gold
lost to the world

rough hide ruffles as he spins
brown and black
wearing a grin
cheeks droop and slack

alive alive unquestiongly

Attempted condolences

 All could feel the need for higher love
Silence weighs on the smallest children among us knowledge scars them too
to cancel their singing might be a mistake old routines are through
a lick of joy as the fire has died down not even an ember for you

you look at one another for some sort of sign
to celebrate a life under dreary skies and times
to relive the memory for homage sake
for remembering value a person gave

walking aimlessly the restless heart grips legs
throwing them into walking as if to solve in the head
as if to join hands in beg
simple life's not armour or friend

alas just further into the waiting confusion
chaotic era of meaning's void avoid emotions thousand ruses
the reactions grow and fill the body unnaturally imprudent
Keep those wails and outbursts absolutely frugal

Or be real about the oblivion of it all

a connection once warm and fulfilling
a million hopes for the length and impact now stalled
of one among a few who created such pride stood tall
that feels so alone now grieving heart a fire ball

sense falls off the path just now
you look down at the watch pout
instead of digits there is water frown
tears fall off cheeks to face to ground

look up behold a horizon slight
still pretty intact in breadth in height
something missing from the line of sight
small hands that would juggle toys and fight

overdressed and underdressed so loud
simple yet moody emotional roundabout
insistant on the right way never gambling
as if the eye was shared among the family

The glare softens into cream and gold wind a thief
 Cloud that almost gives a quiet sense of relief
My grandmother was an artist I a simple vagabond
whose magic only works if the reader is truly fond

All the qualities well distilled matured not hesitating
Almost reached wishes were stashed and accumulated
are now exposed seem bare frustrated and in vain
the abandoned track hosting the runaway train

a thousand pains on the psyche without defence
battering the self of all it's essence
deep wells form for so many tears hence cried
uncontrollably to see such strength die

resilience echoes and inspires meeker hearts as my own
to continue digging on the earth as if for a bone
until the void left fits our coffin and grave offences
a rhyme of relief attempted condolences

Passing away

 walk into life
walk right out
The trials and tests
far behind

those years ahead
disappeared
plans so bold
from on hold to never into fruition

walk into life
the color of competition
aspects to excellence
the finish line posted half way

in the clouds
if we could meet you up there
on your way out of here
did you get your fill

was it all a bundle of substance
was it worth it
what little piece of it will you take?
what will you leave behind

walk into life
and walk right out of there
just a long dream
a billion details sewn

Does the soul keep eyes
that you might look upon us down here
pottering and attempting to draw meaning
do you look on us still

Or as you journeyed on out of here
did you get informed by a higher source
laughing as you accelerate upward
at the compound ignorance we down here swim in

and how does the soul laugh
with no mouth and no throat at all
is it a whisper a warm buzzing
or a tickle behind our ears

As Rachel died

 Rachel died and so within and without 

The cancer caught up an imposter

that imposed

She died lifting a mild smile

under the blankets and family support

what warmth

The heart contends with many dramas

Grief of loss scratches from within

like an imposter

Death thus becomes formal

people hide feelings

well executed masks of chipper

To contemplate her days in darkness

what she was what she left

I never knew her strength

yet the last image was of her smile

the long path many take unsatisfied

both the search and the discovery

some smiles seem suddenly authentic

outshining even when the climate was abrasive

even as the body betrayed itself

A strength many will come to envy

sweetly swept

 sweet swept up in all the duties
looking up the quarry walls
their uneven terraces
golden crime

sweet be informed of
who you are you were
when they talk to me
tell me who I am

a gram of persuasion
a kilo of relief

sweet swept up in the pleasure
puddle of it
straw in hand 
in it goes

sweet to get an inkling
of the subtle type i've become
asking and pleading for some kind of reading
a measure of who I am

so that I might hop and skip out of the laboratory
like a small child sweet in hand
not expecting the world to have teeth
not expecting a lack of sweetness

sweet swept up
in those silly notions of who I think I am
across the lawn of exhibition
grass intact but stained with glitter and change

sweet to feed and drink out here
they'll sheer us again before summer
so we don't overheat
and utter blasphemies

An urgent dormancy

 She slept on a bed half made
a mattress and a half
a duvet too short

we couldn't decorate the palace
such a big space
a whiff of privilege

overpowered by external purposes
reality was to wake and work
from a bed half made

what is the riddle how should we build
industrious little human ants
each one of us sleepy

in the big castles
resembling nests and hives
we once had art

now a puddle of colors
dip the brush and paint the ceiling
the last thing you see before sleep

overpowered by external projects
developing the exoskeleton
for a sleepy workhorse

Sedulous labourers we are
organic von neumann probes
building essential machines and instruction

To put us to sleep and render us redundant forever

Work mind

 One hides themselves in what they do
and overexposes themselves in it too
printing their picture for the company sign
and attracting an audience thereby

early and late
work owns the living
becomes the definition of it
the corridor between meetings and jobs

conflicts and disasters
one hides themselves inside it all
or appears out of nowhere wearing the company shirt
identity intact screaming the glib motto

or worse still sarcastically muttering it
inside associating their contribution
to who they are at all
hiding in the clothes of the company

In the sea of merchandise and people
earlier or later retirement will come
the fin up through the surf
meaninglessness the predator

The importance of failed courtship

 I was young it was brazen lust
The kind that affected your brain your walk your emotion
lost in imagination feelings of missing out
fear or ridicule rejection or complexity

we seek heat and excitement by instinct
it didn't have to be learned
however, the way I failed pointed out
a real misunderstanding

After the euphoria we seek fusion
Union friendship empathy sharing
trapped by the strong desires
the confused mess spills out scaring her

Then back into the pain of self discovery
The thousand unreal fears that seem to want to come to fruition
a state of gripping timidness holds us and represses our best traits
frustrating a possible romance and encouraging rivals

By the time we reclaim ourselves
our potential mate is wedded and pregnant
our awkward meetings embarrass expiating nothing in ourselves
Those strong desires underneath dampened and ground down

Well wishing and overpolite drivel
take the place of bare honesty that so needed to exist
after many such elegant despondencies love I found
one that inspires life and hope

look out at the masses today
men who had conquered love
broken and cynical
Cold where heat should be

For she was the lake

 because she was the lake

bought and paid for filled by clouds algae and tourism
the lips shore
the gritty grainy sand

confused overspoilt owners
blue piercing sky
find it on a map

the small village overrun
trinkets in colors and sizes
these excited deprived eyes
empty hearts over stretched smiles

misplaced politeness and mild oblivion
tourists bathe and sabotage their minds and sigh

because she was the lake

not fully clean but not dirty
narrow long beaches
post card color lotion opiates

Tourists desperately waddle
inflattables covering them and their children

she was the lake
going nowhere sitting in her own sacred puddle
tourists nervously test the water

army helipcopters explode above it

the giant fork boat propellor shoves sphaghetti aquatic grass

she was in fact the lake
deep enough for mystery and confusion

cool off in the meadows my lost donkey nursed a hurt leg

walking so many hours lopsided along the narrow side of the shore
the woman sideward glances fireside warm and merry
but the sand grainy and treacherous

only thinking of her for she was the lake
and whatever the lake laps at it owns for a while
whatever falls into the lake festered by algae

the sand gives way aiming ambling objects into the water
the way she craves it

fish use the shores and seasons to build those thousand schools
her cheeks flush tourists splash and fisherman pout
exploding helicopters spin eternally over the lake

burning man radioing for mayday
sun shooting through kidnapping his rigid spirit
his body meant for the depths

And she just looks up as blades and steel split and fly
eternity positions itself conversing with her
convincing to let it all replay another trillion times

daylight glint of optimism
giving thanks for a few thousand years of uninterrupted reign
evening darkness somewhere on the other side of the funball 
cursing in the cool night air that wasn't

The eye of reckoning

 The poet's I
here to refute reality cake
here to build the Jungle cosmos
here to bathe the world in crystal metaphor omen

the spirit ice crack through frozen eons
to this very day to melt and rupture
I the poet's I Know little, nothing more than
A sneeze from off world

to infect the noncurious masses
as they graze haphazardly
On the edge of an enormous world schism
that will end epochs of nations

creating the essential seeds
for new jungle cosmos
not cheap anarchy
order within order

to the common eye a messy randomness
To the poet's eye
pristine beginnings
spirit ice and crystal dawns

priests of remembrance
Forced into the truth not by doctrine
But by dirty bloody war
quivering hands and healing wounds their only prestige

to hold the rope like foundations
As an older world goes to decay
spirit ice and crystal dawn to push a new time
for evolution's design to envelope construct adorn

The power perfidy

 wielding that power
feel its swirl
its noticeable weight an advantage
tame it into patterns

develop it through spells
feel it surge between not inside veins
that it need no conduits
until the vibration shakes the sheer flesh

then through hubris over use it
accelerate it with those wild desires
till the mind overflows with salivating lust for more
Just to have it shake distorted thunder clap

Just to have it turn on you like a pet
Wanting a meal out of it's master
a flash flood washing out campers from idyllic riversides
the power the power the power

burning us all out like appliances
overwhelmed by voltage higher than our bodies may contain

before zero and after eternity

 driven by a miracle
ray of sun
life has meaning
One feels lively once again

Before spirit entered flesh
before conception flashed
the future wrote
such a beautiful tale

tunnel of a life
many trails and tracks
a few taken and explored
the irresponsible pioneer

abandoning the baggage
and safe cling illusions
The pale cushion skin of baby
to the leathered and worn skin

We walk across destiny as trespassers
shameless and uneven
yet keen to mine the valuable metals
under the unreal ground we prop ourselves up on

The uncertainty of the industrious mind

 Paranoia is a strange prison
The mind is thrown onto tangents
and runs through a conveyor belt
manipulated by automatic nightmares

praying for clarity and cerainty
The doubt and fear blended fuels
fabricate paranoia
thought waste

The brain is a factory
relying on order and process
Hindering it all dubiety
stained concrete jammed devices

cracked and trapped

 falling throught the roof
a silly man such as thee
into the attic space abruptly
face uptoward the sky baffled

great crack and trap
How I fell into it
but didn't hurt myself
No I was saved

later to replace the roof tile

Pao magro

 Thin bread
collusion was the crime
abuse swells in the mind
have a formal party rule

a love limit on the charts
a secret code
a bickering satisfaction
fire ants spread over skin

outrage excites
almost til exhaustion
farewells only become painless
when we control the decibels of our feeling

The carioca full in flavor
searches for his heart
It's not a true story
so he never finds it

A love with clauses
and emotional pauses
a dishonest towering condo
trapped, divided and scarred by outer poverty and denial

manipulating the fibres of abandonment
the heartstrings themselves
jingled and twanged like a cuica
The organs brace for love and disappointment

Not loved the way we are
toys and noise and magic to fill the void
glossing the skin
embittering the heart

we run it off by the beachside
identity locked out of the heart

Getting laughed at

 silent face
at the back of the van
smile comes on mildly
today the air is karate

silent face looks up at the stage
everyone aligned and rehearsed
heart relief for the choreography
the smile floods over

white van door opens
ignorant children swarm over the lawn
anticipation sends them into disorder
Doubt treated as an enemy

But doubtey boy looks up
gleaming up like the moon does down
local town small brick buildings
pasture conversation valid

quiet expression
Angel's one eye open for it
reposition the wheels
get the van back on the road

laughter pulls tight
this time not for the silent face
each convulsion of chuckling
aimed like an arsenal at me

Paper pattern and pigmentation

The page neutrality
welcome it on
some adventure
reflected by galaxies in the mind

A neutral aroma
no resistance from the senses
an underlying seeking
an unlived experience

swelling into a tornado
clinging to happiness and excitement
willing the unique
as each rotation accelerates

filling up a diary
page neutrality
praying significance
paint over the mundane

with those simple pallid tones
learned off by heart
but not by core
leave a space

something might live in it
or will it stay empty
observing as an invisible presence
the unique simplicity and lack of color

Holy dark vein

 The claw form long unforgiving nails
To rip the body open to bleed out nasty quick
serve to be the food forest a plate
the bones and remains to house the insects

atleast till the next season
scavengers turn it all up
rodents scurry
vultures nail it

the steam of the stench
Gone like perfume from the party
I see mammals roam and
to the ground bequeathed

This is the guts of it all faith
This is the majestic parade of worms
this is the everlasting life
This holy enforced humility

returning to the lowest form

through
God's veins in these fleety food chains
decorated with our pure denial

To tell a joke at a funeral

 Leaf splits and through light cries to me
crispy pieces of my past ripping off and falling
attempting to share the top of the forest
the big wonder in surviving under the blue grey

Invented and conceived in color and reality
lost in contrasting forms obscured by freak mist
Death sipping at the edge of us trying to trade a few years off
So skin and routine loosens golden age ruthlessly breaks in

Lines across the face and concern over lines of credit
Flowing through the tunnels between eye and imagination
the skin splits and through life cries out to me
pieces of me floating away the solid rest seeks peace

Born and conceived in the blue and grey hospital
fat october and underfed nurses the month knees wouldn't extend
Death lost it's face and flying through the rafters
huge empty warehouses of creation it would have the last laugh

Morning swell

 The glistening dawn whole
feast of the morrow soul
hungry land 
silent reign at hand

broad holy scream like an axe
across the tranquil paddocks
lighting them up in time
for these frothy and firey rhymes

the stretching sun sees through
arousing desperation in overworked people
width ways through the city
carpet people find new ways of fitting

I can feel them crawling out of bed sleepy and sworn
the pages crooked like the corners of dawn
the wind flicks them passed allure
Did I miss a page of that holy cure

Tyylikäs

 Her expressionless face looking down from the highest window
from the abandoned and locked up attic
The one reserved for ghosts and spirit vultures
cold inhabitant soaked into wood stains

reliving a blink of their existence and scaring meek guests
She looked down and we looked up as if a miracle
an elegant ghost in a blink of an eye
as if to anchor the past somehow but miss the mark

a twitch of a glitch in pale sunlight
Winter's own voice speaks through her
White vale captured by the real breeze
flowing and then vanishing before our eyes

staring up dumbfounded yet the apparition was gone
Omen like and inconclusive
we'd search the empty attic looking for signs
Nothing but a faint promise of the supernatural

God's tesselation

 The layers of us
Physical to metaphysical
tangible to supernatural
spontaneity against planned programming

The barking dog
obligated by instinct to bark and chase
Trance like a mind lock
Bold sense of survival

The hard even man made road
walked upon to avoid the chaos of vegetation
to keep the mind sober
To invent order

Spiderweb bush messy competition
layer upon layer of stems and trunks and shoots
trance like flowers in the spirals of God
fibonacci secrets

The plain flat surfaces allow the human foot to dance unhindered
here in the udergrowth I witness the universe dance
dragging your eyes in like a vortex exposing these hidden codes
That none of you may ever comprehend

Spinning through the math ratios of branches to trees
leaves to twigs flowers to bracts petals and so forth
spinning inside the layers of green silent and invisibly

The syrup of life
vitality of every form
the meaning we have avoided 

Insomniacs and streetlights

 The gaping night whispers to the lonesome teenager
Noughts and zeros and mistaken conclusions overcrowding thought
stars and planets reflecting solar light draughty space hindering orbits
streetlights and insomniacs dilute this soft darkness with their glows

Life a predictable resistance every square inch of the world
Screaming outward a declaration of being and existing
Digging in with claws, roots and concrete foundations
In attempt to stave off the inveitable

Nature swells consumes and inhabits
While we cling to our diminishing lives
Never observing the night itself
For the night doesn't cling to anything, it purely releases

I say this by accident for it screams as loud as we do
The night doesn't cling maybe you were just decieved by daylight
the twilight of dusk clings shamelessly to day
like an insomniac unwilling to surrender to sleep

holding onto the emotional stew and venom
choking on the irrepairable events of life
Holding on when all is lost and gone
buidling a shack afore the hurricane

Vein dread and resistance beautifully obsolete
streetlights guide you back to your apartment
Each step in the bounds of that illumination
desperate resistance against the soft darkness

The Panther that deceived time

 The shallow bush rustles and breaks up
The panther's form manifests forth
The prey stands petrified in grip terror
desperate to leap

indecision by fear racking and thumping
The second to act passes like permission from god
a desire written and thrown onto the pond
Of the inevitable next horrid minute

the claw falls lightening giggles
Deer drops torn diagonally across the throat
The deep wound hypnotizing the panther
Coursing blood telling a short messy story

Gliding onto the dying animal
A rough tongue lapping the stream
Bringing back that will to glory
Desperate teeth push death much quicker

Heartbeat fades Panther resembles cub
The rare comfort of the feast
forcing it to lower it's hunched shoulders
feeding into the night defying time

Itatiaia the sky that touches the eye

 The ferny palms shed ther jackets
wiggling in approval willingness to the wind
Big wonder over the screen of the sky
Painted is the day and all in it created

from land to sky all vegetation reaching up
worshipping to our eyes
through soil and rock
worshipping the center of the earth

Search for this sacred flow in the clouds
a slow wind is harvesting canopies of their loose matter
leaves and twigs brushing down to the twitter of birds
Golden snippets of cloud slowly migrate through time

through the sky
like lines of golden credit as if the sky was a bank
The sky horizon prosperity
Hot and coveted 

Itatiaia morning on the mount

 The spirit of the morning in the first rays
Dew is a cloak the land wears
Until the moment the full sun bears down on it
The dew is a cloak a layer of wholeness

silence is it's reign
A broad shrine
humble awakening
sun stretched out

House fronts are bare and still
some early riser is currently praying
realizing another piece of their unfinished puzzle
Now illuminated overhead or through windows

Morning a carpet
being drawn in detail by the sun
Feel it forming from the corners of the land
You might be someone's horizon

Wind doesn't exist 
air is simply pushed by the godlike mountain
The horizon a wide mouth
feel it forming the the corners of a smile

The house near the creek

 life is a state house
with a small creek running through the back
it's only classed as poor
because the creek floods everywhere in the rains

Life is a son or daughter a family dog
a space for existence to play and lap sunlight
Roadside lawn filling up with dog poop
hedges overcrowding the walk space almost to the road

Was it all projected through the human mind
conceived through well and creek of the brain source
seen in early dreams meaningless shrub to you and me
is God smooth with the wind breeze and air

the muddy bottom of the creek
fertile silt gold dust and small fish picking through
sun lighting it all up, the water flows sacred
the grass grows knee high lush and straight

mortals like us trade desires with the dawn and dusk
As if at a market
simple envies are shared over wine
and tools are exhibited to shape the future with

life is this gift that we have been given that we ponder
that some cannot comprehend at all in thought
not reflect nor forecast
Yet for some of us it is a sunny day lighting up grass and water

1 second of God's submission to the tiny aliens we pretend not to be