Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Outer Signs



























Found The Last Day





Found the last day, the last minute in the clock
Found the life in the fast forward final future
Asked why, asked for more
Nothing can be stated so clearly, nothing is such a bore
Hitherto the popular sign has been merge
Let alone stop, pulse, blow
Topology study,
hole in the heart, hole in everything.

Hole in the writing. A hole the size of years,
decades, lifetime left unspoken, unspeculated, unsaid.
Under utilized, undulating, unknown.
The answer to why is love, or fear.
The answer is always love, or fear.
Then again, maybe just fear.
Fear of the black, the "ness" attached to all words,
to everyone's face.
Attached to the black secret pools piloting the pin prick of their eyes.

Mysterious monsters of gesture.
Each face wearing its very personal agenda.
Walls in the maze of mankind. Walls of us.
Forever our greatest puzzle will be ourselves.
I'm no different. I'm not special.
But I'm pilot, I'll fly.

There should be logs for this cabin. Records and notes and descriptions and depositions darkly given in bright storerooms dripping with cliche and sparkling originality.

There be the confessions, left behind in the confessional. And I confess, I have committed no crimes. I'm a broken man without cause, or evidence. I've left no trace. Not even a drop of bearing blood.

Speaking of bears. They're coming for us all. The bears transmit conspiracy through the salmon. And when they're not in range of the secret rivers, they rely upon honey and messenger bees. This is why big agriculture seeks to destroy the wing-ed strip-ed ones. They know what the bears do, what the bears know they do.

They.

Thursday, March 31, 2016

Cutting Metal

Perhaps  what I'm doing to myself is kin to "cutting". Dealing with severe emotional issues via self damage and pain. I don't pretend that this is unique or in any way makes me special.  I'm just trying to be honest. Am I cable of caring about anything in the long term? Especially myself?

Life is funny in that there is always a joke to be made. Always a way to poke fun, and spit on God's face.  I've rarely presented pride. At least I don't remember that being some egregious gross side of my character.

I know you think of me as strong. I fancy myself the same. I know this should be a simple matter, one left like a taxi waved on. But it has proven worse than that. Insidious. Unfathomable. A flea's bite,  writ large and continual. I know I was supposed to have figured this out by now. To have solved,  to have lead myself past this seemingly small sinker on the line. The elephant in the room is, I have not found the way out or past. The fact is I'm a thrall to it. And the hour only grows later, more painful, more obvious. I am sorry. This malfunction on my brain's perception  of soul will lead me early from you. I am to blame. It is my shame alone. And it is unfair,  irresistible,  irresponsible. If only I could take a stand. Make the correct choice. I can choose for others, but apparently  not myself.   What words will save me?

Friday, November 06, 2015

Long Side My Head

Long side my head
See the memories of your face
See the memory of my faces
Lanes of travel, disposition of anti darkness strategies,
Micro expressions bursting hide and seek between love and deceit

Gave it all away
Came to play
Knew you when you were young
We’ve never met the sun alone, dear Sol

You cannot be named, nor tamed, nor left without scarring
Not forgotten, not begotten, not bemused, abused, dissuaded, abated
Seen you far away, famous, beautiful, and just as useless in a fight

There was lightning in the storm last night
Arcing pole to pole
Separate bolts for separate people
Racing Capricorn to Cancer
Illuminating backyard secrets behind the Moon

May be, we won’t ever be what we wished
Falling down, it takes new hands to rise again
New fingers printing in new symbols
New phonemes, new dialects for new tribes worshipping new gods

Left behind so many fears
Yet find more villains gearing the grinders
The true mystery is the arena, what ground is this fighting for
Sound and color betray all as usual, for the first time

Finally, before it’s scrubbed from thought again:
I feel each day push me further away from the present
Each consuming more concentration compressing context consideration
Each another slice of young daring dreams whipping by
Like withering weathered posts long side my road

At speed, and picking up

 

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Isometric



Iso           ionometer,

I so          chromatic chronometer.

Ice 
     sea
          else
                eye.
God         reason.
Belly-tax.
On               site
     actuation.
Us-eyes, 
              spin       push.


Encounter, 
Entropy.

bang (sigh) bang.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Shelves Of Unknown Objects


Shelves of unknown objects
A flashlight flickering, rolling across the floor
Arms and a torso turned to the wall, alone, absent yet alarmed
The middle of the tunnel is dark, for both the beginning and the end lay too far to declare any light
Spin four times around, and guess
What meaning exists in only the present
What world turns without a curve
What Sun
What Sol

Even the blind use bookmarks
Hold this place for me
Speak this old name
Marvel the sound of the fallen tree
Wonder that you knew
Wonder that you’ve flown a billion years
Through skies that begat skies

Great good comes from instinct
Instant decisions to flee to kill to defend to mar to forgive
The morning will surely raise us again
Until the last night
Until the final breath before all air disappears

I remember you
From a time when you were human
And I the simple beast
We spent days in that burning forest
Nights together fearing the embers
You left me by the cooling river
You said many things I could not understand
But I listened

If mind is made of mental associations
Do the connections of recall work only in one direction
Can not the memories cause the inspiration
Or are we so locked in the relationship of cause and effect
So held in our image of time and consequence
That we will never reverse birth
Nor bestir death

What is this longing
This need to preserve, protect, provision
Such animal fear
Such desperate ephemeral puffs of hope, courage, love
What game we must be to the creator
Who makes creators such as we

In the end the best beginnings become pairs

Like a couplet grouped unawares

Wednesday, November 05, 2014

From Between


From between these teeth I will rend you.
From these holes upon either side of my head I will carry away your pain.
With these two fists balled I will defend you.
As this harbor I thwart the sea.
Be the vessel, dream your dreams, smile in face of the inevitable.

It's breaking bones I have.
Only have the salve I have.
Licking the meaning essence, like rain drops running past your mouth.
Life loss in mind, we pick our nebulous future spot, hoping for a cosmic success.
Stress time bleeds into planned art soul expansion time, and begats regret, but the headphones are set to therapy.
And please.
Equalling multiple pleas.
We pray in desperation.
So Damn human.
So sufferingly aware.
This is us and making our destination. Autocomplete this soul's struggle.
Rock on, rock forward and back.
We cry for the ones ones we see in the 3am dream.

And of course I miss you as I feel the phantom appendage.
She, shoo, Sha birds and others.
On, the next hill, as I pull the next rabbit out tomorrow, and you go back to the the next generation's gardening grindstone. "pictures or it didn't happen."
Dammit, time, memory, hope.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

mobius



If I left the inside where the outside is
If I knew all that I've forgot
If the morning met the night
If my ears found my mouth
If ever
If science felt the spirit
If the task embraced the inspiration
If only
If you then me
If the land eroded the sea
Marbles in the pocket
Faces in the locket
Tell upon,

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

We Manufacture Motive


If I told the void five words I must begin with one.
If I took the patience of breathing, I must learn on the run.

Life is good. It fights physics' second law.

I am but a small tribute, and the words are ever only my saw.
For wood, you listen and tell and we will.

Upon hill and dale, between paramecium and whale.

The world appears to thicken with noble thieves.
Each asks their due.

Dates mark our faces, our very scheduled 10 horse races.

Are we not even the numbers or minute ticks upon the face of the great clock?
Are we only a mass of blank faces swept continuously by the great hands?

The motion blurs upon our perception, like endless waves crashing upon a shore.
White water, white noise.

Beaches made by shell and stone blasted and belonging to each other over eons.
Our subconscious a timeless accretion of interpretative urges, of sanity’s shell and reality’s stone.

Ribald rivaling froth of reflective existence.

What is too small to notice, or make conscious note?
What is too little?
What does it mean to be limited in range of perception, power and understanding?

Perhaps the limitation allows the possibility of separation, distinction between the self and the other.
And so Limit allows the effect of identity.

We are defined by what we are not.
Inside or outside the skin, the perspective, the love, the denial.

The acquisition of who we are is based upon where we are.
Life is the irksome question that goads us to repeatedly attempt a conception of not just our self, but also our other selves.

We come from many.
We are many.

Individual yet interconnected.
Some grand result are we, engines of angst.
Only to be satisfied by motion and change.

For how else would we manufacture motive?