Wednesday, November 05, 2014
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.
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
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 science felt the spirit
If the task embraced the inspiration
If you then me
If the land eroded the sea
Marbles in the pocket
Faces in the locket
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
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?
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Decision fore ciscion.
I hope I'm learning more of singular decision making.
Recently read A Scanner Darkly, so perhaps I can get better grip on the facets of mind.
Is a strong, overriding super ego the path to success?
Does that entail a loss of inner community, inner culture?
I know I forswore question marks.
Yet the begging is mine.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
A blacker week in tow, picking up spatter, tarred by friends, kin and foe.
Left myself darker for the work, the sage chimney sweep.
Harboring their pain and causing more.
I burn it here with crucible and cauldron.
Regret, act, mumble and spell.
What ghost is this that will claw and clean me well.
Only the trust, faith, and thralling freedom can be brought to bear.
With teeth we face this wind.
With this kite, I keep taut the string.
Pulling for all of us.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Amaze, the idea that we are all as comparably mad as me.
The branches, the tributaries, the veins, the circuits,
The fiber thin leading to ribald moments of motherlode.
I me and mine, as the beats well said.
Tonality, timing, touch and the tarnished glow tucked away.
I know each face in the elevator is falling up or down.
I know we hide.
I know the fray, the knot, the tensile strength variable of the equation.
I take it all and I give it away.
Strange stranger stranded.
The strand, the wayward, the weird.
Old English rhythms still play and we're all still fighting the beast.
We believe in monsters, because it makes us heroes.
And I haven't shoes, just blues, and purplish green.
I breathe, flee and mean.