A black hole expelling great amounts of

Heat: the summer sky playing
Unaware of its radio activity,
Never seeming complete without being penetrated
Gravimetricly by high energy particles.

Repeating the sins of our mothers,
Yes, and the fathers are too ashamed,

Doors that were opened long before
Even the first day, to swell up
Violently, and collapsed our mighty
Orion- probably at the moment of conception.

Underneath these inverted fountains,
Requiems are played out on strings less then
Every picosecond, to the pulse
Rhythem of the universi.

Lustful galactic cores swirl
In the speed of light,
Entirely at the mercey of the darkened
Super massive black holes,

Wallowing in a feast of sensation, blanketed
In seams soley for her spirit animal,
Together, the birds fly to
Hesiod's titans and sing love songs, ultimately

Inspired out of necessity by the
Nill.

Aware of how little confidence I have,

I live the life of the fool, a man tied to a mask

And too dumbfounded by the all encompassing

Everything,

to talk like I know, for sure, one thing or the other.

Except for me: I struggle to feel confident. (Confidence is a more pleasing state of mind and body).

Except  for me: I never allow myself to be well. I realize

These 10am soft light days I believe I am

my true self-annihilator,

A War head, clumsy fool aching paining self-disintegrator.

A true do it yourself kind of dimwit.

rejection


I realized how important my spine is

from the pain that had something to say to me,

whisper to me,

Something about seeing me,

and going for a drive

and lying to myself,


and I realized the importance of my spine

when I could not act and instead slid down in my seat,

and when I couldn’t speak,

I realized the pain was no longer interested

In having fun.


I realized this after the pain came and stayed-

(The whole spine thing, and

how it compels action),

with that real passion we all bleed,

when compelled.


This pain has taught me about myself,

And I want to make it feel better, but

It tells me straight,

as if insulted


until I have accepted that

I am just a limping old

three legged dog,


and that is just the way it is.

Strange Creatures



Alice realizes herself

As not just some girl

Tightly bound by her genes,


Not the spazzing heave of flesh

of Earth or the hunger that has many

tones and different characters.


She is suddenly able to feat

In perfect waveform,

And she can breathe in and out


All the feelings and dreams

That keep her from dropping

Off the face of the earth again…


Like she always does. Again,

She is known to no one, then

Not even herself.

Death, dying - slipping away,

brings with it a continual undressing

of the meat,

of the makings,

the core, geared up and very

in the moment.

The eye's (darting or focused),

the soul, constitution, the silence

that spans between all the desperate

breeds, and all the small talk

meaning not to mean,

the unspoke but never forgotten.

The grayness dirtying the frame,

mundane excuses, retreating

from the "something to lose",

begging to be dead now as not

to indulge in the taste of living

any longer then one should.

Reserved like a trampoleen,
in kahoots with whomever,
self reliant,
the featured star,

surrounded by jerks, and fanatics,
vampires and freaks,
an underground survivor,
the underdog fighter,

an island in a great big blue sea,
sometimes timid and even cowardly,
intuition-alized,
impulse controlled,
with a strong dependency of the cell,

avoiding the obvious truths,
and the ten's of thousands of fantasys
by all the men you meet
and all the other hopes for love.

R U

 

She lacks a greater sense.

And may be preoccupied With fantasies.

 

Does she care?

 

There is a strong sense of forebodingness it’s all lost

Regard-less.

 

It takes advantage of us to achieve an end being-

lacking empathy-

 

She finds she is often envious or believes others are envious.

How to know yourself
arguing,

etched in marble,
undeterred,
and to the point,

of excessive retrun,

uncontrollable
hazy flames
flicker and rage down
the hallway waying
maze, a brutal hazing

a stark raving craze,

How to know yourself confident,

The clock ticking gears
on atom tracks
that work the steady continents
and change

The flesh wound gives way

to the epic nature of living circumstance.

How to know yourself
loving,
afford time for forgiving,
giving all you've ot, going
beyond and on and on,

oh, needing and gently
being fed,
beliving in being loved
and needed,

knowing the feeling
is mutual, the idea fragile
and awesome, unbelievable, tragicly
bound to the constraints of time,

and all the deterents of change,
Still we stand in the face,
loving none the less,
it's how we capture the infinite.

In time my ankles will lose

their canbium red burned,

 

and the walnut will fall away

and a girl I will pause to tender

 

wil be framed with golden hair,

the rays of my reflective rebellion,

 

will be my dismembering

from my time,

 

only enough to give me the motive

to reach for a pen and write.

She is an old soul,

a beacon of joyful

release.

 

She moves in and out,

of the lives of man,

taps us lighty against

the forehead:

 

I love her,

 

In the erupting jungle,

the years of the rests of

our lives.

 

She brings sunlight

in volumes,

teaches me to be simple,

from her God given place.

I may be ready if its so

 

Everything seems to be going well.

Recently, I hungout with my love,

and she brought me out of that hurricane.

She is a natrual,

the way her eyes are so alive,

her words are true. (most often)

 

I am in love with her,

and I understand that

I had no choice

when she subdued me.

 

But then today on awake,

there was something in the headache,

and I went to work

to come home at night.

 

 

I fought with old friends,

the ones I pushed away,

ther other one let me go,

and so, with my head spinning

how it cannot understand

What had happened?

 

What aftershock am I

reacting to now that I

am alone?

 

- years of desperation,

our (my own ego's and mine)

of denial, illusions

from bright glowing summers,

spetacular the underbelly

decomposing in the seconds

of total pain,

and in dreams of lifetime

companionship.

 

Accepting age,

being comfortable,

the mind finds exscuses.

 

 

There is no more ink in my pen,

little light from the sun, that it is setting

all things lost, and but a chore

it is, that it is.

 

Generally, details are the failure

to quit smoking, to stop the suicide.

Slowly I confess, that my teeth are rotting,

and the dying words that fail with my

dying breath.

 

Doors are opend, but some close shut,

I watch my hands layer bricks,

and the light fades, and now I have

lost eye contact, and I am forgetting

my face.

 

You, are them, and I

am not. Understanding us

is the tragedy of my failure

as a man. I am lazy,

I must continue my job,

as stone mason, I can

hide in the shadows.

 

A red brick, through square

makes circles of my day,

a decision made to accept its presence,

or a rising of my hammer, smashing

to free my soul, but leaving

a crumbled mass, in the wake,

breathing in the dust of my life

and coughing on it.

 

I traveled some distance, and

left myself - alone in silence.

 

The sun is extraordinary,

magnificant in its spectral glory,

so warming, to my poor old

hand, alone in my pod, maybe

I could get close to a desire

and be warm again-

I want to be warm again.

 

I ask, why must I burn,

and only find lonely death, no given answer?

only my insignificance.

 

I missed you sweet lady,
I missed you by the swing
in years,

It’s been hell baby,
Like rain drops on leaves
Pooled in shallow memories.

That was the tragedy,
And it just burrowed
To the core,

My lady,
Your presence is verse soothing
To the touch,

An inhale deep like a quake
That has me falling on soft
Elation.

 

The figure comes in

and I can hear it,

how do you want to die?

the tricky engineering of

my old cylinder plane

engraved in stylized

wild dogs.

Maybe it was born

when begging to feel

across the room

in the thens that viced

how do you want to die?

from the solitude?

The quiet days,

the moments being

called about to create,

and finding only there

a tomb of echoes,

some sort of love,

some sort of pain,

a cathode lit liquid

slow, painless

cerebral.

How do I want to live?,

I can only answer once.

 

Career in charger,

item gone blue,

brilliant affection,

times of us all

still in the moments,

you are a firelight,

a sparkler,

in it, the now

centered like

a snap string,

and you, walker

trailing like a wake

displacing through

the screen,

showing the way

the caravan moves,

Spectral light's

freedom anxiously

sings lower chords

of hoping,

and time

is a baritone

um mm,

the love's

unending reunited

gear,

welcomed sights

in paradise

circus cumulus,

room with hidden

cubby holes

and saturated stripes

of blues and reds,

model B-1 bombers

shelved in vigilant

forethought full of

precedence.

O'day, O'day,

I speak to you now:

listen,

listen to the carried note

that fills the nothing,

for how that second

of a holy moment

keeps us all the same,

we are touched through ourselves

by eachother,

i share your breathing,

and your eyes,

and even in the centrifuge

of time- death to more,

blue shifts and red,

we are all here.

Know the frightened ones,

and how they

sleep like baby's,

jump through air

crisp in cool night

hues of orange lamp

urban neutrino,

cursed cement

in crack in lain

shadowed under

passing,

love the white noise,

stand and feel the foam,

the epiphany's are tides

of hope,

pieces of the shattering

crystal, reflections

piece them together

for us as we console,

and unlock the fantasy's

betterment of reality.

 

the seen screen is first

and foremost the smoke thats in my eyes

the breath that i cannot find,

my teeth in the grinder of the dust storm

and the morning on the rise

to the lowest of rankings in the field

with my extremity's numbing

the strength of my will to get the job done

and the solitude.

The second layer to the core

is filled with voices from just before,

correspondences lost in the bin,

and subject matter never really concludes,

and my awareness of the outer shell,

my teeth hurt and body aches all to hell,

and the writing is plain to shout

that my will power is under developed,

my self absorption: acidic?

the next body is digressed,

hidden from both the first and from the last,

did i fail to take enough action,

or did i judge her and myself to harsh,

is it that all man is capable of twisting

like shadow and light in agony's distressful bind,

in the face of a desperate creature

given the chance to be the supreme of all creation,

or was it only I?

Though, the fourth layer

for now,

as yet to be identified.

florescent clean florescent perfection

brightly lit blue and cold between her breasts

the released that went rushing forebode a reflection

of my face in the artificial membrane of me falling

i would watch as the ocean came and my heart

was threatened to stop beating in the cavernous wake

the cool light reminding me

of light wood cabinets and perfume of lysol

drenched linoleum framing textiles preserved

in their soft plastics,

retreating out the back door,

through the purest whitest snow,

mixing muddy monuments across the

pipeline within the forests breathing enclosed

warm in the freedom of the air

love in the “it is what it is” tender

melody of the trees and their patience

for a child's cleansing despair.

quantum mechanics

 

the particles are no and yes

a balance in the fray

 

to be completely empathetic

one must practice apathy

to themselves

 

to be completely apathetic

one must have only empathy

for themselves

 

feedback

eeeeeeeeeeeeeee

 

the speaker

is speaking to itself

 

the self is divided

and a part turns to the other

 

incomplete?

 

a cell is observed

by the crying insider

3 PM BPM

Generating waking moments

these generations forever new

transference of the poles transcending

the source

loosely puts it love or nil,

heat is a byproduct of the disintegration,

the unknown is stagnant and in infinites

comes to be empty

as it is space and everything abandoned,

separate frozen hands still swinging

oval looping motions limited to

the strings that pull them