Friday, February 16, 2007

I know I misjudged you, and having ever judged is more of a disappointment than the Affection that seems to flee at every possible moment of burden

Repeated endlessly, the words “I Love You.” Are dull and almost tear the lining of their meaning, but it is not in what is said, it is the passion that flows from behind the voice in the sublime uncovering of the real symbol for which the words stand

You know as well as I that when we need each other, we are there, and that it is only that we are scared at what the unquantifiable depth in each others eyes reveal, and that even hurt lines reproduced in waves break over us ______.

I am sorry that the conceit played upon by me, and the words that so hideously mask those few perfect years of dreaming left tiny lapsed particles of memory tied between us, to the extent that we can only hear each other shouting and reaching for the back of our eyes

is plausible only in metaphor

But I cannot tell you why it has been so hard, and why frustrated misunderstandings lend us the obstinacy to say all of this. Stirred by plaintive be apologies and the crass optimism we once had, but has since retreated deep into pleas last standing before I left to hide atop this mountain of creativity, the same as your captivity.

We have made mistakes but your silent influence is the scathing self-incising mirrored torment that keeps me sane.


(Within or
Activate Thought
Look Wider
Seek Deeper
Cool it
Don’t Destroy
Other or Yourself
Be Unique Not Distinct
Extend beyond Idolizing
Break dichotomies
Know High and Low
Beneath the whole
Hunger, Thirst
Be concerned


A three-headed lion showed me maps of stars that looked new

He said they have been dead for a long time

It is just hard for me to perceive.

He spoke of parting a long time ago from a place ravaged by war.

The universe, he said, is much like my head,

You never know which side will attack.’

Then, he swallowed me up.

But in his belly he continued with talk of the trite condition of creation,

That an end where everything is all right is not coming

Things will always be moving

And the raptors of rapture never cease their circling

That wondering is the only thing that keeps his emptiness from consuming him,

And that all his many children have stopped listening

So he chooses the ones that have listened to themselves

And swallows them whole to free his restless soul

Television Distraction

Loosen your mind to please the path- the length of eyes sagging like breasts
Too perfect for fear, the currents afford the pages of plastic hallucination
Traveling to escape affairs

The disenchanted playful markets turn to grave robbing games
of distress. Subdued by the panic of computer demonstrations
The question not handed down the long chain of incidents in secret anxiety
About war within the spirit of humanity that rages,
waning the question of the self.

Who is not waiting with eyes entrenched to see the starlit beauty
and grab the hour blessed?
Who is not mastering secular branches for dominion over others?
Who is not infected by their in-affection?

Dying internally, The Socratic wanderer fears the first loss of cramped structures, waiting to spill his seamen down the turbulent checkered drain because its desire is ecstatic and unfulfilled. Pleasure is easily attainable in robotics stimulation; adulterating reality,

History is re-written in televised smiles and cheers
Not Warned of the danger, bare chests are sent to the poor boys fighting for our future
the object of war is still great the arousal of death
Amid bowels enriching the grim stalled deception-succeeding numbers proclaimed through marches.

As a homeless spectator gives attention only to the draining water of power attempting save the artificial pigeon holing of an individual standing to keep from extinguishing the only significant architecture demonstrating phantorgasmic escapism, fielding imagery, trying to find his way back home.

Trip Home

Traveling down, white peaked from an illuminated forest,

The car packed with every belonging,

The wealth of articles possess waving trees

Fading tinder hugs the roots strengthened from beneath

With scenery moves to rock, downhill shoots swiftly

The sun flashes from behind mourning particles,

Silt stirred by a stratagem of desert commerce

Darkness settles before the house is imagined,

Eyes open to trailing lights glimmering subtle stars

Replacing the black box sky

We Skid too quickly down the hill, out of forests, boulder cliffs;

The road always a constant black before us

The weight of one moving world due to frantic air

Of the auto built structure snapping shut behind us

As we spew corrosion out our flu-gas vents

Into open forgetful unforgiving silent inquisitions of

‘What, why and who lies in wait

and dies believing in actions so foolishly?’

My eyes are tearing open the face of the driver

Who is coming from a high to insanely tranquil planes-

The brush and sand enticing remembrance

In a refraction of my personage in glass

Coming to end in nonsense,

Undeveloped antiquity shocks us out of intrusive derelict witness

Grasping the long lion gate Corridors and hideous metal urgency of

A youth detention facility sleeping just outside of town

You ask where it comes from, How it started,

And before long I get up saying

It does not come from anywhere

And from us it never leaves.

Time leads you to believe anything ever started.

Leads you to origins and conclusions

Rules need never apply here

What pours from me is you,

And behind the mirrors looking lonely at yourself

The heart comes to understand where boundaries lay.

That fault lines prove nothing of precedent

Change begat change until now we stand

And Continues until we find the strength to unchain