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.

Cultivate

Cultivate
Creativity
Happiness
Generosity
Spirit
(Within or
Without)
Activate Thought
Look Wider
Seek Deeper
Collaborate
Share
Discuss
Cool it
Listen
Love,
Sing
Don’t Destroy
Other or Yourself
Be Unique Not Distinct
Extend beyond Idolizing
Break dichotomies
Simplify
Evolve
Know High and Low
Beneath the whole
Hunger, Thirst
Repent
Expand
Surrender
Encompass
Be concerned
Revolt

Listen

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

Note on an argument

I’m sorry, but your contempt is unwarranted. Am I shouting to deaf ears? Anger is just a state of mind here You have a choice. I know distress often has no choice, But what’s hard for you isn’t hard for me I can let go But you can’t fathom the horror that engulfs me That’s so easily swallowed in apathy And pathetic regression My poetic regret catches my tongue as I begin to let go ‘Oh, No!’ you mustn’t lie to yourself I am sad for you, being so stuck in reason. You know nothing of the terribly sick and tormented subjectivity that underlies everything You spit text book mysticism W/out having visitations by sweet songbirds of explosive creation You have never been Blake You haven’t turned to stone From the night dogs leap into the skin of men You have never healed a soul with your eyes And I’m sorry for you; it becomes easier for me to understand your contempt I understand how easily you leap to presumptions fine edge before tumbling onto the next heathen plateau of God-neglect and explicit soul stitching I‘m sorry you’ve never had your life flashed in deaths muzzle I’m sorry you have never been displayed the elegance of middle being, Where no emotion is unwarranted and the acceptance of history and death unlock you from the bedpost.

In an attempt to remain true to my beliefs, I write this. That the state of the world, And the history of our country is a traumatic and terrible one. Echoing with the two faced nature of men To dismember the hopes lives of others To achieve temporal supremacy for themselves. Acting against what I believe, And what many regard as what is just and right, The American government and capitalist profiteers, Acting in accordance with this two faced principle, Set in motion reactionary chains of events For the maintenance of their own domination And control of the post WWII World By supporting deplorable acts across the globe. Assassination, genocide, Starvation and terrorization All under the public cover of Diplomacy, Political Efficacy, And spreading “Democracy” More closely resembling foreign government supported action In accordance with the United States, For the profit of American investors To install governments, Democratic, fascist, or otherwise For the management, manipulation, and direct control over the flow of resources and public assets. Achievement by relentless and effective support of Anti-Public Or what has been called “communist” or “Social Reform”) organizations, Militias to overthrow such governments already in place, And to generally make complacent any sovereign nation In any region of the world That desires to act outside of the long-arm of America. This clandestine form of Imperialism has been, In effect, Completely swayed and maneuvered around By the Media in this country Like any powerful government with skeletons in it’s closet, Governments exercise almost omnipotent control over what is aired, Written, or otherwise communicated. All I ask is to look at what you see in this world: What the television decides to air To disregard what you have accepted as fact, What institutions have taught you What you might claim as coincidence; What “Tolerable” means What a Just and Democratic end is And that it has yet to arrive Despite the supposed battle for Freedom and democracy in nearly every country in the entire world; For just a few moments stop using your head, and use your heart. Is genocide acceptable in any circumstance? Are Militias, Death squads and secret police really the path to a safer, peaceful tomorrow? Do not remain apathetic and unmoved I cannot say that we as a people are not to blame for allowing this. We have a rare opportunity in this country to manipulate our government, But we are complacent We deny ourselves what is given to us by the constitution One vote, And if you believe, one vote cannot make a difference, Then get up and convince another, And if that doesn’t suit you Share what you feel with still more. If having to convince another is too much hassle, Then exercise the only right you really have Act Speak your mind, Do not allow this devastating Cynicism to destroy more innocent people You will never meet, in some dilapidated part of the world; We have a responsibility in being powerful to be human, To not let countless un-named and unrecorded lives go on ending Unnoticed and unapologetically. If not, There is just nothing more to us than the Be-all end-all in money, comfort, and our own ease of mind And so the cock-crows Good morning,