A voice of melody broke the numbness,
‘Good morning everybody, have a great day,”
Light in the darkness
Love in aloneness
A witness in the masses.
Small acts are noticed —
I receive your love.
Thank you.

Summer is here
Fresh warm humid air
Can hear the sounds
             Of fans
Summer day
        Came again

Thousands of eyes,
looking at my sleeping body.
After my false awakening,
I saw them,
still trapped in the dream.
They were recording
my every painful breath.

Eyes without eyelids,
dense, dark air.
I became an unexpected glitch
in the imposed system.
They just didn’t know
what to do with me.

The spiders around my bed
were watching over
the meaning of my existence.

I had only a deep need
to find a place
for all elements
of the broken vessel,
the black pupils,
the witnesses
to my faltering walk.

I am not yet a butterfly.
I am the caterpillar
in a long ego tunnel.

Thomas was right.

To heal,
I must keep going
and going
until all becomes
one seamless whole,
ready to transform
into a flying being,
free from the chain of wounds,
sacrificed
on the altar
of broken Ego.

I love a long holiday and as a general rule
you’ll find me out by a turquoise pool
cause it’s hot outside and I’m nobody's fool.

Closing my eyes I lazily daydream
listening to my favorite musical streams
umbrella shaded from harsh sunbeams.

I’ve put away polemic school assignments
for leisure and tastier desultory refinements
like buffalo wings, pizza and ***** martinis
and the barely there cool of a string bikini.
.
.
Songs for this:
Digging your scene by Ivy
The Big Sky (Special Single Mix) by Kate Bush
Can't Be Like This Forever by The Moving Stills

Growing weary on the road,
respite seemingly out of grasp, wild
eyes cast their silver-yellow sullen

warning to the ground below as we crane
our twisted necks up: a meager offering
to the ones who walked the path before

Horned owl, languid head turning, collects
our astonished gasps like cold gleaming
rubies once tossed into a ravine or river —

nearby, the fog rolls in: curious bystander
ever intent on pulling the heavy curtain aside
to devour the last tasty morsels in the thrill

of a bygone moment — reckless and ripe
with the bloodstains of youth, the hunger
departing and returning in an instant

so i did what he says,

whilst running up

and down the stairs.



source to av,

only there aint no av,

not

on that one anyhow.



press my scart lead,

that is probably it.



press the sky button,

the sky does not respond.



we still has televison snow.



he will come out on friday.

Poetry should  be taught --
But it's better to be tried.

Poetry can be taught;
But it's better to be lived!