******* -- beautiful art

there is no such thing

as anything other than

- beautiful art-

although i'm sure some one will try to tell somebody

that they just don't get it.

every single time that our

collection of

chemicals

and echoes of cell memories

build sums of bigger experiences

that must be expressed for

a higher reason than

reason.

where the drive is not

to conquer or accomplish

anything but understanding,

within our environment of fellow reactions

and cell memories

- any expression from our amazing collaboration

of chemicals, and natural laws

and faith

and trust

and pixie dust

is beautiful and unique

******* - beautiful art.

everything has the potential to be ridiculous

- even your pain.

this you must accept

and then,

the terrible is only

ungainly and awkward,

a bad storyteller

in a squiggly dr. seuss adventure-scape,

full of ears and fascinated minds.

and here is my body,

and my body is comfortable, dry, and warm.

and here is my flesh,

nourished with delicious foods, and clean waters

and here is my soul in turmoil

turning this way and that

to face today and tomorrow and yestereday's challenges

but i am strong, and will overcome my emotions

and here is music,

and sunshine,

and beauty,

and kindness.

and today i met a good person,

and tomorrow i will meet another.

why should i feel unhappy?

that is a temporary condition,

not me -

not my state.

i am free,

and i will soar.

extinct.

in random acts of

trampled logic -
fierce and fiery senses.


clutch  

these memories of bliss and salt

- tears -

or sweat?
hazy and erratic


i will cling to them.


nurse them into a bright and

- sparkling! -

youth.

with no dull colors
and only dreams to eat.

Whether the silent elation
exists in your day to day
is irrelevant
to your idle hands
and flickering gaze.
Whether happiness exists in the rustling leaves
or a primitive, driving beat -
Should matter,
but it shouldn't decide.
The sparkling realm,
the beautiful assertion
that you ARE.

I can't be bothered to be your princess today - maybe tomorrow.
Today I think I would rather exist as an idea.
Oriented this way, and that
to point directly at the centre of my own sun.
Present fluctuating
with the ebb and flow
of passion and disinterest.
A colorless, careless moon
one big eye glares
down on my escapades (or lack thereof)
disdainfully amused.

Look at the ants scurry -
watch those monkeys dance!
And her;
watch her feeling empty and inadequate,
fiery with pride,
giddy with laughter.
Why should it matter to me?

I am too far to reach,
too cold to carress.

I have seen the crowded space -
Stars vying for a chance to rub up against celestial bodies.
it's a matter of perspective.
And look! see the moons' precision;
watch it wax and wane.

Does it touch me?

why should I care.

i want to bury your roses

before they become too real

- before they realize that they have been
murdered

and begin to decay

untethered

and stinking of age

and loss

and grayness

i want to press your muzzy

sleep-warm kisses

in a cheesy paperback

- bodice ripper

so they cannot evaporate

into the commute

of my soul to yours

and only lie

innocent and wondering

at the juncture

of where we will meet