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Where words flow from the river of the mind like smooth rocks that fit perfectly in their beds, chiseled by the stream for a thousand years.

Where phrases fall from the sky in perfect and coherent mosaics of shadow colours between beams of murderous sunshine.

Where the beauty of a million lilies coalesce into one unbreakable leaf of immense colour and depth.

Where everything that falls, grows or flows cohere in the choir of the great magnet and its whims.

Where verbatim transcriptions of concepts are prevalent
This is where I wish to spend my time.
babe stirs
safety a wild call
lost to night

blood ties shunned
explosions blurring
lines

diesel spillage
corrosive
chill

breaking walls
of sleeping
child

carnivorous plants
insects torn to
shreds

by those lost
removed from
breath

passing pause
brisk breeze
grants space

as dawn
stirs
sentience
organized abuse
of every kind
impacts generations
of innocent
children
until dawn
of awareness
arises
and one
manages
to break
free
Whelp, here a goes the first poem on this site of sites,
gotta make sure i do this sheeit just rights.
by no design save the natural economy
of resonance in a field of pink noise 
and isotopes of serendipity -
bonding to the surface
of a pollywog’s chassis. 
the buttons on your shirt 
are askew, and your hair
has broad shoulders.
and i notice. and I’m 
laughing.

you tell the radio to sing about 
mustard on a mule. you dance in the slippers
you leave everywhere. and I pause.
i marinade in the olive oils of your redolent charms.
i palm my heart on a pitchfork
folding my valentines origami with no hands.
savoring the argyle socks in your eyes
when you throw magazines with pictures
and roll joints with your tongue - 
disjoint from even possible.
I climb into the warm sun of your presence
in my pajamas of thought. a snug surrender
takes up all the room in the sleeping bag
failing to hide the flashlight
before you turn around
and I’m busted.  

for what love did. 

sometimes the only thing 
that says anything at all...

never said a thing.
on the lake, anonymous swans honk droll in golden sun
dappling on the surface of their planet of waves
sparkling with silver midges, darting amid shards of twilight
creeping over a hill like a vagrant sage
begging for a purple coin.

other birds, flock to wet stones in deep thought. mindful of nothing but the wave.
pecking through to wet sand, mottled with earth tones and shattered glass
from a campsite, 3 leagues upriver. the air moves like a shy bride.
over rose petals blushing scarlet in the shadow of a sleepy star
nodding off the horizon...

just carnival lights in a cornfield.
and your eyes.

all night.
i wake up. i get out.
i get on alright.
drag a comb through
your hairpin curves
all night.
wind up in a ditch
to save my life.
then i love you again
as you wave
goodbye.

had enough. no doubt.
then i'm right
back in.
switching tracks
on a train
that derails
again.
i get caught up
in downward
spirals-
when
you decide my
demise
is how this
ends.

been hard of seeing
since i knew you
when.
might come back
to haunt you
if you reel
me in.

and now i'm
just as gone
as you.

but, when -

you're nowhere
you're not
alone.

you're alone
with
It.
A candle burns somewhere inside of me
And keeps its light despite the steady rain.
I wonder at its constance in the cold
That, flickering on occasion, never dies.
And through the dark a glow reaches my eyes
Like a distant sun; rising and fading

I wait for the sound of thunder fading–
This storm has so recklessly lived in me,
And with it’s biting wind, has stung my eyes.
Though only raging from within, the rain
And sky both fall and weep as daylight dies
But still the candle burns despite the cold

Larceners masked as lovers leave me cold;
Deceivers and thieves with faces fading,
Whose winter hands freeze when summer’s warmth dies–
Craving heat I cannot offer, watch me
Shiver. Each doubt descends like falling rain;
An infinite dance behind my closed eyes.

And the uncertain glow still meets my tired eyes
The blood in my veins boils while theirs stays cold
Those hands I once held and fell for like rain
Those flames for me perpetually fading
With their trails of dark smoke following me
Yet my sallow light persists, it never dies

The sky is drenched in black, the old sun dies
I watch it pale and sink before my eyes.
But it will resurrect again, like me
Each morning from the heavy sheets and cold
The flame will not go out, the darkness fading;
Fleeing from me like quickly passing rain

I stand with burdens heavy in the rain
Holding onto the light that never dies
Wishing to feel the hush of the storm fading
No saltwater stinging and staining my eyes
For once, to feel fire chase away the cold
A heat or heart that warms but does not burn me

.And sometimes the rain gets in my eyes
Sometimes light dies, and leaves me cold
Yet still the candle burns; No longer fading.
A sestina
 May 2018 softcomponent
September
U n I r love letters—
O, tucked in bottles and
cast out @ c.
You and I are love letters—
Oh, tucked in bottles and
cast out at sea.


U and I are letters of love.
Hello,
my name is so and so
Have you heard of such and such?
"No, not very much."
Well let me tell you...

The sledgehammer
catalyze the caterwaul of lies
Unhinge your mind,
grease it
and rehinge it,
Because; everything is out of balance
A pendulum disturbed by the devil's malice
while he dances
through our glances and drops the knowledge
of how the money you pledged is wedged
in between stacks of paper and salary checks
The blues in the night-light dance with the stamina
of broken dreams. Well, let me tell you of the suffrage
and my lack of knowledge or power–or both–to discern or summon
a strategy for navigating this slanting ship
capsizing with the weight of the world
in the Suez Canal.

The doctrine of a dead man's cackle
enforce the shackle
of the child's ankle
The unswerwing arrow of my intent,
Pegonia arrowhead
plunge into a heart of lead
to find the hidden treasure
x-marks-the-spot
of another bitter man

"For every pledge donor you get
5 children died
in Tibet."

And so will they continue to
What can I do?
What if the war machine
was a tarnished memory
and the void between
the pillars
Why there is not contentment for the content
but and endless series
of Roman pillars inside celibate convents.
The pillars of the Panthéon are bars in a demented prison
fermented with the stench of a rancid batch
of torrid dreams.

A palace of pain an pleasure,
a hotbox of sin for the devil's leisure.
Leapt to every level of Dante's hell
and up again

No knowledge have I aquired,
but confusion, a quiet
illusion, and I am tired,
oh, so witheringly
tired.

"We are drawn to the concept of escape"
Nietzsche said.
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