There is more of me that simply
cannot be touched, lips of those who have cursed
mine cannot tear away pieces to keep for
trophies.

This hand with its fingers is
not hard. She wants darkness through the
bones around which bright lights are shining.

I am home and hope, these little
words curl from the ink in her fingers.

When my eyes are closed, I am
nothing. Who can dare blaze these thoughts out
from the hollow sides, encased by barefleshed
skin, but wind?

All the little noises and the sounds, they are
like water rushing through a river of me. She stands on
edges too frightful for the fearful to bear being on.

How she longs for tilt, and jumping cords that
have a hold on the bases of her. God does not know
to let her die. Simple molecules, we all
know, nothing of material is ever lost. Only mourned, that

is the recomposition of us.


© May 21st 2013

Wrapped in a series of tangled twines;

How many of us see the knots;

Which protect us from the thorns;

How many of us cherish the thorns;

For that which they do for us?


You see a thorn and you say;

Oh my; oh God; such dismay!

A beautiful flower shunned;

But the thorn gives the flower protection;


How many of you see it this way?

We are all here but once and not everyday;

You cherish not what you can keep,

Yet you look for that which you do not seek!

Reminisce..... Childhood days..

Remember when we were young?
Played all day out in the sun so gay
Happy kids we were… dirty or ugly
Ohh!!! The way we looked?
Not a bit we care, we didn’t care…

Were out in the monsoon rains, were out in the storms…
No Sophisticated playgrounds were built,
No expensive toys were bought…
Did we mind? We played in the drains…
We made our own toys from scratch..
We built our own playground in the field..

God protected us… kept us saved from evils and hates..
Childhood was extremely the best years of our entire years…
The best memory ever…
Our childhood days….

Early morning air, i feel the cold grasp
I work up my blankets, and they pull back
"stuck" all i think in my dreary state
till I"m pulled to my feet, suddenly wide awake

Eyes open wide, back in my bed
thank god Im awake, I thought I was dead
from across the room, that feeling of dread
the door swings on my closet, its starting again

and inside the skintight watchtowers
blankets of white lies keep me safe
from the cold

golden angels erupt from my
wrists cut clean without markings except
under my eyes

tell me more, O muse- I wish
to drown under the cascade of
insecurity

the obese American with her
Lady Liberty fingertips disguised as dreams
God bless her-

God loves a hill and he made them round
God loves them auburn and he made them brown
he made them firm and he made them soft
and how they move as they walk only God so talks
(I stop what I'm doing and I pretend not to watch.)
I’m a cannonball untethered loosed
I’m the deck on a ship
who doesn't love a good storm
they come as dappled light
upon my forest floor
filtering through the trees
and I’d swear in their presence
I become a cathedral
I can sense their divinity
they take my breath here's when:
when all the air is sucked out from the room
I'm in
it's how puzzle pieces fit
and they know they just belong
it's about how nature loves a crooked line
who doesn't love a crooked song
it’s about take Botticelli when Venus
emerged from the sea a fully grown woman:
paint her some clothes on
and if I may Lord
if only to
allude
hint
suggest
this blessing from which sprang
the most beauteous bountiful
and bouncy of your creations
from out of your vastness
incomprehensible and magnificent
have mercy on us Lord
who can resist fragility and blue steel
that mix of loose with tight
the stillness and the storm
the soft on the edge of firm
the contrast of a thousand turns
the dark weaves in da light
you killing me Lord
you killing me

in your magnificence.

I'm in Love with a woman...
But she don't love me,
I think God took his time
and created her wonderfully,
She shines with every smile
quickly seducing me,
We have everything in common
But thats not what she sees,
We just like the Same Sex!!!
So, she started dating my ex.............

There once was a man who said you could beat the world with your words. That you could conquer an army with the knowledge of a greater narrative and move the legions of many with the action of one verb. I want to believe who ever can recreate the frameworks our race. The foundational narrative of our moral ethic, the guidelines mankind has been leaning on for millenniums. I want to know a alternative story, with made up words and no respect for a-priori intuition or tradition but a legend of unabiding experience that is unlike any tangent or discourse known. I want to reinvent another codex.  

I saw god as the architect I consoled in the grand tree house, with the grand green house sitting in a quaint english archway. The telescope room was laid with bricks and from it I could see all that made me content. I felt the time changing before my eyes. Whether I was in compromise or not was entirely up to the seasons of zeus.

I am now never afraid of myself, I almost died and I remember it all. I have known fear and still revere the quenching of it's animosity. I am only a swerving flake of inner rind. I am all that is exhausted of my honest dive for humanity. I am me finally, a shell no more! Man is the helplessness of lost spatiality in his own timid surrealism. I have never been satisfied with the explanations no matter how exhaustive! Revisited by the techni-color outlook of the turning millennium craze. The alleviation of all hopes when they turned out a dead end inthemselves, a lost avenue of my childhood.

I guess we all wanted that age-old rampant abuse of youth in ways that were neither aesthetically pleasing or unifying towards our own, best. I was tired of the beautiful sprites I grew up with. I was tired of locking myself in closets at nights and rubbing my face into the it's knotted carpet floor. I'm tired of the songs that advocated joyful frolicking into the drapped daylight. The oddities grow old and the used up phrase are clique now. I lost my mind seeing the years of my language frightened by the sound of my own breath. Grow into yourself. I am done with you anyways. I am done seeing them engulf a titanic drift of colorful intentions; flirting around the grand bonfire of the uncreated experience. I am lost with them. I question more than just our own value and I resign my thoughts on themselves for their own wealth and safety. When you want it said so bad but the forces of those unforeseen, creative hives oscillate and never stop it's steps into the night-legend. Then the world ends and was never in out of tension. I electrify my time and run into the a.m. frantic like a monkey, waving around and jesting my arms. I'm tired of the old music, in with the artifacts who architect the reverberation of my heart.





Your myth has lived into the century and I can see your ideas into the lives of all maniacs and the honest young, the deranged youth. We are amidst a heavy tension, i cry again. I want my mother's words three times a day and more on my weak hours. I am content in the alien maze of my music and want only the childhood campers to love me like a king. They gathered around at night, around the campfire. They initiated the song and dance with gaiety rhythm; that was the nights stars collided into bedtime. The same night I was torn by the dreams of an old horrid man who gave me no name and no rest from tear and horror. What evil is an anonymous the Will that censors awareness and knowledge. If it kills


So what then of the tribal pack psyche we all inherit. In days where beauty was up to chance. Our proximity to a woman was determined by breeding patterns and the realm of funds available for travel and food. What now in these days of the internet? When the whole world is at the tops of our finger tips and even more far away is the understanding we gain of our inability to have the cream of the world. We are in a great exaggeration of ourselves, of our will, and of our determined out-come. We have little but the pessimisme of our predecessors to guide our philosophies application. The translation of dream-world is perfectly out of reach for us and always for our posterity. From here on out we are a new age. A new age whose gates are christened by the ungenuine thugs and malevolent brand names of our civilization. We are faking it till the end. I am scared and drilled by horror and filled more with black premonitions. I wish I had eyes to see myself with a more generous charity but I don't and neither do you. What you see is an age of outward anticipation for the soring ribbons of undone realities.

The artist is the one who has seen the broad fleeting wisp of an out-of-world innuendo. It is the ethereal encounter with a cognitive defect that mimic as a supernatural sensation, this is seen by the artist as true humanity and rightfully so as it brings him to tears.

I always forget that we are always on the cusp. That we are simply a few bruised years away from reveling in the stained, sealed golden sunlight of the age that has came. What we do now is entirely crucial to our ability to be in unending sorrow and remorse. We see our people in a clearer way, for what they where struggling with, for what their reverie finally came to look like, ugly or gleefully self created, their vision of the world will always be our continual source of inspiration.