We were cavorting Orca
in a warm Baja sea,
while you dove,
then rose to breath,
I met you at the surface
in a tangle of sweaty sheets.

Orcas in Puget Sound

Along the road, abandoned wild apple trees bend
with their heavy loads, dusty skirts of blackberry bushes
purpling fingers, piercing flesh
mouths ringed with berry juice, vampires all.
Along San Juan Island salmon leap clear
out of the briny water, just yards ahead of their predators,
Orcas, dorsal fins curving shiny black, sluicing and slicing
the surface like sharpened knives

They have bred with one another for 10,000 years
trolled these waters through famine, earthquakes, world wars
through shifting continents, glacial avalanches,
through the extinction of whole civilizations.
Standing on a cliff, my daughter and I
watch the Orcas churning the water - studies in grace
the largest gem on the necklace of a great food chain
and when we sleep we too chase
the great King Salmon of our deepest dreams,
the fathers we lost, the currents that bear along children

Translucent jellyfish, palm sized, breath below
sideways exhale, convulsive inhale
umbrellas opening and closing a thousand years or more
sliding through forests of brown kelp where mollusks cling

We have clung like this to one another, with my body
thrown over hers for protection and her exhaling away from me
If Mama Orca keeps her young close, so will I
If there are salmon to chase and harbor seals to command, so we will

Arcing in the late August sky
slapping and parting the surface, over and over
the whales, lords of the Sound, swim in our brains as we sleep
sparkle against blackening waters
You are of my body from my body cleaving there for 10,000 years
Whatever quarrels there are on land vaporize
In the presence of these creatures,
arcing against all that is temporal, vicious, small,
studies in power and grace

The tide pulls out, skimming across rocks and oysters in their muddy beds
But this need to care for you remains as big as an Orca
your appetite for adventure as voracious
and I watch you, my child, disappearing with summer
into high school, into womanhood, into
the salty, light-dappled ocean

There’s a certain romance
in he who doesn’t kiss
his lover, despite yearning

for her eager lips,
and tongue like a dolphin—
hesitant, yet inviting.

But she’s bottlenosed,
and he has the heart of an orca.
He just wants her

to test the water
before he drags her
down by her feet.

mean beam bottom ***** without reluctance.
\ air above \
since forever baby boy: since forever liquid sparkler.

he has sense
& peanut butter jelly geography to his page.
his romance is of the west.
his eyes are of dandelions kicked & to the wind.
he moves like ancient turtle migration.
reaches feet to sidewalk \ sand to depths \ ride \

night:
velcro-tightened mind withstanding.
party lights, ***** willows, retro punch, he
is orpheus descending: with all the elements positioned just so.
\ jellyfish electric \  
he says he likes the loneliness.
he says it’s the water.

& so he moves \ wills himself into the next measure.
liquid resolute bits.
so move \ orca \
curl of eye \ so ride \ black rollo wave \
basilica \ & \
coral reaches below \\\

he likes to tell it, with warmed exaggeration.
slow-motion buffalo stampede. ride the railroads free & easy.
orange glowing bars of elsewhere. oscillating seal calls.
oily portland hipsters howling on the beach. those
juno cheeked rosy-red lips.
somewhere, sister getting married.
spring, summer, fall, winter, spring.
africa ******* a branch of a tree of a forest, overlooking elephant burial grounds.
color & white material:
plantations, gas stations, diners, & sharks.

this is the morning lunar \
sweet blue beach of the old & awakening.
he crawls out & into her breaks.
her deep heights & bombora reef. the serotonin
functions twice, exposed between thin tissues of warm-blooded neurochemistry.
human, shown.
he is as a raw page, blank, yet
dipped \
\ so ride \ bulbous waves of air mother agua \
ride \ &
\ ride \ &
brew by light these occurrences forever.

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
ill swallow the gnats to feed
the bellies and the growing fears
I never know how to greet it

I took the nail filer and carved
two perfect holes directly above my big toes
you can never be too careful
I wanted to make sure my feet knew that sometimes
things happen

I promised my umbrella that if
it could wait another couple weeks
I wouldn't rip it to shreds myself
why is there patience for quitters and
people who hate thunderstorms?

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
Gave into the cooped clouds,
let them smear cleaner through my roots
swaying instead to dodge the drip
and heaving sighs

in
the
Land of Oz
where
the
sky
is
filled
with
orca-shaped clouds
so
up...up
and
away
pop...bang...zoom...wee

oh, san juans, your riches beckon
your wealth, your beauty calls
your waveless, salty waters blue
my heart since childhood draws
your waters lap at darkened rock
'round islands, bays and inlets fill
with returning salmon teeming
your breaking waters thrill
your tide, oh ever river changing
charges muddy oyster flats
your thriving pods of orca leap
o'er spray in mid-air acrobats
from seabed swift, cold and deep 
the lushness of your green hills rise 
your sun falls fleet like shooting star
your sparkling waters mesmerize
sailing craft from ’neath horizon
angels spread their wings of color
skirt your shoals and ply your straits
find safety anchored in your harbors 
oh, san juans, your wonder waits
your treasure and your magic calls
your waveless, crystal waters blue
my heart since youth still draws
calls me to return each year
to dip my paddle deep
when life averts the journey there
in dreams you beckon while i sleep

Last night,
I dreamt that the friend of a friend had died.

His body floated lifeless on the surface of the Pacific,
tossed about between the Bering Sea whitecaps

like an orca’s seal-pup plaything
while the Arctic wind whipped

and beat the freezing cold water
across his pallid face and through his chestnut hair.

Then his body
began to sink,

its silhouette appearing
against various monotone

canvases of blue
on its trip downward:

a vivid cornflower,
a pelagic cerulean,

a chasm of cold cobalt,
a starless twilight,

a forest of indigo,
a velvet curtain of navy.

Finally,
as it reached the deepest possible shade of midnight—

only a quantum away from black—
it stopped sinking.

There, in that void,
where daylight and color are considered but outlandish theories,

strange fish of all and shapes and sizes
began to surround the decomposing corpse:

Greenland sharks hailing from the frozen arctic,
mantis shrimp from the mangrove labyrinths,

eyeless electric eels from undersea caves near the Galápagos,
vampire squid rising cautiously up out of their World War One trenches,

scores of spindly ***** and pale worms that had ventured far beyond
the safe familiarity of their alien geothermal worlds.

At first, they approached the corpse gingerly,
nibbling only the tips of its hair and fingernails,

and then suddenly, voraciously,
they consumed it—until not even a skeleton remained.

Now, only a single point of light was left
there floating in the void.

And from this single point of light,
where just a moment before the corpse had floated,

a brilliant white lattice structure emerged,
unfurling as would a fern across a forest floor.

It fanned out onto the seabed
and then swept upward, upward

back toward those reaches of sea
where color is known

and fresh air gleefully permeates
that foamy outer membrane that skirts the base of the sky.

Scores of familiar fish began to lift up the crystalline structure—
schools of shimmering sardines,

stately, dignified manta rays,
skipjacks, bluefins, and white-tips,

brilliant cuttlefish, humble pufferfish,
shifty barracuda, gargantuan whale sharks,

all of them
beating their tails in concert

to carry this lattice away,
this measure of a life,

this husk of a soul
at last freed from its earthly bindings.

The fish were carrying it somewhere deeper,
somewhere darker,

to a place that I understood—
even from the inky depths

of my dreaming mind—
that I could not enter.

But then again,
I knew that someday

I would.

The Orca's down the road take seals
my neighbour dives for coal
the spillage from world war one shipwrecks
and burns it on his winter hearth.
Personally I think my neighbour mad.

April 7th
Late one night as I walked the shore,
There came to me whispers, whispers of lore,
And there, her tail sparkling amid moonlit foam,
Arose such a lady, of mermaid kingdom,
She sang to her sisters, sang of her lover,
With tears in her eyes, the voice of a mother,
His valor was great, and his gilded gills strong,
But to quarrel with men, was where he went wrong.
One day as he swam, he met with a ship,
Swollen boards, barnacles, iron bolts rusted,
A pirate ship, not to be trusted,
And captive on board, were children for Haiti,
Who cried for their homeland, their hearts feeling weighty.
Their African voices, and African songs,
The voice of a mother, for her child she longs,
The prince’s heart broke, and he wept for his cousins,
Bound for a life of back breaking strife,
He could not leave them and return to his wife.
“From whence have you came?” His voice through a crack,
“In Fanga and Dmindi our feet were entrapped,
Our hands roughly shackled, and lips cruelly slapped.
Oh Fanga of bananas sweet, where blue sky that river meets,
Oh Dmindi, great bronze walled city, now ransacked and devoid of pity.”
“My Family!” cried the Merman, “Just a day offshore you are!”
“If I could get you back . . . do you think you’ve traveled far?”
“We cannot see the sun, don’t know when our sorrow begun.”
“Wait”! One says, “They’ve fed us twice. Two days ago we were cast off.
Surely we could travel back, and if not, in Africa we’d rather rot,
Than in this sinking, stinking ***.”
So the sea prince called his creatures many, whales and dolphins,
Turtles and sharks, in the sun they made their marks.
The Pirates on board became perplexed!
The sea was soupy, their course upset!
What could they do, with this onset?!
The Captain snarled and shook his braids,
“Of no man or beast am I afraid!”
And on his rifle his callused hand laid,
“Let war on these creatures now be made!”
Every Pirate with his gun! The captain now was having fun!
Bullets hit the water, but very few found their marks,
For there was but little marks to see, except the tracks of swimming sharks,
The sailors groaned, what magic is this?
What has happened to the fish?
That they would around our boat amass, where do we go? Oh, alas!
The day grew later and so sign was seen,
The pace was kept, for the shore they were bound,
If this keeps up, we’ll run aground!
With half-fish leading, in the front he swam
He encouraged his army, and called to his friends
“Toward Cote’d  Ivoire  we are a sailing,
Do not let your hearts be failing.”
(No pirate could hear his voice, this was the half-man’s special choice)
“I shall take you not to a harbor, but to an island inhabited by few,
With food in abundance and canoe trees for you.”
That night as the stars rose, he sang them to sleep,
In their own mother tongue, no more did they weep.
For they were surrounded by magic of love,
Love of the keeper of the sea, a father himself.
But then in the morning, the morning of slaughter.
He let his tail slip above the bright water,
The Captain roared with guffaws of cruel laughter.
“To arms again my men!” He cried,
And on that day the Merman died,
For with his dark blue back exposed,
The Captain knew the enemy he loathed,
His aim was sharp, and his propellants deadly,
A shot rang out among the medley
Of orca chants, and dolphin chirps,
And at once clouds moved across the sun.
As purple blood stained the water, the Captain shouted “We have won!”
But the race toward land didn’t slow one knot,
The outcome wasn’t changed by a single shot.
The great fish knew that their command hadn’t died and the death of their king,
Though for sure they cried, His body was dead but his word was alive.
Two porpoises left to carry his body, away to a grave, to lay with his family
To the Castle of Coral their burden did bring, to sisters to mourn and his dirge to sing,
They wrapped his long body, laid him in a cave,
Cursed the old Captain, oh **** the cold Knave!
And brothers did leave to do that hard deed, and carry the prince’s wish out.
They swam in a swarm to the creaky old Roger,
In the night they did find her,
Her crew in a bother,
And climbed they the boards that held her together,
Soon she was taken, the pirates all killed
And prisoners unshackled, as the Merman had willed
(some mermen did die, in the scuffle preceding, but most wore protection,
Their brother’s fate heeding)
The sun did arise, in the brilliant sky,
A Hero’s day! The African’s cry.
The mermen guided the vessel to shore,
And of the Queen’s story there was little more,
Except that now she sings in the evenings,
As she raises her girls and little menlings,  
No one will she find to replace her Prince,
No such lonely valor has she ever seen since.
So she sings to her sisters, under full moon waves
And calls to her cousins, on land that are slaves
That saviors will come, their own lives the cost
And vengeance will fall, happiness is not lost.

You act like an orca
tanning on the beach:
ignoring life
for beauty and recognition,
but only in oceanic swells
is the orca beautiful
and recognized
while it lives it's own life
chasing sea lions
and the air above waves.

~ 

i stand before this kneeling bench,
no sanctuary of our making;
its walls here open thrown,
on stained glass windows found
strewn upon the sand,
its tide-washed, polished glass,
my feet find holy ground;
my sandals left at driftwood door.
incense burns upon the wind,
its salty spray is mingled,
with my own upon
these joy-stained cheeks.
the worshippers that went before
have built a temple out of wood,
hewn, untouched by human hand,
a steeple to the sky is lifted,
and within its shelter,
remnants of a ring of fire,
smoke once lifted to the
heavens by believers true;
this church i see through salted eyes,
this scape awash in teeming life,
here i drink this living wine;
its ebb, its rush, its living in
each moment without need,
to connect each dot, or even speak.

i long to live at razor's edge,
where sands and tides collide;
the rocky shoals where dungeness,
find sustenance and shelter;
the coves where seabirds feed their young,
above the sandstone cliffs;
the bar beneath a setting sun,
in flames awash in waves;
find comfort ‘neath
the storm-shaped pine,
feel longing in the stinging air.
these cheeks that weep,
though want of tears,
not in sorrow mind you,
but in joy of freedom,
the lure of siren alter call;
of a close horizon on a misty morn,
the haunting breath of orca,
just beyond my sight;
the bark of ocean’s lion,
the roar of distant waves;
with these my prayers i send,
as i offer this my praise;
this church of no man’s making,
here i come for cleansing,
to breathe the life that i am given!

~

*post script.

by nature we are spiritual creatures;
spiritual... not religious.  reading your
sea-scaped prose inspires me; planning
changes in my own life even more so!!
it is said that we return to what we know
best... the ocean calls...

From this island
water and more tiny islands
heavily treed with Douglas fir
landing ground for ocean otters
while orca whales glide by
spout and spray
the beach, broken shelled
puddled wells of tide pools
filling, spilling over again
brown bauble seaweed mingles
round algae rocks, barnacle shingled
here where the air breathes salt scented
water running wild with salmon.

i went in to a trance my mind my thoughts and me
thought i was a sailor sailing on the sea
sailing in the sun beneath the sky so blue
lots of things i saw that i could clearly view
i saw  a school of dolphins and an orca whale
having lots of fun splashing with his tale
there were  lots of birds parrots and cockatoo
there were many others there were quite a few
then i saw a marlin a great big fish was he
jumping in the air as happy as can be
this was just a trance that i could plainly see
there inside my mind with my thoughts and me

Have you ever stood,
craning your neck to look up into the canopy
of the ancient kauri, Tane Mahuta,
while peace and birdsong permeate your soul?

Have you ever felt
the crusty spray and the satanic whiff
as the Pohutu geyser shoots aloft
while a dozen languages bubble through te reo?

Have you ever shivered
in the receding darkness,
standing in the china-white sand as you waited
for the first sunrise over Makorori Beach?

Have you ever sat
on the summit of Mt Taranaki
and eaten a well-deserved sandwich
while cows grazed far below on the lush, volcanic-rich pasture?

Have you ever experienced
that mixture of fear and awe
as an orca’s dorsal breached beside your too-fragile kayak
in the shining waters of the Abel Tasman?

Have you ever paused
atop a ski run on Coronet Peak
and reflected on the reflections
of sunlight dancing on snow and water?

Have you ever felt sorry
for tourism chiefs and advertising creatives
trapped in offices in the Auckland CBD
dreaming up “100% Pure” and “Clean and Green”?

in orca ova, swim
arisen cinnamon suns;
venus simmers so.

~

no seams seen in sea ***, nor sun, nor *****

I make trips to the corner store, at 12 in the morning.

Calling all cars to get the **** out of the road,
I'm swerving.

Calling all lights,
blink and be gone. Streetlights,
stoplights, lamps, lighters,
blunt tips, cigarette butts,
all lights be gone.

Dear Earth, get low in the darkness.

On my first trip,
I was accosted by rabid dogs who drooled shoelaces
and I could tell they were being hounded
by the kilter of their angry maws
and sawed-off minds.

They barked like guns.

And they saw me--completely irrelevant---
popping caps off Lokos
taking sips that could **** up an Orca,
completely swimming.

I had to kick them home.

At work today,
Someone got caught stealing five pesos worth of food,
and got threatened with a felony,
but they've got some lint in their pocket,
and knew how to keep it cool.

My girlfriend operates in ideas.

I've been at work for so long,
that I yell and walk around,
like I'm in the shower.

"O!
That the earth
Had to be given to
You
This Way"* - Charles Olson
                
Impermanence is romantic because you
have to make the most of love
while it's still there.

Music doesn't play for birds anymore.

I'm having a conversation with myself
that has never stopped, and honestly, I want him
(the other guy) to shut up!

Recounting recent Vancouver,
humid commercial streets all lit up in midday
cafes cafes cafes
Sweet Cherubim with it's tobacco free cigarettes
and appearance of smallest India!
Traincarts full of familiar faces as time makes these tracks easier to travel.
My shoes are stained with fences, Seagulls do nothing but
complain and **** beautifully!

Here I am now, April 16th, Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal, I can smell the overcast and the expensive perfume behind my seat.
We have the French tourists, Chinese grandmothers,
and millenials wearing thick red lipstick, hair braided back
"What the heck"
to something by the SNB (more coffee)
read Gerry Gilbert's stuff, continuing "MOBY JANE" and it's
refreshing to be engaged with a local poet who makes
direct references to
Nanaimo, Vancouver, Victoria, etc.

Wind is calm today,
I find most poets go into the details of their daily lives and perceptions, while I've made it a habit to try and write about everyone's lives all at once, even when I don't know a **** thing about them (but that's the most interesting part to me)
anybody could by anybody else
who's to say?
I bet I am not as interesting as some may think,
I bet I am not as interesting as I may think,
I can't land a solid date!
aboard the last ferry I saw someone with the face of Andy Warhol and now I see someone with the hair of Andy Warhol.

OK OK
Back to Vancouver,
shorts while it rains outside (not me)
Gastown tangerine reflections off buildings &
my friend points out the non profit office she works in weekly/
10 floors or more of archaic steelwork/heavy foundation/smoothed edges/copper ceiling.
I hardly miss the smell of this place (or rather some areas of it)
the ***** and suited cologne, frequent pizzerias, vintage two-floor aged wood shops, perspiring neon Granville hysteria, Vogue Theater advertising a future appearance by Parov Stelar, I think Robin Pecknold was here recently as well but hell if I can remember the comings & goings of everybody!
Raga band plays beneath the window cleaners one year earlier emitting
audible visions of Calcutta's disorganized theatrics.
Some of these skyscrapers look almost imaginary in their modern sheer.
Glass and more glass with solar panels added in/absorbed heat and people's despondent attention.

Big blow-ups of spectacular strangers, *** is in high demand and marriage has become commodity///

"THE FUTURE IS NOW
COME AND CATCH IT BEFORE IT LEAVES WITHOUT YOU
AS IT WILL APOLOGETICALLY,
INNOVATION/WIRES UPON WIRES/LOSS OF CEMENT/A CEMETERY OF GLASS PANELS AND **** ADVERTISING THAT CUTS OFF TOO QUICKLY TO READ"

"EACH AND EVERY CHILD IS LOOKING UP AT THESE MODELS AND FALLING INTO THE MESH OF SURFACES AND FACELESS BODIES/NICE JAPANESE CARS/THE KIND THAT DON'T NEED GAS OR EVEN DRIVERS"

"WE'RE ALL LIVING LONGER AND DYING EARLIER/WHERE IS IT HAPPENING NOW/WHERE WILL THE RECENTLY WED GO FOR SECLUSION? WHERE WILL THE OLD GO TO RETIRE WITHOUT THE FEAR OF BEING FORGOTTEN AND ABUSED BY THEIR FAMILIES AND CARETAKERS?"

"WHERE IS THE COLOR ON THE CLOCK?
DON'T EVEN GLANCE AT YOUR NEIGHBOR/
WE'RE ALREADY BEHIND BARS \\"

"WHERE IS UNIVERSALLY PREFERABLE BEHAVIOR?
WHERE IS EDUCATION?
WHERE IS MY SELF
AND YOUR SELF?
WHERE'S THE NEXT TRAIN TO MATERIAL RELEVANCY?
CAN I FIND THE ADDRESS IN THE PHONE BOOK?
DO I REALLY HAVE TO WALK THAT FAR?
**** THAT!"

"MY FINGERS ARE WILTING/
FLOWERS ARE DEFENSELESS AGAINST AIRPLANES/
DINERS ARE GOOD FOR REST STOPS AND NOT MUCH ELSE"

"HEY COWBOY
YOU DON'T WANT THOSE FILTERED POISONS
YOU WANT THESE ONES!"

"HEY DARLING DOES THE RING FIT THE EGO?"

"HEY ******* WATCH MY BUMPER!"

"I FORGOT TO FILL IN MY TAX SHEETS ANOTHER MONTH IN A ROW THEY'LL FINE ME AGAIN"

"HOW DO YOU DEFINE "UNIQUE"

"I CAN'T HEAR MY COMMERCIALS OVER THE VACUUM CAN YOU PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN"

"THE BIRDHOUSE FINALLY ROTTED TO THE POINT IT'S FALLEN APART"

"I CAN'T AFFORD MY DAUGHTERS PIANO LESSONS I WISH I WAS A BETTER FATHER"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T TAKE MY CAT HOME WITH ME TILL I PAY UP FRONT?  I DON'T HAVE THE MONEY RIGHT NOW/YOU'RE KEEPING HIM AND CHARGING ME PER NIGHT?
'no sir if the cat is young we usually find a way around euthanasia'
'thank god for that'"

"CAN'T WAIT TO GET TENURE/
ABOUT TIME"

"A SALES MAGAZINE RECOMMENDED TO ME PASTEL LITERATURE IT WAS SENSELESS AND LACKED IN ANY INTELLECTUAL VALUE BUT SHOULD I BE SO SURPRISED?"

"MY HOUSE IS GOING UP IN VALUE! now how can I implement this value to my life?"

"BUY NOW/SAVE MORE/SPEND LESS/
PAY OFF YOUR LOANS EARLIER/
WE ARE NOW /CLOSED/"

An Orca is alongside the ferry,
it's a lovely sunset beyond the series of islands to reach Schwartz Bay
this afternoon. I put the book down, stretch myself out on the seat, arms relaxed to my sides.
I only write the poems I don't need to think about.
Here I am, so distant from shopping carts
or drums or physical isolation, people talk of travelling
to New York and Italy, a group of young girls console their friend who's being bullied (I have a bad habit of eavesdropping)
There's people snapping pictures of the whale, now stopping as it
returns to the blue mirror.
Days never tie up their loose ends, instead it's up to the day after that, and so the next one, yadayada.

Suddenly the weight of this year floods in,
a specter of eager fields, goodbyes,
and leaving myself behind.
Where am I going?

They cry turmoil thru my web-pages,
pages on pages of Tribunes and Suns and Times
and Quarterly

"Free Burma!"

it's all turkey and pig-latin to me,
just "dunno!"  like a dunce-capped miscreant,
inept of their vitriol

as i was not so great at geography
i got by before junior high.
Where-the-tarnished-nation is it?

"Free Burma!"

Notice the elephant in the room
like a whale named *****
attempting to escape
brothers of all of ours
engulfed in war
some ocean somewhere someone is dying;
notice that elephant in our laptops
ivory and blue tooth and iphones
telling me, showing us
to care
i do / want to
we should and we must
yes

"Free Burma!"

will i need to donate a dollar,
two, three? will i receive
a correspondence
of a child i am saving
a face of a country
i'm ignorant to...
           will it's big sad puppy eyes be
commercialized?

i am no less as educated for not
following the strife of thousands
   my own is as heavy here as an orca's leap

"Free Burma!"

what cage, bear or mouse trap
have they gotten themselves
and ourselves into?
if it's anything like Yayo or Martha
business
i have a better "good thing" to do

but if it is
like famines in Africa,
Mendelson, or Tibetan Monks
on strike with kung-fu skills
i will join U2,
(and if she's aware) with Oprah power
activate!
(fist to fist)
"i will be a well of spring-water!"
and she a holy cow, a worshipped saint

"Free Burma!!"

free water
free of fear
free everyone, i pray,
under this sky
wipe away all tears

free you of your worries
free of all chains
free of mines
free of lies and borderlines.

Free to be
together
free to live and choose to see

A planet a place
A peace

"Free Burma!"

Freedom
as one
community.

For you, for me.
Home.
Free...

Sometimes


Sometimes I lie awake staring at time.
As if at one point you were crying at the impact of birth.
and then you finish
and you're in tears over anything
A man would blow his brains out for.
And the trigger mechanisms are simple

So it closes in.
The crinkling stares of so many children
Who can't even imagine themselves in me.
And it is I,
I'm the one in make-believe,
Only dreaming and dreading of the future.
Like a heavy wool blanket bedding with you in a heat-wave.
My own until it becomes the crucifix;

The point of martyrdom of the heretic's soul.

And somewhere I have dreams of catching lost time
Of an existence of perfect contentment,
A life without waste or remorse.

time flows like mercury…

Breaking and gliding away
Rushing with unforeseeable motion
Into a horizon that breaks
into sunrise to sunset
In the shortest, disbelieving , stunted, stutters of breath.

The times you find when you're malleable.
When you look far enough back in time.
When you try and find that breaking point.
Where your idealistic self broke down.

Like a body collapsing over a sleeping foot.

the point where disillusion became a new ******* eating hyperreality
Where the idea became a living stain swathed in a sheet of toilet paper you stole because you couldn't afford to buy your own. Where living and eating, filling the fridge, became the maniacal obsession. When it began to devour all the space the Truth was taking up,

like an orca charging a shoreline,

like a bad piece of art you bought for cheap to fill a void in the room.

Your liver fills with beer and your lungs are lit by a six dollar pack of nooses.

day in day out.

You find where you got yourself all chewed up.
When you're laying in bed with all your prized possessions
***** laundry filling the floors like empty husks, shed skin
deflated costumes of the person you've always wanted to be.
When you realize that hour glass needs turning over
But you've already done the deed and the *** end of the vial is burying the best of you in dirt.

Where selling soul for *** comes easy.

too afraid of the becoming
too comfortable with the being.

Cowardice comes easy.



That's where it all comes together to fall apart.

To sell your soul
You don't need a prayer
You don't need to be offered the world
You don't need the love of your life in the fold


You


Just need an illusion of certainty
A moment, a shadow
Of doubtless prospect
Just the belief that what you think is coming around the corner
is around the corner

You sell your soul
You sell your heart,
your *****,
your spine,
your genius,
your brain,
your sanity

Just to feel at home.

Sell it for a guarantee on cigarettes,
***** and a couch to meditate your guilt on.
A bed to sleep in where remorse is a dance done tossing and turning.

A bone dance.

A roof over heads.

Rent in pockets.


Zen

in a hovel hole of holy indiscretions.

The devil was an empty fridge and a stomach eating us thin!
We walk the streets as Concubines of wandering flesh
Paid and obliged,
obligated and pained
Marching with an anemic braggadocio, and a wounded dignity
Everyone's on their knees swallowing pride in gulps.

We wake up young and tired, vice-ridden, punched-in and broke.
waged into hypocrisy with all of our valiant and cumbersome notions of ancient virtue. Read to us in bed time fantasies and fairy-tales of things dreamed not meant to be.
And wagered into all that nothingness of essence, where
Vividly ****** in the violet haze of nightmares entranced in the violence and fury of the guillotine mind,
We converse in the language of our new and violent times.

It's become that Dream and Dread sit one letter off.
Dreaming and dreading, dressing as drunks draped in the dreary.

That's it there.

There's my poetry.

The extinction of the New Romantics.
The blood drenched fist harnessed in the beguiling, gilded, golden tapestry

the smearing of the ink upon the neon lights.
The weight.