Seize my strength
For the first
Seize my worth
For the hundredth

Why must I crave 
What I despise
Why must you hate
What you realize

A phlebotomy is always at risk
You mustn't always fight my kiss

Timidness is not wisdom
The wise approach with openness
Caution is not wisdom
The wise remain brave, unmoved by fear
Entire and entirely

You are an atmosphere
Enveloping my mind
You are my atmosphere
Entire and entirely
No escape

I am free
Why do you still seep into me?

When you’re accustomed to darkness
You’re used to monotony
You’re used to redundance
You’re used to nothing

You hear of the outside world
You hear of its joys
You hear of its wonders
You hear of its plights

“Come on out” they say
“We won’t hurt you”
Little callings to show you something new
Or is it just to hurt me?

“What are friends? Do they bite?
Is it edible? Is it necessary?”
Questions I’m asking to seemingly no one
But a voice keeps beckoning to me

“Come out and see the wonders you miss
The energy of human beings
The warmth of the sun
The beauty of the world”

I’ve never been enticed this much before
Closer and closer do I inch out
My mind is saying “this is a bad idea”
My gut is saying “can’t hurt to try”

So.. I’m finally out
This isn’t so bad
I could get used to thi—
honk *crash

i'm tired of writing poems about love
sometimes i'm tired of love
but there's no running from it
only rinsing and repeating
crying and leaving
cutting and healing
dying and living

With porcelain hands,
She holds the stars of heaven,
With which she draws lines so heavy,
So blackened and bold,
Even the strongest fall at sight,
Her tears are heavy rain,
That drown every soul in range,
Flooding hearts and minds,
With the dark oceans of her thoughs,
Washing out the sunshine and smiles,
Bringing only sorrow and despair,
All beauty is overwhelmed by her tragedy,
With her, there is nothing but the hollow sunrise,
Barely shining beyond the infinite horizon

maybe someday I'll give a ****
and write something with substance

or maybe I'll keep the ****
so I can have something in abundance

and maybe I'll quit this ****
as a "*******" to redundance

nah

super novas
seeding flowers
a woman's powers
late night hours
falling towers
jehovah jehovah
these flowers are novas

food of abundance
feeling redundance
riddled with frustrated rage

pretending to love me
wire above me
confined to a small metal cage

no longer sing
a song on a wing
natural envirioment gone

free as a bird
these words are absurd
in prison, and done nothing wrong

Once upon a time, the sunrise evoked unfathomable bliss
Now the eyes have become pensive and all it sees is the somber sunset
And once upon a time, soft kisses on skin from raindrops were loved
But all that is left is the memories of destruction left by thunderstorms

Honeyed declarations sauntered into your ears like a beautiful symphony
Displays of affections were like picturesque art preserved in the finest museums
Once upon a time, their combination was nothing but sublime
Until the words dissipated and all turned to ashes

Jovial tunes congested the thin still air
The orchestra had a heart and the heart was an orchestra
Once upon a time there was an influx of songs
But now all that remains is redundance, redundance of chords, lachrymose chords

Once upon a time, poems were spring flowers sprouting from the healthy earth
Once upon a time, pens bled profusely and ink etched the unspoken on alabaster papers
But the earth has gone dry, and the ink has gone dry
Despite all the tears, all has gone dry

I observe, without seeing it the discourse of history in my blood
Hear it, feel its silent speech, its frantic rush, and its inner dialogue
Like a hidden undercurrent coursing through all my veins
The inner space of speech, the redundance of images
A sympathetic attunement to the dimensions of words
That is the medium of my new translation
A new complete language, now, for the first time accompanies my thoughts.
My body is already loaded with the nuclear impulse of an outcast
Demanding a proliferation of attentions, seeking the androgynous coupling of opposites
A fascination showers me I become bewildered by my own questioning
Study my nakedness in the mirror seeking to replace it with something else
I am about to reverse the process of viewing the world, confuse my sensory responses
Challenge all with a double, I wish to distort and destabilize
To divide between mental image and physical reality
This gives me immense pleasure

Life is labour.
All is entropy.
From the moment
we're born,
we decay.
We must feed
to renew,
we must breathe
to energise.
We strive to prolong a life
we never asked for,
living inside a machine
needing constant maintenance
against built-in redundance.
What an existence!

Hesitation.
Poetic thoughts to merely strangle an
Otherwise undeveloped expression.
Chaos- dripping profusely from an
Endless flow of illusion.
Imagination? Is this real?
But the good is
SO
Good...
Inspiration.
Claw at the temptation to be
Different.
Something else.
Real.
Because maybe then reality
Could actually make some sense.
But still can't get over the thrill
Of existence
Being nonexistent.
Because it's
So ******* good
To feel unreal.
Why should anything matter-
When nothing is affecting
Anything.
But, knowing, knowledge-
That **** is scary.
Because how can anyone know?
Jesus Christ, the "nothingness" just ******* kills me.
The screaming is melting my brain tissues
And inside my head is just
Black, static sick of explaining the
Discomfort in my head.
Sick of rambling cheap obscurities-
Verbally littering on this ****** up planet
One "word" at a time.
Who the hell cares??
Because
No one
Cares.
Ignorance is considered cherrishable
Because we don't have the *****
To accept reality-
At least maybe I'm just weak.
So why does it even matter?
Redundance- it gets so ******* old.
Feel like something fresh-new-breathable
Could expand at least an experience or two.
Yet it gets so catchy to
Rage warfare on one's self.
****, cause the taste
Is exceptionally harsh.
Texture is only an effect based on perception.
Still, everything is in
Retrograde inversion,
Like my old composition homework assignments-
Only less classy,
And without genius direction.
**** the misunderstanding, man.
That **** will mess with your mind.
But I am in love
With hating to feel,
And everything in between and
Opposite that.
And I couldn't explain anything,
To even give you an idea of what its like.

I want to laugh right now...belly laugh until my muscles ache...I want to jump through puddles...the ripples danceing around my ankles...I want to  run down hillsides...the air tugging at  my skirt like a restless lover...I want to feel the kiss of an ocean breeze on my face...the salty air dancing across my lips...I want to feel the warmth of skin against mine...wrapping me within a blanket of epidermal bliss...I want to go within myself and stay a while...exploring my humanity  and coming face to face with my own existence...I want to kick and scream and cry with reckless abandonedment until my cavernous soul falls limp from exhaustion...I want to touch my face...eyes closed... and view myself without the boundaries of expectation...of redundance...of normalcy...I want to see myself in a different way...a different light...a different scope...

underflown
and overflowing,
stripped,
returned,
renewed

truthings spied
redundance plied,
her habit's
gone.
Unclued.

her heart is clear,
now I'm the fear,
how weakly
I
have proved

that what is right,
rarely sits beside
what is
easily
left to do

Coming Over Here!




  The swifts have once again returned

  The pigeons have not even spurned

  The influx of these migrant flocks...

  Who've circumnavigated docks


  And flown sky high as they've defected

  Passport free and undetected

  Africa they've left behind

  Knowing that they'd surely find

  Nests and food in great abundance

  Austere months now in redundance

  Times of plenty now abound

  But have you ever really found

  In human terms, for that is how

  We think, but can you tell me now

  That in this land of wealth and plenty

  That such newcomers seeking gentry

  Are welcomed with the song we sing

  Do we make room, take under wing

  Our fellow beings on this earth

  Who live out lives to death from birth

  Who only want the safest haven

  That's surely what we all are craving

  A place to raise our young in peace

  As war and death and blight decease

  If doors were always shut in faces

  Nests destroyed in secret places

  Remember that it's only fair

  As watching fledgelings take to air

  That where there's life is where there's hope

  And for one moment could you cope

  If you were always on the run

  From those who shift you on and shun

  Those who come from other places

  They do it with their airs and graces

  Assured of their superior stance

  Rejecting as they caste askance

  Their eyes of judgment over those

  With different voices, skins and clothes

  And never once remembering

  It's one same song we all do sing

  An octave quavering as they do

  A chord that resonates with few

  Is only why we always fool

  Ourselves, and then divide and rule.

  Well carry on if so you must

  But we'll all end up the self same dust.

Matt Revans ©Copyright

Crowd's clapping
People and children laughing
as if they were savages celebrating
sacrifice for the old gods
Only I remain silent, uninterested
without shape, without attitude
as a newborn
I watch them, lost
Lost as a wanderer
I cannot rest
nor breathe
They all seem to be fullfiled
with redundance
Only I am lost
Lost as a wanderer

Put me out of misery
Empty, my foolish heart
I fell like a lunatic
Poeple of this world are
enlightened by stars and moolight
Only me, darkened by sun
Only I, remain silent
in the darkness
desolate as a desert
abandoned and driven

I can bear that pain
I can let go that anchor
and finally set her free
'cause she listens
if you whisper gently

the very essence of her
will guide me;
only when
my ears are opened
*humbly

Waking with a will to do some good,
for some body,
this one I'm in, first. The body of living
matter being reader to my writer,
finding selves aware of worth,
with no grave weight
in consequence.
-- Boom… with

sci, SCI itself, ence, hence con-science,
know… ah, wait… who first knew?
Lichtenstein vvvery inter-esting,
dots what I am seeing,
RGB dots and CMYK dot
If there must be an idea for any matter to argue
reason, what is first reasonable in reality,
given what we have onboard?
This is 2020, spaceship earth, the only planet,
in the zone where mortal minds make reasonable
arguments prove life worth living, while
living and learning,
some things are evidently known as hows
without my knowing why.
Add water.
Water.
Yes, that's the trick,
mud,
without shape or form
thought matter, dream-stuff, fun-da-mental pass-time,
words of wonder, watch us
flow, fly, paint the patterns pareidolic,
get the idea in getting anything in all the realms
for the poor.

The primary material needed for the process
of humification are plant materials.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humus>

Anthropo - of mankind,
all varieties based on humus-frames.

Of a mind to,
in a mood to, take a chance,

flip the lid, look inside, breadbox-sized holder of more-knowing,
like carried over from earlier news,
old stories restricted around
arguing old men, wombed and un,
all aware the other know nothing
of the mystery
of being me in an I state, interesting,
trust me
true rest is the reason happiness is imagined
worth the effort to pursue.

---
Is there a manual? Are there rules and regulations,
asks the ****** diving past my ified
light in the night of some soul
matter unresolved…

what is this fusion within our ifery;
ahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa are
we words as wise as words were once?
May we mean the magic power,
boo once held?
Boo, right, scared you, triggered that fabled
flight or fight? No?

****, not fight. Stay put. Become stone,
edify the dust in the dry, thirsty realms of reason,

come, let us argue for the truth you know.

Wait, I have a Phrygian cap.
When I wear it I know why.

Why? I think, I know, I know, I am humus, being
formed from the surface dust of all before,
fitted for a task far in the future,
past the edge of Anthropocene piles of fallen
forms of re, reminders, realities, redone redundance,
thump thump thump

secret means to sacred make, set aside.
Single use,
lock and key. See,
open-minded other wise,
wish you knew,
and know, as per the plan, adjusted for flaws
inherent in the aftermath calculation
of weight as a measure, after
gravity was conceived as
fixed force functioning after the strange force
fixed the imbalance and set an edge,
discernible by raw ideas wishing to matter in the after
all,

desire to know, wish to hide, which is safer
now?

---------------

we were all right when
it was easy to be all right
beautiful blond children
and music all night
lazy languid days
and sleepy morning goodbyes
wall street dinners
and New York City cries
too much of too much
an abundance of abundance
lay a path to our redundance.

Love the feeling oh so endearing.
Is thought mythical to the cynical.
When in abundance there is no redundance.
Enraptures all that our heart captures.
Sets ablaze the things in our gaze.
Freezes time and yet breezes bye.
In our ritual we desire it perpetual.
Reaching it’s full wraps the mind like wool.
Out of view still keeps it’s hue.
Distance means nothing to its existence.
When unraveled we have traveled.
Love portraying a dove, just like art will fill our heart.

This act was not of my desire.
Time had come to douse my mental fire.
You were the object of my mind,
But only my repression caused bind,
To the point where soul, heart and ***** tire

I stood on a branch and tapped the tree.
The response was vibrations that come from me.
I tried and tried again,
And only abated for the fall of the rain;
Maybe, tomorrow, it would work simply

Squirrels and chimps achieved a response;
They drew ample sap, I couldn’t get an ounce.
My knuckles turned to blood,
And my mind turned to mud.
Slowly, I became aware of my redundance

Fall off the tree into a pile of leaves!
Your punishment is there upon your sleeves!
Light cannot escape,
Your compassion is only when you *******.
Your essence filtered through indifferent sieves.

The time of infatuation and love has ended.
Rules of social etiquette should be suspended.
It is not about a thousand years.
Nor a thousand tears.
All I want is for it all to be comprehended.