an investment of moments inspired is required as the clock begins to sprint and before our essence has expired

value exists as momentum gathers essentially easing our gravity and slowing the hands running out of control

these credits this currency a wealth of it indeed to transcend time space and self is all that we need.

I think in poems,
drink deep sounds,
smell bright colors,
untie the bound.

I touch the notes...
they ripple in the air.
Taste the pain .....
no qualms no care.

I orchestrate a silent fugue,
two voices never heard.
Pen it all inside my book
then read it to my bird.

Initiate....

Bit the bait
Big rebate
******* skate
Running late
Potential mate
Blind date
Recessive trait
Ill fate
Hell's gate
Trepidate
I hate
Restate
Subjugate
Annihilate
Remediate
*******
Heart rate
Hydrate
Terminate
Clean slate....


Initiate

The demons dance,
ominously disguised
as Monsoon clouds,
hovering above the
slick, crimsoned altar.

One more heart,
one more soul,
one more sacrifice
might make the toll.

Life-blood River
deposits iron
on the pyramid's
sculpted stone
cascading, absorbing deep, flooding the gates of hell.  

On a canoe of bone
the King embarked
to negotiate peace
with the underworld rule.

"No more blood,
no more skulls
no more souls",
said the Lord . ...
"your time has come.
No more bargaining fool"

My room does not
evolve or become;
it morphs instantly and before your eyes.
Things move and fly they burn and cry.  

I watch as a dust devil conquers invades
Two minutes later,
waltzing brooms on parade.

I stuff my room full of
glass metal wood.
Some would say hoarding
I reply misunderstood.

Most of the glass is pretty much broken,
the wood is all scorched, the metal contorted.
All of its stays because my hand has spoken.

My room is a magical place replete with spirits and souls and little doors to inner-space.

It likes to listen to music, the scent of a dog... It begs to get ****** off a good Sensi fog.

My room inspires my hands to create...
Whether with torches or pencil, hammers or lathes.

I often ponder
what will become
of my room when I die?
Perhaps as I come back
to bid farewell....
I'll leave a piece of my soul to guard it at night