If you listen carefully, you will hear the waves:
come crashing at your feet
then ebb back to the ocean - in retreat.

With no will.
With no will.

And if you see carefully, you will see the waves:
rise up higher, in turmoil,
then be plain with the ocean - remain still.

With no will
With no will

And if you feel carefully, you will feel the waves:
wet your skin
then dry off

With no will
or so I believe

July 10, 2016

As he watched the skin slowly peel from the bones,
         he remembered his childhood.
   Memories of scraping his knees
         and being fascinated with the blood
      dripping down his leg.
All the times he carefully burned
         each leg off a spider
     and studied it closely
            as it died painfully.
The first birds squawks
        as he plucked out each feather individually
               then cut it open to see it's lungs
  slowly stop taking breaths.
           Practically in awe.
    But it wasn't enough.
    
Now
     As the man lays,
         barely alive and severely broken,
   on his basement floor,  
      he feels some extreme level of pride
that he's never felt before.

    It's like...
         The more death he can create in the world
    The more alive he can make himself feel.

Heaven wrote me a poem
In summers sun glow
The earth recited the words
In the sunlight below

The shout of the thunder
The kiss of sweet rain
The soft breeze in  my hair
To ease all of life's pain

The birds chirping  rhythm
The winds soft lament
The sounds of forrest
The songs of a life well spent.

When I look down
from a plane
and see the
foamy white
of day-clouds, &
imagine if
the birds can
hear me here,
I imagine this
thing
and another-
where you're
beneath these
patterns
and where I'm above
the sky
is there a sort
of way like a
cloud,
that I have no
perceived
beginning or an
ending?

With every whisper,
a smile ending the sentence.

You probably don't
want
to
see
me
on the
way up

but I have to say I'm
sorry
for
holding your ankle
for so long.