By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.

Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.

Hate is so hard to conquer, every single day
When half of my hate is sent my own way
Love is hard to acquire, when I lack a face
That keeps the pride to tie my own lace

I cannot wake up in the morning
With a valid reason
So, I bide my time adorning
My mind’s acts of treason
The seasons fly

And I will be conquered
Like a fly
Beholden to its scroll of anatomy
Dissecting its brother
And niece

And now I careen
Cajole myself
Into callow hedonism
Shallow as it may be
It is profound in its posture
And depraved at a glance

I will conquer the palms
With every ligament that moves
With every rotten tree groove
While my mother approves
I can only improve
My lonely psalms
The Qabalah balms

Music gives my eyes a tunnel and my mind the universe. This much I know and recite in verse- or, prose, well. However I may carry my words, they will do all frequencies a severe injustice. That is why I feel no need to describe the ether and the fluids that compose a tune. They simply are, anyone can perceive and dissect for themselves. The words, they serve to underline the story that an ear might not obtain from music. I aim to achieve a functional, symbiotic, conversational existence with these two chaps. One day, it’ll be great fun and my mind will sideflip its merry way through scrolls of papyrus and the speeches of lutes. Until then, it’s apparent and essential, necessary, to be trudging my forlorn way through the badlands of my cranium. Who knows? I may occasionally find myself an ardent hoodoo to comport my thoughts on. I will live for that and die for tomorrow. By increments, of course. I must believe that we’re not all imbeciles, here.

When in Bohemia, she screams about
Her pastures green, but not too loud
So never have I known, that the world listens too
As a comedian, I see she belongs
But never conforms, to the song of
This nomad world, I'm glad she found it too
So run! She wants to run again
You vagabond, you're well-spent

Bohemian tendencies says, “you can't stay long”
“These kinds of commons, you won't ever get along”

Armenian, it’s such a release
Materialistic animosity
The speed of life has no value, like dollar signs
I loved an alien, who dabbled in art
Of all visage, enema of the heart
Wanderer, she's spent so much but there's that bliss in the air
So smile! It's all sorts of worthwhile
To see a world and not fret so much

Bohemian tendencies says, “be spectacular
Before the nebula men steal your fur”

In the Caribbean, you dream a kite
As your taxi, you can't walk all the time
Travel hills of puce-mauve sands, the world in trance
A true deviant, the thinking of
All dreaming thoughts, and loves begot
Tinkerer, what will we do when our brains run dry?
Oh, no! Don't think about the end
To love a life in due pretence 

Bohemian tendencies says, “think fair, live now”
“The world is watching with distaste of time in doubt”

As a chameleon, should she go alone?
The world is cold, except for times in colour
Her world in dance, she'll do without me
When in Bohemian, the first I've seen
Of pastel stencils through her happi-
Ness-tled in her loft home of the wind
There she goes! Ain’t she a lovely wing?
I hope she finds a world that sings

Bohemian tendencies says, “to love and to hold
But to let go, for treasures can mold”

There she goes
There she goes
There she goes

New mildew mania, oh man-of-war
Live by the letter, and **** for the car
The dreamers, constrained by the fog they can’t see
I uttered this song in Breakaway Alley

A wandering blonde in the restless air
Their kids, half-afraid that they’re halfway to nowhere
Think what you may, they are not in a trance
Wield what they say and you’ll find that you dance

Upon every row, lies a flag waving by
Apartment gravestones kissing up to the sky
Now, must we try so hard for fake jubilee?
The happy ones live in Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is on the run

All the country crows, they’ve committed a crime
Each of their wings, flapping mad out of time
To fly with such freedom yet stay so cloudbound
Cacophonous sounds fighting for our own ground

The buds only look up for leviathans
To take them to the realm they misunderstand
To pity the fool that does not try to flee
We sit on our stools in Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has emptied the guns

The youth do not stir at the visage of hell
There is no romance in the streets’ calling bells
And while we may treat such a threat to be shown
The dagger of a mind is dull while unknown

The ravaged pretender spoke of the Romans
His gauntlets of gold, earned from fate’s happenstance
To escape his blood, he would face down the sea
The velvet hands shook in Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is due to be shunned

The eye of childhood feared the forgotten paint
They lay, unencumbered, on secular saints
The falsified folly in full leopard print
The troops in their trollies with pockets of lint

The radio is silent in time’s aging vice
We hear and don’t listen, bats spliced with mice
But maybe, you will see this sweet harmony
Remember the words of Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has finally gone

When the baby screams for the first time, aged five
Will it lament the loss of its life?
When the kids rear for a solution wherever you go
How much will it take to say “God, I’ll never know”?

Remember the words of Breakaway Alley
It’s not all you see, it’s not simply me

I've been waiting for a while
Waiting on the bus, lingering Acadia road
With stark canary smiles
Tires sliding south, piercing lights through the snow

The grouching driver smiled for a buck
But it wasn't my number, just his luck
The face mistook

The madmen piled on top of one another
Spitting stories of strenuous times
Though they complained about the weather
They would do so well to shine every dime

The bus came and noticed my suit
The others followed me in pursuit
Of their boots

I am happy looking at the snow
And only feeling through the cleanest window
But everybody's in a jiving craze
I'm amazed or maybe I'm enhazed
By the speed of streets
And my halted heat

The participants of equilibrium
Took attempts at a kinetic sleep
Instead they chant, in dulled delirium
And take a peek at their synthetic keeps

Neon lights and thinking, dancing strobes
Stamping all their prints into my lobe
As the traffic probes

The wolf in withered wool
Talked about the finest winter day at the start of fall
His owner pulled a spool
Out of her spine, turned it to money, aimed a gun at her own gall

People were aroused ‘till they were pale
And the snow took on the visage of hail
It had us all impaled

A preacher in the back carried the thrall
Of every play and soon denounced them all
Then every mind’s speed-o-meter broke
The bus in that moment served to provoke
The red lights have stalled
But I am simply staring at the wall

The beautiful marmalade-
Haired lady was a victim of the locks of fate
As the buses fade
Onto pavilions of blurs into oblivion’s gate

The passengers sink past another precinct
The districts become less and less distinct
Vision is extinct

The cosmic eye’s offspring
Held a mundane life of bounding over mounds of salt
They came off of spring’s
Offering and found the true, world-collective gestalt

They fret over the facets of fossils
They seek to shine on acrimonious ant-hills
Passion is distilled

The merriest of people lie in songs
And do not feel bothered to belong
But when the bus transitions to a train
The vindictive vain are doused in pain
Queens on their knees
In well-ragged fleece

The bellowing bell-maid
Rang a tune that sang the smells of Familiar Arabia
The sums that we all paid
Meant nothing at all as golden sands enshroud grey Acadia

The replicated people do not dwell
Or belong inside my newfound well
While they seek to sell

The curl-headed mind,
Kept and groomed by the spotted hand of mercury
Grabbed the leashes of the hind
And repeated tales of great Apollo’s century

In the prints on dunes, he has found
The journey and a lack of solid ground
His bounds make no sound

The beaming castle of the once-gestalt
The gardens of the sky that never halt
The market district full of jubilee
Perpetual and peaceful entropy

Once a fool to look into the past
Now he pays attention to the mast
Once entailed his failure to the sea
Perpetual and fleeting harmony

Now, we sway
Grasp your every day

She smells of the ink that broke grounds anew
His skin, like the paper, passed from me to you
They spoke of that era, intimately gone
The children waited for their dance in the sun

Their biggest statues were products of their times
Five years of longing, and two of moonlight
They speak of a tongue under deep scrutiny
They wither to write and that simply can’t be

These Paperbound Heroes surrendered their souls
So that which they speak can never be controlled
Each one lingers about in a leaping house
Their structure of thymes, their words of coals

Do not forsake them for long

A dreamer bedridden to some old device
His mind of electricity kept out the lice
They’ll take your deep pockets and show you your heart
What “folly’, what “fool” will bring about a start?

The capes and the crosses, and their simple times
Where one could live free without begging a dime
They can’t save us from the books where they’re bound
But it is enough that these stories resound

These Paperbound Heroes sacrificed their souls
To fill what’s within, the new century’s hole
Each leaps about like a larking mouse
Their stature of crime, their works of tolls

They won’t follow for long

Where are the beat-down, the colleagues with crowns?
The always around, knowing what’s going down
The knowledge-filled lungs in the smoke-filled rooms
An idle guitar, the ideas to groom

The poets and dead-beats that you spit upon
Welded our worlds, those vast vagabonds
Vain as they are, rough as they come
The smallest of pawns are still parts of the sum

These Paperbound Heroes, they silvered their souls
In pure desperation to decry the poll
They lark about in the loneliest house
Their stolen rhymes, their worn-out goals

They are forever strong

The boy in the bed, well he wrote for a while
He was transfixed by the drawn, timeless smiles
So who’ll be the one that will get in his way?
And trivialize every word he will say

The girl with the gun chose to lay her arms down
She chose to cease with such visceral sound
I believe they’re happily married today
It is bittersweet to throw oneself away

These Paperbound Heroes are weary and sold
Their grasps so that they may simply grow old
But if you fret that they belong in their house
In due time, the kids will grow into their soles

Move forward with your song

In the velvet screening of the midday
I found something funny to say
I recall its principle, man it was whimsical
But then came the friar in black

He said, “I hope we can reject you a crowning
Hope it didn’t rot within your morning
This is all proleptical, simply reciprocal
We’ll store the proof of it on a rack”

Then!

Here comes Auderre with the stupefying stare
Sauntered like a soul with a sultry smell
How could I not see her audaciously
Luring me into the well?

She said,
“I’ll repeat a story- it is vaguely auditory-
Of the cellar in my room
I kept myself well groomed
Like a baby to the mind”

“Take dutiful care, for to repair’s to impair
So sit rather comfy for now
We’ll whiten you yet, somehow
Make your gears grind”

Here comes Auderre with the stupefying stare
Woke me with the pull of a morning bell
How could I not see that she’s into me?
It only happened after I fell

Through the afternoon of the Cornwall grind
The whitewalls spin in time
My lady is redacted through a codeine flow
And the syntaxation starts to go

Here comes Auderre
                                  Oh, she looks like hell
  I can’t see
                                                  I fell

A genie working on a 9 to 5
Faces telling him to stay alive
Oh no, no!
It is the freakiest show
Their devils sleeping under their bed
But they've got him on house arrest
Oh, why
Are we so eager to try?

Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it bad
Just like your dress this predicament is just a fad

Hey, little gender-****** 
Watch for return to sender
Make sure you're by the coast
That's where they'll love you the most
No time for entitlement
Your words are sentient
Trade a board for a pen
We don't need no citizen

I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Play them anything
Show us something

A kid jumped off of the rooftops
To make his way safely to the candy shop
Oh, how
Do people notice a house?
The wise fool begged in the biggest square
They put him in the alley and they listened there
Oh, when
Did they do the "paper-bend"?

Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it all
This crass crusade will surely stop at the nearest shopping mall

Here comes the space heater
With a 9 millimetre 
People say he's colour blind
Who's court, his or mine?
The joke from the chieftain 
Is that he's a Bohemian
Who you are is never born
Gotta start out forlorn

I got a secret 
I want you to spread it
Dance in the streets
Trust your heartbeat

If you are deaf, well, we all feel what we've gotta say

No one to take heed
Just wait, for I’m too far along
My time is fleeting
In a cascade that longs
No one’s up here anymore
There’s no leaves to hide the storm
Everyone here has their hides
I never had the time to grow mine

Don’t leave man, don’t leave ma
I’m not obliged to act my best
Don’t leave man, don’t go ma
I’m not ready for your God’s test

No one here that thinks
Perhaps I’m far too low
Indulging in my stature
Yet forced into a thatcher
No one offers a coat
I must know myself by rote
I mean, I really do believe
That I’m almost sure to stay

Perhaps there’s a choice
Too high to see the way

Don’t leave man, don’t leave ma
I’m not ready to act my best
Don’t leave man, don’t leave ma
I’m not ready for God’s test

I think I’m awful cruel
To choose who I can love
I’m the greatest fool
I’ve never seen what lingers above

Someone ought to be
Farther gone than me
Perhaps they can show me
What’s yet to be seen

God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help
God ought to help

“Congratulations
You managed being five feet above the ground”
Said a man who
Can’t contain a slight, sardonic sound
The situation:
He’s reading eating magazines from the coast of Spain
And yelling himself blue
For the jeepney won’t hurry in the pouring rain

He smashed his head on the glass
Wishing for a train
It nearly cracked / but his
New cadence sounded quite sane

“Congratulations
You took five before you smoked the first one down”
Said a man who
Complimented me for sinking above the ground
“It’s estimation
I might trip before a wheel enters our lane”
I yelled the truth
At this moment, his presence started to stain

A boat that had already passed us
Yelled, “All aboard!”
We weren’t sure it would float
But it had a great deal of cords

Then we clambered on
There was a myriad of golden spades
Two for every buried fool
That was forced to stay
The stench was concealed
By the satisfied old man
A woman muttered
That she was headed to Queensland

A driver viciously flung his arms
Into the air, in apt alarm
The intersection’s volley
Aimed for the starboard
Everyone reached for the mast,
Hoping to soar

“Congratulations
You nodded off before the lights started to blare”
Said a man who
Lied, ostentatiously impaired
I’m at the station
Then, I noticed to my side was a golden *****
I dug myself through
The mahogany and got on with my day
In the rain

In Venus' starlight
I see my own dear fright 
I see your reflection
Seeping into the night

In Venus' starlight
Hush, the moon opens its ear
The stars are shy, yet they shine
They'd rather you don't come near

In Venus' starlight
We're breathing all just the same
The stars align their scars
And call you by your last name

Bigots, believers, bovinity
Strike asunder your centrality
Denouncers, dreamers, gazerby
There's so much more than a wispy sky
The starmen await your ears

In Venus' starlight
Look away to lunar dreams
Mineral profit in rocks
An efficient plague, it seems

In Venus' starlight
Forget about notions of greed
Explore on behalf of your race
If escape is of no need

In Venus' starlight
The sand takes a dramatic pose
The trees, deceitful, the cattle are poisoned
The spaceboys are speaking in prose

What you don't believe, is always out there
Until you have felt its absence like air
You've not seen it all, you won't see it then
It’s all you've got, so look, fool, look!
You’ve read it in a book

Willow
Like a stark, marmalade tree
Carry your grasp to me
Your bedside river, warm and soft
Leading to a loft

Willow
The green blinds in the room
Paint a path for the sun monsoon
And here, the world fits inside a frame
Holds you and a cherry lane

Blankets under our heads
I’ll paint what time has seen
The clock has fled
To entropy

Willow
Keep me in your eye

The sky will quake
The neighbours rake
And I, in your wake

The chariot men will have lost
When the world is frost, I’ll be under you

Willow
The arch of an ancient tower
The bells of a dawning hour
I wrote it in my sleep
Hoping it all seeps

Willow
We’ll grow old with our brigantine
On planetary seams
Morning, diurnal moon
Don’t wake too soon

Trinkets over our eyes
A screen of sateen
The past speaks loud
With doubt

Window, open
Leaves fly through

The sun, it bends
The world extends
But I’ll find you again

Hum the words, engrain the worldsands
In the hand of time, you’ll meet me in golden lands

When the room has grown a skydome
I will leave it, knowing that you are safe at home

Canvas blank, canvas green
I loved an open cardboard sea
Lips are hushed in saccharine
Or cracked under the winter fee

I’ve obtained an ear for life
A taste for wisps of scattered sounds
Gone is every sacred strife
That licks my heel like hagged hounds

I’ve an eye that meets a bed
Where I lay down to breathe sincere
I’ve no limits in my stead
Nor the hatred for a mirror

The eyes of day drinking the night
The moon as a sun
Waning joy in the warmest July
The cries of no one

The hand of day draining the night
The moon acting red
Waning clouds, crows that can’t fly
The man in the bed

How long must we stare at the clocks to lengthen our time?
How livid must we try to be to soften our crimes?

The veins of day defended the night
The maddening streets
Galavant boys gather to buy
The pains from bed sheets

The bones of day deepened the night
The mad and their speech
Given to garner an eye’s early buy
The throne of the leech

How well must we mark our path to forget the day?
How lonely must we try to be to believe what we say?

The ears of day demanded the night
The stagnant drifter
Venting smoke and violent sighs
The doubtful thinker

The heart of day deluded the night
The stagnant as one
Must it take such a colour to save the sky
From the forever sun?

How well must you fight to survive alone?
How many tries do you have for the perfect headstone?

I cannot state in good faith
That we were built for the human race
Who can spit and stand for that?
Bobcats and Confucians
Living through palpitations
And making love, wearing hardhats

Here’s the bran for the land
That took the bus in the freezing rain
Never planned to understand
The chastity of the impaled, all refrain
Someone must have prayed for such a fate

Curse the man who discovered that
Anyone who gives is a fading fad
Give me some empathy
Not some methamphetamine
It hurts enough to read the new design

Who wields the cannon?
And shall we give him a medallion?
Or risk a wilting, flying flag?
All grains are equal
All stain the feeble
All ride a boneless, brazen stag

Here’s the sermon in white
Clothed and baptized in grapes
Making light of the sight
That was stolen from a clothed and ragged ape
Someone must have narrowed their gate

Curse the woman who recalled
The pews as barren shower stalls
Give me an embassy
Or obsequity
Apathy straddles the razor line

Where’s the loss and who shall cross
The line of consummated minds?
Whose ink will sign the secular floss?
No one’s bred to live for death
Or bequeathed eternity
Who are we to elongate our breath?

We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past

Here I find myself
In a semblance of an assembly
A spineless lizard
Lazing with a sheet
He tells me sweet acrimonies
About balancing his shelves
Appoints himself a wizard
Over anybody else

Tells me of obligations
Within a life on parole
Upholds his occupation
In an insulated hole
Bestows us something he don’t hold
And demands we give it back
Sanctifies the mold
That is soon to shape our tracks

Hollow hands for thankless kings
That pull no gratitude
He wears a tune he doesn’t sing
Dares to worry of our food
He patronizes a choir
He grasps the open sea
And says “I have the fist of salt
That will lead to unity”

Coddles us like Cain
Treats this brick like a stable
Life doesn’t drive in lanes
Elastic minds are able
If you’ve gone to deride us
You wear it on your form
Don’t brave an iron suit
You don our skin, Norm

You read your your books on nature
You’re bred to expect rain
Yet waste a breath to nurture
Some other person’s reigns
Dread a life that keeps you well-
Beholden to the rule:
That life is tethered to a bell
Engulfed in packless mules

The plaques have realized
That degrees aren’t built for learning
They’re pleased to be earning
There’s no point in yearning
If your mind’s quickly burning

Page sticks to oneself; indentations upon indentations. Soon, it will all- or perhaps later?- it will all homogenize into a gestalt; a brain. Then, not long after that Exodus of the Neurons ™, the piece of wood will reanimate, shaking my hand and fishing for planets simultaneously, like any other sentient being that remains aware of the dome domain above us (or adjacent to?)
This is no performance, it is mere proof that my stimulant is optimal, that I breathe with vigour in my feet and weight in my fingers. It is a display of my gradual decay, foretelling the prognosis that I dare not utter: what can I do if I fall under Alzheimer’s heel? What then? Will I forget of the paragraph that I had just written beforehand? This pen, will it treat every word as a home to rest its riches in? This vagrant of a fool, he must remember his treads, the soles of the people that have led him to wherever he’s gone. What is the Joker without inspiration? What is a dancer without awareness? What is a figure without substance?

In the event of me writing
And that fool’s subsequent passing
There will be word, tied tight like a rope
Exhumed slightly, the “oscilloscope”

It is a fleeting word that I grapple with
Clumsily, with pink convulsions as accompaniment
I know not what brought it, what it ever did
But it hardens in my brain like like nostalgic cement

The sentiment is where I strain it through
The dream that conquers my starving brain
The word that stirs a visceral brew
The dance of the neurons, and their thinker, estranged

It is under a glass ceiling, this electric swing
Where the Oscilloscope Orchestra comes to play
Their transparent tools and conceptual strings
(Through and) In the oscilloscope, for their incessant days
The masked marionette cuts the air into pie
Wave wielders gape through their saccharin sighs
The stringists and streamists play the Forever Sky
Wave-waked comics turn the egg of the eye

Its proper definition eludes my intuition
The time of its birth, closely distant to mind
It may be a device, or a conception of my vision
Or the gestaltic train of my cyclical grind

An oscilloscope sees the passage of time
Through electric currents of a lost frequency
I’m glad and amazed that
I rhymed with the finger of a poet
And could show it through the arms of a mime
Without the immaculate depravity to know it
These conclusions are married to time

I’ll aspire to thank my thought-crime
For my ignorance can unveil the sea

The grasp of space expands, the seer
Holds my own pleasures, my frigid frights
Despite galaxies tasted, I still feel near
To Alpha Centauri, and your blue world's sight
But hide me away, beneath milky waves
For my shame could span a system twice
In Sirius' twilight, I'll spend my days
Away from my dearest darling

My dear Virgo, if I could tell you my pain
Of speaking in tongues that shake death’s hand
Then I would still be holding you in the rain
But now, rain is small, and the void is grand
From the rings of Jupiter, is this apology much?
Because now, I am drifting farther away
Distracted by the likes of explosions and such
I must keep my sins lost in the skybay

These ventures, I will scream of, to the cherry beyond
Of saccharine sights and flavourful dreams!
For surely, no soul knows what's going on
In the falls of Carinae, it’s as beautiful as it seems
Here, it is bliss to wither away
This is not light and I do not sing
I am silent amidst waning supernovae
Vague senses of sinister, near Andromeda's ring

A beautiful lie it is, the Pillars of Creation
For they have crumbled millennia ago
My beautiful sunset, unseen causation
Dead for a time, before you have grown
Hell will break loose in your sky
And that world will know what beauty brings
I have been left to the twilight's *****
Now, I tire of looking at dead things

Dead things before, dead things again
Galaxies will collide anew
I tire of the cosmos repeating in vain
Along the tides of space, shall I come back to you?
I send you this postcard from GN-z11 
How have you been? How have you aged?
Have you missed me, as I dangled in havens
Or did time miss me only for a day?

It does not matter, I'm coming home!
I will shed my wings in due delight!
I believe I will adjust to your blue dome
The universe, finally away from sight
No more will I be a valiant flea
A simple life, I'd love with you
A yellow hut, rested by the sea
Skipping with my sunshine, on a bayou

Dearest Virgo, we will look at the stars
We will see dead things, and they'll twinkle in your eyes
I'll speak of light, talk of galaxies afar
And we can laugh about how we are mice
I’ll look up and test the waters
And it will remain a lustrous view
Ominous as it is, in a perennial saunter
I would not miss such bliss, for then, I'd miss you

Across the galaxy, I'll make my way back
You will be waiting, as I find beaten tracks
I'll ask, "could the universe love me as much as you do?"
You'll say, "alien, my love is only of truth."

I dream of a master, a conqueror who roams
Leading an army of half-empty drones
Ambitions begotten yet souls abolished
Tongues ripped apart and spiders come polished
A realm of no living, dying, only dreaming
The fruit of the mind, the only place worth breathing
Sand is our time, no clock to betray
Our perception under the universe's display

I dream and I know of a very tall castle
Set in the centre of all worlds, all cattle
I conjure my brothers and sisters, they scream
Of human emotions, long-lost and redeemed
I have laid out my tools to carry my life
To settle the dreaming, the abominable strife
The sand to blow into my children's nights
The mask to conquer hell's realm-less frights

Though I may never walk among you again
I will be happy, remembered, well-spent
And you may live on in the real life we wonder
Where dilated truth, reaching the deep sea and under
I will be eons yet I shall be young
And you may age until kingdom come
For all the living, may I rest your soul
Into the land of dreaming, the years in our control

Shall you want a sea? Should you need the moon?
I pluck from our minds, your life is festooned
I am the passenger you never knew
I am the redeemer that dreamed of you
I will hold strong, for millennia and more
In this dreamless castle of endless doors
Disenchantment is no oddity
For I am the mind’s great commodity

So I am not broken, nor sad, nor begging
I am just tired from eons of dreaming
Sustaining a love that the void must embrace
And merely waved off by the human race
My tongue evolving, yet bitter and dry
No dream could change my saliva and lice
Eat away, for your demons, I feel
O blood, o mama, o touch of cold steel

Death, my sister, why must you succeed?
For all our life, you only plant your seed
So many plagues that I must heal
Countless nomad tears concealed
Our time will come, whence the world will sleep
And no single being will move or sweep
We will fall into eternal slumber
Later awoken by a cascading number

So maybe, I see, that we will carry on
Manifested as gods, manifesting the dawn
And as I see the races die
I can't help but see all of you as flies

I dream of a master, and it is me
I walk down an aisle of obscurity
You will dream until it exceeds your breath
And kneel to the teeth of almighty Seth
Then you shall fly briskly to oblivion
With images falling from your pavilion
Your last breath is put through me

And now, see all you can see
Be happy

The endless reaches for you, my long-dead dreamer
I will send you off into that goodnight
And you will be safe

The best meal is the footsteps of the mind
And the rips in the skies
The lambasting birds in broadway binds
Not sweetened plum pies

The cellophane ramparts of a crystalline bastion
That holds the amazing, The Marmaduke
The taste of the air in seconds’ worth of fashion
Or the ascetic bees and loft-headed kooks

If you could touch nourishment with a brush
Would you fill the air with jubilee?
If you could fill yourself when the crowd is hushed
Would the minutiae meet the sea?

You’ll fasten yourself on the evergreen dew
And trod many miles with verbal leaps
You’ll break yourself even to stay somewhat true
And put forth a clown when cities stay steep

Your tentacles grow with freedom of abandon
And reflect on the mirror nailed to the dormant
Mind the stage closely, the one which you stand on
Or the remotely held moniker: “Thoughtful Abhorrent”

You’d be so lucky to forget where you live
To excite yourself with endless corners
To pay no heed to perception’s borders

New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits

She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair

Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East

She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel

Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year

What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command

The churning *** keeps my family one
The fog of delight hides us from the sun
A taste of complacence to keep me compliant
Frames of despair keep the hallways’ alignment

This battleship lands in Australia for now
And burns its own flag along with sundown
The captain is weak, the crewmen have perished
The telescope frowns when it scans the cherished

The cook yells, “My, with the onions, I cry!”
The maid is convinced,by her use of lye,
That this is a happy crew of the sea
Where everyone’s something to puke except me

I stayed on the bridge with a knife in my eye
The pensive maiden disarms with a sigh
Here lies the painting of a family brew
The mirror, indifferent of me, is true

Metal footsteps of a boy led blind
The chef and the captain maintain their grind
And thrive in contrivance of a world kept stable
Where all the rules lie in the food of a table

The boy has been strung across the bridge, politely
And left to a tool of love, coded tightly
There is nothing in the night’s facade of blue
I’m a ***** to the smell of the ship-crew’s stew

The sky is on a walking stick
Thanks to our antics
Vestiges of eras lost
To the pangs of earthly frost

If God has brushed it so this way
Then we will stir it faster
If nature captures what we say
Are we not the master?

If life has all been scoured
What should be made of entropy?
The sky must be another coward
Like the ever-whiling sea

What would I be without my face?
Beautiful
What would I be if I was suspended in the air?
Free
What if I am bound by a noose?
I am of the people
What if I cannot move?
I am a monument
What of my father, my mother?
They will remember me
What of my riches?
They will crumble into human hands
What resides within this house?
Support beams
What resides within this mind?
A self-mutilating home
Where is the concrete in the eye?
Evaporated within an institution
Where is the adhesive in the hand?
Eviscerated by intuition
Who is the soul that carries this paper?
That holds no weight, like the act of breathing

09-24-2018

Caterwauls, there are oodles of pain in that puddle of solidarity. Reverberating through the halls is my independence, which flies past, teasing no string for anyone.
“Does…..”
“Does it fly too high for us?” asks the child.
“I’m afraid so.” yearns the older child.
Perhaps that is the cruel face of our inauguration into life. That stage we wear out our soles on is a facsimile of our minds; just a perfect portrait in a frame of time. We can’t trust ourselves to measure the constructs in our towering caves. The universe is a disservice to the neurons, the sky bridges that have our grey matter endowed.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s a big thing to grasp, but we’ll soon grow into it. I think we ought to believe that. I might leave some people behind. Are you okay with that?
Everyone here has to grow to such a height where they may accept their own speed, where the velocity of their footsteps is made apparent and remarkable. This note must end now, but you’re sure that I’ll be back, aren’t you? I know you are, you must be. This should be enough, you know. Time comes for everyone in erratic bursts, and it deserts one like a vagrant.

Thunder shattered lightning o’er the moor
The hoarse women spoke of what’s to come
Beneath the set of sun, they adjure
The fated, bloodied fool of the kingdom

Written here is an early epitaph
Of the golden well and its fall
The order’s domain, once in paragraphs
Stained, slain and cursed by its thrall

The Captain of the ministry of peace
His bloodied steel, speaking of some rage
The fires hung, the creases on their knees
The pawn, the hero, of a noble gauge

Major Mylland and General Barnow
Emptied their guns and scarred their bones
A rebel slain, the traitor thane in tow
Mylland rested on a stolen throne

They stumbled on the old women of fate
Who knelt and spoke of riches yet to come
For them and their own kin, a golden gate
They fled with a quick tongue of costly sums

These men, taken aback by many a dream
Mylland’s fate, it seemed to serve him well
The sinister truths have given him royal seams
How close to hell must one want themselves?

King Dunwell heard of Cornell’s dead
Cried out freely, by his silvered son
The thane confessed, now less a man by the head
With the fall of boys, came ****** won

Mylland and Barnow were revered
With carpets of sand and diamond busts
It was heir Mnaleer, the son he feared
Shall Mylland be a king, return him to dust?

The silhouette of the once-great gestalt
And its walkways of emerald tongue
In thickened, wary blood it found its halt
And rides in the pocket of fate’s lung

Lady Mylland received a letter
From her love, who did not take the reins
Unsexed herself as the cosmic order’s debtor
Duly indulged in some gain from pain

Dunwell arrived on the palest day
Praised the charms of the seething Myllands
In this jovial banquet, he sways
And greets the ravaged likes of ****** hands

Mylland caught himself and his drink
And sought to render prophecies untrue
But his wide did not fall for meek links
And spat on Mylland’s wishes to rue

He happened upon Barnow, who would tell
Of cursed thoughts and nightmares neighbouring
His pillow, Mylland shrugged and claimed all’s well
And set a later time for his flings

Mylland happened upon a floating blade
The blood stained air beside a shaken mind
With reflections, his cowardice fades
Promptly adheres to his calling’s binds

The blow to shake the sun, committed then
Perpetual stains that water can’t wipe
Murdered was the sleep of the kin
The loyal, now chained to the void’s gripe

A drunken porter named Bazeleu
Mocked the visitors outside his door
Drank and whispered of a distilled dew
Droopily continued his chore

Mygdla, a righteous fighting man, walked in
And greeted his hollow heart, a vicious sight
The blood of kings that dwelled within
He called an echo of the kingdom’s blight

Sons of the king, Mnaleer and Delireey
Sought to flee from miming as a home
With sharpened smiles and daggers, merrily
They escaped from corruption's shattered dome

Mylland, granted a crown by all and none
Broke the stationary cosmic hierarchy
It brought eyeless nights and blood-red suns
Oh, to find oneself in fleeting patriarchy

But he grew weary of the women’s words
Anxious of Barnow and his kingly son
Should they rule, or be ash under his sword?
Now Barnow rots, his child meekly runs

On the finest feast of the night
Mylland’s sins appeared in tattered rags
The dead Barnow, a ghost, a visage, a blood-addled sight!
The guests fled with his sanity in bags

In his rage and royal dissatisfaction
He duly had Mygdla’s family maimed
The truest, newest colour of his deluded faction
Of one man, shall comeuppance be his bane?

Mygdla, in righteous fury and despair
Sought revenge and gathered men of war
And found Mnaleer in hopes to repair
Their lost purpose, ****** be Mylland’s scar

Lady Mylland talked into her pillows
Asleep of the dreaming, newfound dread
Of her guilt of fate, she would bellow
Dead is the heart of the pierced head

Mygdla’s forces came in forceful stride
The sweeping vanguard of the vengeful eyes
They walked as trees to the kingdom sides
Sharpened their resolve for due demise

Mylland pondered on a hollow throne
A fruitless crown and a plastic sceptre
Relied on fate’s dubious loans
And found his wife’s visage, now a still spectre

Tomorrow, tomorrow is to never come
For life is foolish, with its voices and vice
He steeled himself for his solitary kingdom
His shield, a shining rut of chance’s dice

The smoke and fire, war rages true
Screams followed by screams of vain quarrel
With Mygdla’s entrance, vengeance shall ensue
And hereby comes the full fool’s final peril

Mylland and Mygdla clashed with rage
Mylland fell to his vaulting ambition
Mylland’s head, severed by the closing page
Mylland’s final breath of his mind’s attrition

Mnaleer became king
The people, overjoyed
Merrily sing
Of the ceasing void

This was the story of the Whirligig Well
The beaming gestalt, the golden land
The dew of morning, drank after hell
A sempiternal bond to fate’s twisted hand

Take heed, take heed!
These are malleable times
Purposeful places
Stringed pages

October 30th

Words, word, and the futility of such
Or true appeal in sectioned rhymes of madness
Like Beethoven composing Blade Runner
In the midst of blue helicopter gunners

Spectator chemicals eviscerate my brain
Educationally desensitized to what I'm trained
To do, or to scream in pools of rubidium
And call back to poems of delirium

In my shelter, so deep in my room
White peroxide liquid, mangled and groomed
My heart is aqueous, love
I'm shaped by the "god-like" lingerin' 'bove

Net equation and sums enter my ear
Therefore finding themselves on paper peers
Lectures or cantankerous, droning drawls
They taste like a slave's righteous crawl

Balance life like a panther and its prey
With elegant trickles remarking on the day
And unconcievable drawings, moving fro'
The Worldwill pukes to what I sow

There is no question, this isn't one
Verses are futile under the sun
But rhyme is priority, thus authority

Digestible, like wood covered in yellow sugar
And blue butter, counting with a Cockney clock
Arrogant as he is, he smiled at her
Tick tock, and the flock is shocked
Petty Betty blessed her daughter
Loved her well 'till the police caught her

Thought-streams, and the working of the mind
Like the asymmetric butterflies of the Sistine Chapel
       Oh, believe me! That's how my brain grinds
Where the world can equate to an apple
Paper on a finger, vice versa, so long
As I can keep track of Sing's King Kong

Pink-headed jubilee in old Manila
Killing time violently on the stairs
Remember the words of mouths of vanilla
And be sure to never stare
I talk to myself and tell myself nothing
Soon, over the morn', I will be nothing

A discolouration of the world you knew
The sun is so few and far between
The walls are palettes that have grown on to you
And your urban heart, not a single green

The bedroom, your refuge, the cellar, your home
The lamps and all mirrors, coerced into fear
Despite unread letters, you don’t look so alone
Is it your talks to the wall, or someone so dear?

Dearly, so, but not close to side
For this house is alone, but creatures down under
So where is your dear, your dream-sunken bride?
Are you living out on pastel pictures sundered?

For your eyes are colourless, yet hers so vibrant
Yes, there is more to a festival than the full moon
So close your eyes, fool, don’t be so stagnant
Only in dreams, can you bloom

But when I woke, tears coloured my view
To have and to hold, and to lose to flight!
I fall asleep again every passing hour
To escape, I grow vacant with every passing night

In the cellar, my home, I miserably belong
And fate would never have it any other way
But secretly so, I still dream, and I long
Of a forest outside, where colours take place

Orange lights in District Naught
The blues and browns sigh a shot
Runner reds and timid towns
Are weeping

Shame over what was sown
To exist in all unknowns
A self-given name
To hop over mountains

Dreaming in Burgundy
Must now be somebody
Oh!

Fleeting, Fleeting
Fleeting, Teeming

Limbic lights follow sheets
Of cruising clowns on the street
Nomad beds and vivid crowns
Are sweeping

Stand over District Joy
Join the sun convoy
This drifter came
From mountains for love’s fountain

Fleet-footed Carnaby
Must now be entropy
Oh!

Breathing, Breathing
Breathing, Feeling

He walked into the bar, a buzz in the corner
With fists upon each other
A self-appeaser, a demonizer
With a picture of Christ in the corner

A ****** posing as a mannequin
For the lost kids from the suburbs
A rockstar singing testimonies 
To its significant others

Careful, they might criticize your point of view

Its just the neons and gutters
The mundane-marveled life
The signs only omit what you realize
Its how we deal with each other
Its how we share our beds
With the promise that we're stars, no less
Its not a sign

Radio beats on null-head streets
And monotonous synchronizing
People pummel oil drums
Emphasize on heavy flooding

The local drug store is the place
For sanity verification
Latex gloves deem what we'll find
In the underbelly of this nation

Careful, they might criticize your point of view

Its just the neons and gutters
The written, free life
We see it all, but thats not realized
Why do we act as fodder?
Its how we share our beds
With the promise that we'll come back to a caress
Its not a sign

I'm not you, you're not me
I've no clue, maybe that's alright
I love peace, you hate war
We clash heads, maybe that's alright
I'm getting paid, you're a star
I don't bother, maybe that's alright
I've got kids, you're alone
We're all doomed, maybe that's alright

We'll be fine
We're divine
We've no crimes
We save our dimes
We keep time
We'll be fine

Here is the machine in pure alkene
A V2 bride needs azide
Sapiens smog for analog
The old anew, what's it to you?
Tritium
Initium

Initium
Tritium
What's it to you? The old anew
Analog to sapiens smog
Dreams azide, for the V2 bride
Pure alkene in the God Machine

I slept rather roughly in the coldest fall
Then I heard a raven starkly call
“You thought of her as you went to bed
But its merely minutes before she’s fled”

Amidst electric tongues and serpent eyes
I perused the room for alibis
Good friends and company, I do not stir
The reflections remain as one of her

Drunken rooms and worn-out talks
Dew of dawn brazenly knocks
I did not try to catch her eye
So there’s no harm in saying goodbye

I remember the friends that I made in a blur
But if that is returned, I’m not sure
I have not had enough to stall my mind
There is a happy dance I wish to find

The tastes of love and camaraderie
Fall like a cold blanket upon me
Seek solutions like stars under purple nights
And wish for our bed below to give us flight

As familiarity escapes
Every itch will take its shape
Into a conversation, you can smile and lie
So there’s no harm in saying goodbye

What’s done is past, but who’s to say it’ll wait
To turn itself into harmless fate?
I’ll imagine times where I knew them before
And lose myself so I can know them more

The scents of youth often try to bloom
And yet she stands softly in the room
Past rambled gawks, uttered, muttered slurs
She will not know that I dream to be hers

As faces race behind the door
There is no one here anymore
She has no memory of me tonight
So there’s no harm in saying goodbye

I will ask tomorrow’s vices to wait
And stay at the porch of morning’s gate
Oh, to sleep with an arm inside the pocket of your mind
Oh, I refuse and confess I fear to find

What’s left of my painting as night’s drawl drones
The image shown is of the travel home
The foolish thoughts lay on the floor in knots
I never asked for what I never brought

The sun is duly calling me
I beckon at her waving sea
October is not far from July
So there’s no use in saying goodbye

Happiness is in the sun
Wholesome as a loaded gun
Happiness is in the mail
With a pseudo-guarantee that it’ll be stale

Happiness is hygiene
A clean-luck living without caffeine
Happiness is your home
And the right man’s job that we should know

If it wastes itself on you
Well you know what you have to do
Paint it on a fan
Hop in the caravan

Happiness is in the sun
Real as surreal or an eight-mile run
Happiness is in the mail
Shipped to the coast by a gale

Happiness is hygiene
Waking up to the morning sheen
Happiness is your home
Stable as a steady quote

If it fits itself on you
Well you know what you’re not to do
Show it down in stride
Smile real wide

Smile real wide
Smile real wide
Smile real wide

May he submit his truest fear?
The kind that withers into one's spine
For all his ventures, and all his colour
There is one thing he could not find

Would you guess, and play this game of man?
Trivialize him into a fact, or a song!
Fruitless, you will be, unlike his mind
He could not bear your answer for long

You see: he flies and he is well
He sees: only flies and bothersome dreams
You see: his ventures as a lonely dust
He sees: his truth, which is not as it seems

Truth, the obsolete, the sordid word
For it claims to deny anything but
You hang on to it, to define the worlds
That he wrote himself, like the galaxy's mutt

So you scream, and you *****, for the words that he sold
To portray him well, out of lust or pity
"The Caricature of the New Age Think"
The medium is lost, for a name in the city

So they'll point their fingers, at the primary antagonist
Of itself, the life it chose out of need
For what is one's purpose in some long-gone galaxy
When it writes for humans, when it needs to feed?

IT is longing, and IT is impossible
But tangible enough, to know of it's shame
That it was not born where and how it desired
So it manifests into me, and I am duly blamed

"I am restrained, and that's of no concern"
I will sell that line to give it sense
For friends smile bright and they mean well enough
Even if I must live with petty pretence

Is that truth? Well surely it is
You read it well, and I suffered to write
If it is art, and you are captivated
Then this is my closest to a star, and this is my blight

So, do you know my truest fear?
The dying of the word
The contradiction of truth
The self-denial of who I must be
The forgetting of my adventures
The extinction of my art
All to myself, only myself

Let you know a story of the sweepers
They were no fools, they did not take the weeper
Every dime they made
They built their own brigade

She tinkered on, she did, the sulky sailor
He dreamt another job, the timid tailor
Surely, they’ll cross paths
Where the money’s at

A fantastic sail
Carried by a gale
Gallop down the windpipe
Of the sea-coloured stripes

The beggar found his riches off the starboard
We reach for that which we can never afford
A sandy rune in time
Our happy, crooning crimes

When pruning eyes quickly peruse the wheel
The boy quickly rises to show his seal
Beyond comprehension
Beyond condescension

Do away with looking glass
Steel your ship with trumpet brass
The world will only sway for you
If you take heed and start to move

A fantastic sail
Carried by a gale
Gallop down the windpipe
Of the sea-coloured stripes

When they reached the land they became meek
The weary scrambled to seek out the creek
To drown their riches in
And start alone again

Is it such a crime they are now strangers?
Fast and loose, when you befriend for flavour
They hold the memoir
They know that they’ve come far

The fantastic sail
Carried by the gale
They galloped down the windpipe
Of the sea-coloured stripes

The fool headed out with his heart
Checked over his shoulder for time
He wore a cigarette apart
And witnessed a rhyme
Quickened steps on New York streets
Greetings with a shaky hand
He says, “I fancy myself a deadbeat,
Nobody understands"

The fool played for his life in a bar
Stuttered every line with tension
He was everybody’s car
He worked for the pension
A mind of a kinetic brand
An isolationist caress
What's ****** into his hands
May put him among the rest

He’d be a shell to sell what is on his mind
But it’d be so bold if he sold his thoughts and time
Are the crows encumbered on his twitching tail?
Or were you so cruel to hang them up in hail?

He quickly made a tune for a boon
A derelict with a short fuse
The vain throw pity at the loons,
Who are their muse
Looking for a piece of a mind
Anything but his own
Travels in time, just to find
He can dine on the throne alone

The foil flailing on the wall
Fooling him to wail and write
Then the train of a mind stalls
Into the ceaseless night
“Write me well and write me to love”
The papers on the bookshelf say
Won’t you push them when they come to shove,
And seize that day?

You’d be a shell to sell to sell what is on your mind
But you’d be so bold if you sold your thoughts and time
Are the crows encumbered on your twitching tail?
Did the gabardines’ golden boy finally fail?

You desperately wanted to be sought
Yet you did not want to hang off the peak with a knot
Maybe you will try to linger on
And scream in streets when every chance is gone

Jerry Estrel was a kook
He marked his grounds with white chalk
Proclaimed to be neighborhood Duke
He made a throne out of cinder blocks

His mother seems small, dreams tall
She once swayed and threw it away
She drove over his basketball
Wept and locked herself in her promenade

Jerry gave a perplexed look
She's only been like that once
When his father died, she read his book
And duly took home his dozen buns

Mother held rings ever tight
And dreamt her child to be rich
His grandest birthday gift in sight
Her wallet, merely a stitch

She dug in her mouth and cried,
"I'm sorry my son, I lied"
He says,
"Ma, I just want a harmonica for my birthday"

Jerry was of an old soul
Wrote in mad spells to sell
With light years within his control
But couldn't afford what he could not foretell

In winter, the mother, she shivered
In summer, the beggar laid down
The years gnawing at her liver
Traded her gowns for a bound

Jerry gave a limping look
Duly blamed his mother's fate
He wandered, and loved, and mistook
Every circumstance as her incarnate

Then the debt filled up to her eyes
They could not provide themselves sun
She offered him no alibis
And slept in the silent sounds of the guns

She steeled herself till she was sore
"My son, I can't buy you anymore"
He says,
"Ma, I just want a harmonica for my birthday"

Jerry traveled for a time
He had found the sights that he craved
Walked home to offer his mother a dime
But now, she dreams beneath a grave

He fell down and cried,
"I'm sorry ma, I tried"
Jerry played a harmonica for her birthday

The boy was driving out
Before he forgot himself
“What did I believe”, he cried out,
“On the bookshelf?”

But it was awful chilly, it was
For an afternoon
So he turned to friends, but spoke none 'cause
A mouth don’t fit on a loon

Biding time with a droopy eye
And changed his name again
Goes by a fool with a cool catch
To earn his name on cement

He is the son of summer
Winter at his feet
Doesn't remember forgetting his innocence
No matter who he meets

Yes, ma'am, thats's a dual voice you hear
He seeks high fidelity
Fully faithful, a sun-fearing queer
The caricature to be

On the stage, the things that he wrote
Those memories bygone
Come crashing down on him and he can't emote
The clown's not having fun

Finding time with a droopy eye
And changed his name yet again
Goes by a fool with a cool catch
To earn his name on cement

He is the son of summer
Winter at his feet
Doesn't remember forgetting his innocence
No matter who he meets

Praise be to cherry pie
And all the faces that made me feel that I
Could settle on "by and by"

Praise be to anyone
That put me under the blistering sun
I'll get back there, its true

I just got more to do