sleep has become a boring chore,
another thing I would rather not do.
I'd rather have the moonlight rap me in his dainty arms,
then feel the cold lack of presence.
but that too is long a distance,
far, out of sight in plain view.
we may claim to be a strong,
but the arms of another melt soul into stillness,
the stillness of a lake perfect for skipping stones.
my heart craves a partner for the dance of the bed,
***, no.
for love, a much slower dance.
for the soft touch of our noses,
the shallow breath on our flesh,
our eyes,
will devour us whole,
and that's quite alright.
for when your skin is so soft and you slip through my arms and melt into my chest,
I will be so happy.
I will finally sleep,
knowing I will see you in the morning.

"I want to say something filled with so much truth that it will rattle your world. I want to say things like "you are more than enough" and "they define you by image, but the soul is a grander thing." I want to say "you will find love if you haven't already and if you have, love is forever." I want to tell you what you want to hear and what is easy to say but honestly, there is a wolf in me that no longer wants to tell you these things. He believes them to a certain point but he has learned to harden up, to remove any fearlessness and clothe himself with so much truth that God is no longer a word and science ceases to exist. The wolf wants to say "God ****** just be you and go get into trouble and be strange and different and loving and consume whatever makes you feel the most in that moment." He wants to say this because he knows it is what most people will do anyways and he also wants to do it himself, we grin at madness delivered to us in simple forms. Chaos so easy to obtain as if we were born with it in our mouths. I will not try to change you because change is inevitable but so too, is remaining the same. I cannot tell you what kind of person to be and I never will all I can hope is that you know and understand how ******* beautiful this earth is, this universe, and that you love whatever is around to love because love is felt in thousands of forms and I have this belief that if we all strive to feel it, no matter which form it is in, we will come to the flaming realization that we all come from the same dust and all other thoughts tossed out way in false bravado are irrelevant."
-Christopher Poindexter

I sped away one evening
through my busy little town,
gliding,
music occupying my mind,
riding down hills,
leting the wind run its fingers through my hair.

i arrived at a dusty trail that led to an old water tower
that looked over the town like a sentinel.
sweaty and redfaced i followed the trail,
my acoustic music hid behind background of everything,
a magical glow lay at the edge of the trail.
as the fiery light lit my face aflame,
i knew i was apon something special.

shining magnificently,
the most beautiful smile i had ever seen.
twas a loving smile,
the lips were brown and chapped,
the horizon illuminated it's glistening orange teeth,
the old rusty water tower became a black beauty mark,
my friends were up resting in its dimple, waiting for me.
an amazing crooked grin,
a smile so sure shot with joy,
it filled the cracks in my heart
and had me yelping with rushing happiness.

the universe giggled back
"your welcome";)

head heavy with the weight of an ocean,
thoughts gasp for air over the crests of waves.
once was a stone lodged in my heart
polished by the waters of my mind,
heated by the flames of frustration and
quenched by the sleet of sorrow,
now a diamond embeds from me,
protrudes from my center.
you
neither can i remove you or re-create you,
you ******* gem.

loving and being in love,
such a massive gap i fail leap,
my love is pointless to you dear,
can't you see?
sick in the mind
sick in the heart
why must you want me so?

Muse of yonder laid me rapt,
faded in her nape 'twas the golden sun.
"Pull back the drapes and weave your path,
may thy wisdom reach you now and then."
Wet with sound, cosmic hum, we mapped
the rosy hills blooming from the storm.
With honeydew eyes I awoke and laughed,
dawn shineth through a window open.
                                      
                                    - Dylan Whisman

Deep and dark dirt,
worms of mother earth feed on
another young soul, soft,
smelling the lilacs.
They taste thy taste of love,
a fire now buried in sand, once
to light a thousand torches.
They taste thy taste of sorrow,
that vile bog of sadness that rips at
the curtains of sanity.
They taste thy taste of deceit,
of rotten completion in her roots,
a sour taste in the soil of Denmark
worms doth hastily spit out this flower.

the world is a painting,
naked, hung out for everyone to see.
don't be the ones who arrogantly
spatter mud as they run by
busy in their own heads,
stop and bleed your colors
through bare hands and soft fingers,
give say in humanity.
admire the painting, remove the mud,
dare to change the world.
But tis a crooked painting,
no adjustment will deny the world it's imperfection.

A Cherry Blossom tree blooms in the bleak of winter,
out of place,
irresponsible and
gorgeous.
in the midst of dead winter
nature is drawn to this tree,
or maybe it's nature,
holding on
for dear life in a freezing planet.
but as the snow begins to fall,
the flowers fly away
with the snowflakes
like a butterfly's mating dance.

A summer goddess she might be,
but warmly she waltzes with the snowflakes in
my head.

When you flick the lever does it strain you? Does it stave you?
So agonizingly close to the truth?
Cynical is the nature.
Mame to ****,
fool not fill,
mind over will.
To quarter intrinsically,
Stutter intellectually,
Engrosse enternally.
Oh untimely vapire!
Vibrent like the moon
how you steal from the heavens,
iluminating the path of shadows!
You! Sending mankind to the gallows!
Oh promises you gave were shallow!
Every like
every follow,
will this only end in sorrow?

From looking down, you look up to see,
The sky is full of billions of stars,
Some are faint,
Some are bright.

Then there are those that twinkle and shine,
Ones that turn your head, that make you gasp for air,
You look through your telescope,
You gaze, to find something more than a star.

An unknown universe,
Spectacular, magnificent, just brilliant,
Planets of green, comets of golden fire,
A nebula of neon, a sun of warmth.

And you wonder, if in that same universe,
Through a telescope, they look at you,
Wondering if you will come far,
To dash, to fly to their twinkling star.

oh midnight how you kindle me
with your somber twilight,
bursting melancholy inspiration,
oh darkness you.
arousing the artist in lonely me,
you mysterious temptress you,
how your lovely murky mist
covers your opaque skin,
oh blackness you,
an icy caress with your
pitch dark breath
won't suffice me tonight.
i wish to ravage you,
oh nebulous you.
under blankets of shadow
we will be electric,
we shall make a dawn
the world will be jealous of.

A scholar to change the human view
to make sense of twas, thou and than.
either shouting in the street through a mask
or preaching through the screen to those still ignorant.

Maybe a congressman to strike at the heart,
to burst from within scattered in gore and gold.
or just one more journalist,
one more stab at the sour core.

the flag bearer will fall time and time again
Brown,
Snowden,
Hammond.

they are not martyrs, they are victors,
the idea will never die with you
carry your flag through the hail of arrogance and evil,
through the fog of the ignorance and hate,
till you pearce the blackened heart,
and the last thing they'll see is your rosy cheeks.

if you close your eyes for a long
time,
and you rap your eyes in your dark blanket eyelids,
shadows turn into swirls of yellow light
as the blazing sun shines through your skin.

and when you begin to doze off
you open your eyes

the earth is so *vibrant

most people will say,
that the only thing that heals a broken heart,
is time.
time kills everything, and also births many things.

but I ask the people,
what if every time our eyes meet,
every word she speaks,
every laugh she giggles,
every text she sends,
every time her smile shines off her loving face.

every encounter we have
seems to stop time in its tracks.
what do I do then?
I only have one heart, and it's already broken.

Winters dead tree, gloomy to life below,
It wants to come back,
So it reaches up to a black sky and with slender fingers.

It let go of its leaves when needed most,
The birds have left it no more substance,
It owns no fruit, the bark cracks as it freezes, it waits.

Not the sun, but a delicate light finds them,
In a blanket of death, and it embraces the earth and melts with the dirt,
And the bird simply finds another tree.

Instead of paper, here you are.
Rather than dust, here you are,
removing the world of its
human fingerprints.

Like a flicker of the sun,
a shaving of light, you soar
across the trembling flowers,
calming them with your weightless touch.

Dancing on air,
you suspend in the space,
spreading an earthly joy
into the wind, into the silent sound.
The breeze, your raja, the sun your mantra,
and I, your beholder.

the bow turns a cheek as the stern takes a seat,
his mind slips away as his heart begins to sink.
he is the Capitan of a sinking ship.
all alone in the dark sea,
crew has fled, hope is dead.
he is the Capitan of a sinking ship.
his ship turns a ruptured belly, growling and groaning,
he is not flinched from his lonely cabin.
he is the Capitan of a sinking ship.
the cold rain is warm to his touch,
the frothy brine envelopes his face,
he is the Capitan of a sinking ship.
he last thinks of the storm he couldn't miss.
floating down, to meet his love, in the vague abyss.
he was the Capitan of a sinking ship.

i looked in the mirror at my bearded face
and peered into my eyes.
and saw all the things I hated.
hypocrisy.
ignorance.
jealousy.
confusion.

in that moment
i became something I hated,

i can't be this person.

If you were to come along
and see the beauty
through my gentle eyes,
without having to rip the skin
from my flesh to search inside.

From an old Spanish galleon
sleeping under covers of sand and shells,
I would dive to steal us
the finest wine,
for you my love.

then i would slice up the moon
to add them to our crackers.
and if we kissed in the darkness
with no question on our lips,
i'd love you even more.

Thy heads be kept higher,
Ye forgotten vagabonds,
thou not be drowning in
paper flowing through the air,
for thy eyes see no green
but in the grass stains on thy jeans.

Thy minds be kept cleaner,
Ye forgotten vagabonds,
thou not mind thy own stench,
Nye, ye only smell the toxic crowds
of rapacious men who step on thy feet
throwing cold copper hail stones pressed with a dead man's pompous glare.
All ye common folk, thou not hear our fife hiss and whistle?
Let its melody awaken you from thy ignorant trance.

Keep marching along,
Ye forgotten vagabonds,
let thy tune clear the ears of our cracked streets,
our broken nations,
our dying world,
to the piercing pitch of thy people.

a hideous beast wakes in the
depths of my heart.
crawling from the shallow grave I buried him,
silent and dark, tip toes on guitar strings.
he shoots through my brainstem like ******,
intoxicating my dreams, gnawing his teeth.
I thought you were dead!?
why are you here!?

©Dylan Whisman

many go with the flow,
easy and sloth.
fewer swim against it,
with fists that pierce the swelling tide.
but real free thinkers
step out of the current
to bend the river towards
a field worth growing,
for everyone.

the weight of the world has arrived,
landing right on my shoulders.
a blazing comet has hit me in the chest,
electrifying my heart and mind.
i've taken kindly to this comet
that burns through my broken heart.
a little heat and it was mended,
now you are melting it into my hands.
and the breath from my words can't help,
the full moon curses at me, "you asked for this love you ******* idiot, are you happy now?!"

I love this comet,

i do.

but it burns far greater than me.
I'm terrified to drop you,
you magical being.
i see your cracks,
and i don't want to break you.
I don't want to hurt you.
"god ****** Dylan!"

Therefore I don't deserve this ball of light,
you clasp of life,
I am not worthy...

Wake up!
I've been shaking you
for a while now,
but you sleep soundly without care.
Wake up!
and when you do finally wake up,
don't yell at me for disturbing you,
or for the window I broke,
just smell the smoke of the flames below you,
take my hand,
and thank me later.

a new year,
another year of spontaneity,
of death and life,
of **** ups and downs,
of happy gatherings out in the night,
or in the fire lit room,
or on the curb,
or in the rubble of a bombed city block.
once you purge the truth it's hard to look away,
in an age of information at the fingertips of humanity,
it's insulting not to know anything,
is that why everyone's so angry?
greedy?
hopefully the new year is a another year for
mankind,
and not just man.
for humankind,
and not just humans.

Staring into the crimson trance
with faces of friends distant and far,
revealing presence within our moments peaceful.

Rugged body to watch the earth's teeth
crumble glowing in gold to ashen clay valleys.
Crackling sparks of rhythms carry the soul to gardens high above.

To a force that gives and takes,
smile most gratefully glowing,
a kaleidoscope world warming the face
of the one who pokes the universe.

Luna,
I see you though my window,
I feel your fingers graze through my hair,
aye how sonorous your presence is.
the hair on my arms thicken,
then my chest and legs.
hands melt and freeze into black hooves,
gently my face stretches outward,
atop my head aches with the growing of antlers,
they are small and young,
still fuzzy with youth.
In this moment I am the Elk,
ears switching
as hot breath swirls around
the room flooded in moonlight.
my call punctures the emptiness,
guttural and majestic.
I am the Elk of your black night.

This world she is pubescent,
she is insecure,
she is wild a beautiful
she is wonderful
and she knows it.
yet many of mankind choose to be a zit
on their mothers face,
and so few a twinkle in her eye.

the storm has settled.

finaly I wake,
sway sway,
on board a small sailboat, big enough for three.
white seeps through cracks in wood,
creek creek,
my bare feet,
salt clings to my face,
my damp body,
creek creek,
walks across a floor cluttered.
the water whispers against the hull,
I rest in a gentle cradle,
sway sway.

I open the hatch,
no wind,
moonlight on the sound of the sea,
sway sway,
the air is cool.

I look around,
no land,
moonlight on the sound of green endless water,
sway sway,
the moon peers down at me.

the sea reflects the sky,
sway sway,
a quiet energy swirls around, and around,
a chilling nothing is the sound,
destination not yet birthed.
sway sway,
I lay apon the floor,
staring at a wide sea sky,
tiny breezes lick the foam,
sprinkle the stars,
I wonder not my location,
or why and how.

I'm going to be here awhile.

If only my words could pierce and
descend opon the lovely ones,
the humans with caramel eyes
and voices that cradle the soul.
ones who can sail through the surging
ocean that is my mind.
ones that slaughter demons,
and waltz with angels.

i woke up screaming...
red eyes watery clear,
sheets damp with chills of fear,
darkness tip toed around my bed,
confusion swept 'n smothered my head,
yet a warm flower bloomed in me chest,
and the caress of her hand cleansed me of thy mess,
lips of velvet kissed me so near,
sweet whisper climbed my face and licked my ear,
"you are so loved, shut your mouth silly head,
"embrace me my love, and come back to bed."

I listen to the songs they sing,
about the peace and the love,
about unity and compassion.
I stop,
and I hear nothing.
Why do you think they're always in my ears?
I keep them near to me.
artists are truly born somewhere other than earth,
they pass by on shooting stars
belting out their messages so sincere.
but does it actually hit earth,
or does it just turn to dust in the sky?

Once I soared on an angel with steel wings,
through a piercing blue sky
over the dark belly of a Gulf,
to a land unknown to me.
Stepping out of the airlock turned my clothes into hot laundry
as the warm culture washed over me and my family.
Me in my ten year old body had never left the states,
it was my turn to be the minority.
Akumal,
a small but sprightly tourist town,
filled with little shops and nooks 'n crannies to explore.
My family and I would stay at a private resort for ten days
that rested upon white sands and crystal waves that constantly
licked and salted the air along with the fishermen’s boats.
Crashing splashing crashing,
always the sound of the blue waves crashing.
The birds sing their foreign songs.
Day,
sweltering and bright,
the wee little town of Akumal stirred with life.
Pesos clicking in pockets of fruit buyers,
the treble of am radio words fly through the air.
Clouds of dirt from the road follow run-down trucks and cars,
kids kick around a melon in the street.
Never had to know Spanish to know what happiness sounded like.
At the resort was a more calming scene.
The wind gust across the warm sand, occasionally knocking down a coconut into the squishy sand.
They always tasted like salt water, but my sister and I kept cracking them open, like there might be a pearl inside one of them.
The outside resort had a bar next to the beach, serving the little ones
Pina Coladas and Banana Smoothies. The bartender was an ecstatic man, always with a wide grin of joy, and a loud machine gun laugh.
Night,
the sun would go to sleep, but the ground below was awake
in the shine of the moon, they would come in hundreds.
Hermit ***** would skitter across wooden floors                                                           ­       and blocked out the sand on the beach.
The people of the resort would gather in a beach-side restaurant called "La Buena Vida" or "Living the Good Life".
With its rope swings and crows’ nests, I’d linger in this pirate ship,
bringing my food up in a bucket and laugh down at the others.
Even the condos we stayed in were not familiar.
They felt like native Mexican homes, with the pastel color walls and creative tiled floor.
Falling in and out of sleep there was the ever present crashing splashing smashing of the waves,
and the lullabies of the night birds.
The sun would stretch its way out of the ocean in vibrant hues
and the hermits scurried back to their holes.

©Dylan Whisman.

a melody of the song floats threw your mind
and whispers honey in your ears,
warmth ascends through your heart,
skin ***** with the sound of music.

the canvas crimson leaves drift in the autumn wind,
passing two souls in a park, a boy is gazes at
a girl holding an orange balloon, though time is still, you catch yourself whispering, "hold her hand."

the scene is a slamming door that echoes mistakes,
a mom bends down to pick up the their broken glass,
a child with her doll weeps silently in her room, you cry
with her on your couch as the screen turns black.

precious words scribbled on a page, or beautiful little words typed on a screen. you read the page, mind agape.
you begin prepared, but you end the last word in awe.
speechless you think, what am I feeling? what's going on?

Duende.

i've heard some say that passion burns without a word,
i try to think my passion is etched into the words I write.
but there is something wrong, all the things in this life of mine, have been sparks,
and in a blizzard of doubt, I fail to ignite my soul.

my childhood seemed like a warm flicker in the past,
my great friends,
i watched them grow up with me
in a flash of light.
i watched some flicker on and off,
some even snuffed out by our own beliefs.

love has had me, and love has left me,
we all know the heat of that fire.

even with all these flashing lights,
none of the embers seem to light the damp wood stacked neatly in my soul.

but in this blizzard of doubt, I strive to ****** the flame to ignite my soul,
so I might feed my warmth to those who need the comfort of a friendly light.

crows caw and fly south with the wind,
titanic clouds swollen with rain crawl over the mountain pass,
they turn the dirt to mud,
pampering the leaves of their hard day in the gusty sky.
the scenery is darker from my window,
but the earth is so alive.
that damp smell of a wet world,
words won't ever suffice
how cozy it makes me feel.

Religion this,
Politics that,
ISIS,
Death,
Emigrants,
Law.

Why can't I just sip my coffee
in my little shop,
without the world being picked apart around me.

Beneath these wondering eyes
there is a storm that rages,
and in the eye of
the storm there is a small island;
there, a small cabin sits with its light on.
The candle flickers like a whip as it
illuminates an old bookshelf filled with
tattered dusty textbooks and novels,
loose papers with words scribbled
knick knacks wooded and rusted,
all damp and strewn about.
It's here I am stricken, trying to make
sense of wrinkled papers
filled with ideas of an almost human nature.
As the eye blinks once more,
and the winds begin to howl
I step out into the sand,
books held against my chest,
screaming scribbled thoughts into
the swirling sky.

a chime ticks in a window
my head grows a pulse
thump thump thump thump
silence.
static violins whisper
buzzing electricity annoying
i fear this is the final night,
ride my dreams into deaths carriage
what is going on up there?
a little man shedding paper and smoking a cigar
in my head.
I need air, I can't swallow.
the truth?
the lie?
yeah there stuck.

"Death to his heart!"
shouted the world.
"Death to his mind,
his words and reasoning,
to his imagination,
his love,
his hopes and spirit!"
The Big bad ***** is playing
hard to get again.

my chest aches from loneliness, from the lack of her being,
from the absence of her lifting presence.
the presence that rings out my heart, drips the pain away, and drys with the sunshine from her eyes,
the warmth of her deep voice.
I once rode in her car late at night,
my being couldn't contain my happiness.
It was like we hot boxed that car with our beautiful vibes,
her voice resonating with mine as we sang the wrong lyrics,
she took me so high,
I loved it,
I love her still ******.
as we pulled up to my house evey fiber in my being wanted to kiss her,
fill her with my energy
Let her lips water the dying garden in my heart.
I knew her love was not for me, we couldnt be.
so I rapped my arms around her and kissed her head,
the smell of her hair set off an alarm in my brain, one I can never seem to turn off.
and I left the car,
the high wore off,
but my head kept ringing.

I know who I know,
but thy mind not know itself,
a violet in a field of millions knows better.
a burnt oak amongst miles of earth,
thirsty, no fruit to bear.
words cower in fear from lips that wish to speak,
blanketed by the ambiance of uncertainty.
this thick fog is pointless and empty.
to slice through it seems impossible,
Balance and peace,
but only if there's something there.

Today I bathe with her, the blue maiden,
she greats me the same way, shining brilliantly
With silver armour in her waves and
Blinding sinatra blue eyes.
walking along her sandy cheekbones
******* me in with each step,
spitting crystals in my face.
she licks the hair on my legs with a frozen
Tongue as I stand before her.
as slow stride?
No, jogging.
No, running!
I sprint into her,
and she hugs me with each wave
foaming at the mouth.
I dive in and she grooms my hair,
and I sit cradled like a child in the womb.
I break the surface with sunlight blinding me.
I am reborn once again.

People ask why they march,
is it because they're obstinate?
no, they want to represent veracity,
not cause havoc.
walking valiantly into the melee of police and riot,
not to make you feel contrite,
but to make you think,
to expose the affluent,
and stand up for the unlucky ones.
they're a garrulous bunch,
listening does not harm,
it only allows you to learn.

Long ago,
before the first chin hair,
before the first pimple,
before all the stress.
Sitting in artificial sand,
I thought about the future,
reaching a glimpse
of brightness into a fantastic future.
For Christ sake I wanted to be a trash truck driver.
I sat and dreamt about the life beyond my years.
Now that sand pit is a stone curb
were I pan the gutter for specks of
humanity.

I shouldn't have to think in my
years of youth and wonder:
Wether I should leave this world to die,
Or perish with it all.

something has a choke hold on my heart,
is it my past?
is the future?
mabye something supernatural?
whatever it is, it better show itself,
or just hurry up and **** me **** it!
I got **** to do, and I can't continue short of breath.

silky moonlight glowing against the
***** window,
the dandy long leg tree
oh so familiar
and leaveless swaying
to the rhythm of the rain.
sharing the sky, orange candle
glimmers of cities far away,
coyote piercing the winter air
with howls of sorrow,
The hare must have gotten away.

I stroll apon the suburban sidewalks
of my town hearing the trees whisper
in the freezing biting winter wind.
Do they sigh or shiver in this icy chill?
What do they whisper?
The groans of fatigue echo
heavy ocean swells into the black midnight sky.

Deep thoughts flow through these ancient giants;
thoughts of weather in spring,
epiphanies of baby birds chirping for mothers worm.
The soaring pine, massively ascending into the sky,
dreaming of a childhood passed away in its shade.
The Birch relentlessly taps the window,
the old eyes of the faded house,
trying to awaken the boy once more.

I look through the telescope
once more into the wide abyss,
i see two things,
a sun,
a black hole inside it,
ever present,
keeping me warm
with gentle sunburn.
I also see a star,
white and shining
through the black mass.
though miles away
tis a sun,
to me,
tis a star next
to a blazing sun.

As my dear friend cried, angry with tears of frustration,
she said with quiver in her throat,
"How do you never get angery, your always so calm?"
"I want to be calm like you"
well,
my dear, my sweet rose,
it is more simple than it looks.
you must let your heart drive and your brain ride passenger,
you must except that life will hurt you deeply,
but only with good intention.
Keep your love,
your beautiful brilliance,
and cling to the ones who beat you with harsh words,
use your furry and fill them with your love
untill they realize,
the harm they blindly cause, and how they need you,
more than they know.