We think
The fire eats the wood

We are wrong

The wood
Reaches out to the flame

The fire
Licks at what the wood harbors

The wood
Gives itself away to that intimacy

The manner
In which we and the world meet each new day.

Gypsy

You are immortal
Imperceptible insects
Sacred you shall be
With love beyond boundaries
Deeper than oceans

Gypsy

God made the Machine

His illusion

Bombarded with pseudo-realities
Manufactured by the media
By governments
Big corporations
By religious groups
Political groups
Sophisticated electronic mechanisms
Universes of the mind

I have a malformed public-duty gland
I must have a Guardian Idiot

On the surface
I was calm
In secret
I was waiting for something
His return
That measures the passage of time
This age-old faith of lovers and poets

A drunkard
Relives ancient torments
Feeds coins into the jukebox
He breathed
Hoped for nothing, yet, lived in expectation
The time of cruel miracles was not past
The dark blue outline of the crescent moon
Branded me with a mark of wildness
As if I belonged to ancient times

For a moment — an instant
I forgot about the horror of not belonging
While deep inside of me
The matrix, unfolded across that colorless void

In this age of rust
Reality, shaped by the forces that destroy it
Walked in dark places no others will enter
There - Souls
That never got weaned from the universe
Became an extension of it...
We are the same people our ancestors were
Lumbering across this landscape scooping up and eating everything in sight
Here on the edge of forever
Truth is a matter of the imagination
Wallpaper to our children
We -
Like
Gods who echo how mortals behave
Gods, a perfection to be emulated
Yet we share their flaws and foibles
We are humanlike
We are divine
Slowly fading in the narrow zone between fire and ice
With all our tenderness of heart
Lying naked in the palms of love.

Gypsy

Take this with you, friend or foe,

We have no thoughts of our own
No opinions of our own
They are transmitted to us
Trained into us
I have fled this wilderness
For the light on the mountain
Red as the rising Sun with Heathen blood
Remember me
On the other side of dark
Alone into that shadowed land beyond death
Listening to the universe in motion
The unimaginable harmony
The genius of the composer
Lost in the weaving music

Jesus, half way to Golgotha
The weight of the world upon his shoulders
He, who would drag us all into this eternal night
Dream bound and rudderless, sailing a hundred sleeping tides
As far as the wind cries, the sea encircles
We seek other states, other lives, other souls
We are given to the wind and are scattered
A perpetual journey of cinder and bone
Towards the eternal
You,
A bubble on the tide of Empire

Gypsy

On the verge of understanding
This clock darkness
It seeps into my bones, my soul
Erodes the spirit
Pooling the blood of consequence
I am in the center of a cyclone
She, my perfect storm
I turn the world round with my hand
Beneath each changing zone
Truth falls
Gently carving many channels in the Earth
The pain of wanting to control the Sun
The tongue of the river
Lost in winter elms
My imagination ******* on the roof
Pandering to delusions
To what is hidden beneath the surface
The cold people
My roots to life
Don't let me drown, make me beautiful
I inhale loneliness
The sweet smell of ****** Earth
Music floating on the wind like dust.
We learnt to dance in this storm
In the background
Her voice
Her Soul
Sadness and longing
Our bonding between tears and rain
In moments such as these
That cast a purple haze across the plain
We are the living things that devour
Happiness and pain

Gypsy

This disgrace of civilization
All the loathsome nonsense
Under the cloak of war
I wrote poems
Engaged my deepest feelings
Urging me on toward zipless *****
To swallow the poison
Drop by drop
Assurance of our own worthiness to exist
The moral support,
The encouragement,
The relief
The sense of loneliness
These thorns held me tight
I would rather be torn to shreds
Holding heaven in my hands.
To conquer my ugliness of distinction
In this world of dogma...

Gypsy

A few stern questions for the Creator
To prove to the world
I’m not a person
I’m Pollution
I believed in monsters
You know
Like vampires
Werewolves
Ghosts
This constant urge
To tear my insides apart
To be devastated
To destroy my life
Sully my soul from the inside
Bury me twelve feet deep
Into the close and mirrored catacombs of sleep
Throw the church down over me
An angel under a white stone
There's awful strange things in this world
Open any door of your imagination
The lurking Presence
The sense of evil
Where the past is only part of the pattern
Swollen with the contributions of the centuries
Steeped in ritual atmosphere
And not without poetry and pathos
We dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday
Suffer...

Gypsy