The winter afternoon shadows fall
eerily this time of day
I muttered to myself
something dark and un-precocious
What then would there be
to write about?
I am not gifted with the art
of making others laugh-
neither with much of
an imagination
and I made myself laugh
and I took myself a concept:
No one was going to tell me
I shouldn’t stay such a tragedy
although I have been scared
once or twice that I am a talented poet
so what’s the difference?
I could have been
working on my process the whole time
instead of searching for the saddest word
to end a poem.

Predisposed.

-Jesse Haydn

We are colored under the spirit
Not everyone is safe under the rain
We shine from the light like a heavy game
So bright that the evenings are hard and
dried up.

We create great electronic thoughts in the eyes of God
We are colored under the spirit
I caught a black dog in the smoke.

Jealousy is dead-
Hope for the afterlife
A hell's optimist.

I can not understand
An empty promise.



-Jesse Haydn

When you know ****
unfortunately
you know ****.
When you snap that triangle-
they go everywhere.

A star died and gave birth to me,
Stars die every time a person is born.
It must be.
We do not yet understand the true nature of physics.
That is the point.

I am nothing special.
I am all.

This morning- it was unusual.
I walked to the left of the trees, not to the right.
I have never done that before.
I do this often.

Ooh La La is playing while you pump the gas.
Something invisible has struck me
like a gust of wind.
The moon is rising now, and I-
I am falling away.

-Jesse Haydn

8 minutes just before the bewitching hour begins
I return to life with a cup of coffee
Sinning in the rain with the feeling
That we have run out of gas emotionally.


The feeling is dying as if I should be asleep.


We test sticky spells beyond light and pass them on over and over again.
We feel the witchcraft attached beyond the light.


Awaken to solitude. Awaken up to loneliness.
Awaken my brethren. Wake up dreaming and create.


The silence is almost finished.

-Jesse Haydn

If you leave me all I can think

is that I am finally cracked. You are a werewolf

seeking blood. You howl with magic

from the moon.



If you leave me, I think of hatred. You are a ghost

now, in the hallway. Why don’t you hide

from my human form? I know better than my words;

they must be beautiful forever.



If you leave me, all I want

is comprehension. Questioning how

many times I can drown in the same ocean-

beating my head against the wall.



-Jesse Haydn

It still amazes me, when I hit the wall;

when the web of karma catches or keeps me

from tripping for something I caused or said or

did or didn’t or will or won’t do

feels

like it’s coming (((back))) to me.

You. Us.



On the phone, on hold

with cardholder services;

I am but one

finger of an Entire Universe

and I know the moment

is breathtaking.



I think I feel

anxiety in those moments because i have no religion; i feel separate

As the Universe Experiencing Itself

i lack an outlet of sufficient explanation

and i am scared of Myself; I Think.



Aging truly, my question is this: Is this increased?-

Or made less-

in time? The answer gets further and further

away the more i think about it, i think.



The further away It gets-

the more It gets to me.



-Jesse Haydn

I feel empty when you go.
Even cooking is lonely when you are not here. What’s the point?
How can I be an entire human being?

I blast music in my headphones-
When they scream-
I can still hear the silence
(I can’t drown it).

I miss you.
Please stay with me.
Please do not leave.

My anxiety hurts.
My hands are shaking as I write this, it’s almost unreadable, and the page is wet
And the words disappear a little.

I’m still cooking.
What do you do yourself when you’re done?


It hurts.
I want to cry.
I think I will.

-Jesse Haydn

If you search long enough, you will find it eventually.
It just won't be where you thought it would.

Remember when your dad gave you an entire stalk of little white
and yellow daisies to give to me;
he said that I'll know what it means.
I didn't understand.
Now, I do.
It means that he saw a ****,
he saw it was beautiful,
and knew that I would find it
just as remarkable.

No one asks someone else to give them a stalk of flowers.
If you have to ask for, or expect a gift,
it is meaningless.
The best gifts are always a surprise;
just as the most precious
life defining moments
are always spontaneous occurrences.

One can study all they want.
To learn the old secrets; the significance
of something
and/or what it means-
One must learn to let the understanding of such endeavors-
(if you are
inclined to search
for what you
seek)
-come to you.

Although, odds are
you probably won't
get smashed in the face by a foul ball
unless you bought tickets to
the game
to begin
with.

See big.
See little.
See both at the same time.
What's in front of you and above
and behind you and below.
Outside and inside and the spaces in between.

Look past the trees and far into the forest.
Can you also see the other side?

I climb trees.
People study and meditate and trip for a lifetime to see this way.

I couldn't see the top.
I climbed and I fell and I kept climbing
giant unyielding branches becoming
smaller and smaller by degrees
as well as the security of feeling
that the branch under my feet was holding me up at all.
I knew eventually it would snap
and all would crumble beneath me.

But, somehow, I did not fall again.

I made it relatively close
to the top;
to what I couldn't see before
but knew was there.

And I opened my eyes
and I saw the world
from the most unusual perspective-
like a newborn infant
learning without trying
observing all
and I didn't know how
to be afraid yet anymore.

I never meant to climb so high,
to see over the tree tops,
over the edge of the world-
I was only very curious to know
what was up there.

I saw it was all only ever a game.

So, I keep winding the music box
listening to the same song
looking upwards and watching the shapes go
around and around and around
noticing the black
and the white
and the gray all disintegrate
and bloom
into technicolor.

-Jesse Haydn

So misty beneath the rain
The passion is dying
I am rabid in the light
I howl like vaporous dogs over the wind
I will lie down and give myself to the earth
It is quite lovely under the flowers
Wrapped in roots and darkness
Be luminous I say and unafraid
The devil isn’t all bad
There is a spirit in my likeness climbing a tree in the back yard

So misty beneath the rain
We are sticky under the ground
Awaken! The sin has died
I atone
So wanting to lie beneath the clouds
We draw humming delusions beneath the brume like cards and unfulfilled dreams
We conjure lustful worthless gems below the ground
Heavy! The night is over
The day is dying
Tomorrow I will be something else entirely

So misty beneath the rain
The end continues
I break and break and break
Shadows seek themselves
Lost in broad daylight
With so many roads to choose from
And with what regrets forgotten
A train goes by
Remembering…
When the world was new

-Jesse Haydn

Have you ever stopped to notice
the spaces between things
Empty patches of sky between the branches and leaves of the trees
A murmuration of birds as they dance on the air with one mind
Like a negative between words on a page?
Have you ever been swallowed?
By the deep and infinite timelessness between the stars
Between footprints in a blanket
of wet diamonds
Between the notes of a mystical masterpiece
Between you and me and us?
I think from time to time
there’s beauty in the lack of.
Peace in the nothing-
if you can find it
in the fragments of sky
through the forest.

-Jesse Haydn

Are you still awake?
Do you percieve the space between objects?
Place the sky between the branches and leaves
Birds undulate as they dance in the air with one mind
What’s wrong with the word on this page?
Did you swallow them all?

In depth and at the end of the time between the stars
Between the footprints on the blanket
The Milk Diamond
Between a mystical masterpiece
Between you and me and us?

Shalom Aleichem-
(And unto you, peace.)
If you see it
The fragments of heaven
Through the forest.

-Jesse Haydn

11/14/13 Day 1

Written while waiting on admission:

So I’m in this atrium like a cul-de-sac but it’s hospital
rooms instead of houses and James lives in #3 on the
end and he has CP or something he walks bowlegged and screams
and yells instead of talking and he laughs at his own jokes and
I wish I could understand what he’s trying to say cause
I need a good laugh right now because its been a while
and Nurse Jackie apologizes because he keeps coming over to
look behind my curtain and he scared me at first but
I smiled at him and he woulda smiled back
if he could and then I started to understand some of
the things he was saying and at 6 o’clock he reminds her
it’s dinnertime and at 6:30 he wants ice cream
but he didn’t eat all his green beans and it
makes me smile and my life is ******* falling apart
because I’m about to be admitted to a mental hospital
and for a minute- all I can think about is
that weird ******* clock on the wall that’s taunting me because
the numbers are turned sideways along the edge of the circle and
@4 and 10 the numbers flip and I notice that dude in
room #2 kinda looks like my favorite ex and
in that moment while waiting to be admitted to a mental hospital
all I can think about is ******* that dude in room #2-
and the obviously insane ******* person
that would make such a God-forsaken ******* clock.

-Jesse Haydn

“ABRACADABRA. By abracadabra we signify an infinite number of things.‘Tis the answer to What? and How? and Why? And Whence? and Whither?—a word whereby The Truth (with the comfort it brings) Is open to all who ***** in night, Crying for Wisdom’s holy light. Whether the word is a verb or a noun Is knowledge beyond my reach.”



The time for waking up has come;

every second of the day is the first

time I have opened my eyes and

arise from a deep sleep.

There is always a vibration that exists

in the stillness. The plants know it well.

The ancient and known is new;

it is spagyric and transmogrified.

We are, collectively, individual worlds

inside our own selves.

I am one and We are One-

one Nexus, one Soul, one Universe

existing now, together

inside of our own separate forms.

It is the precipice.

The moment is arriving for

what we know not; We know

the time is calescent-

the time is now and the time is coming.

The calling is urgent

and it is eternal.

The triangle rings music in my ears.

The time for waking up has come.

–Jesse Haydn

The weather shines.
The second day is the first
I opened my eyes out of time.
Get out of sleep.

 
There is always a vibration in
silence. The plants know
this well.
The old is new; the secret known.
Its is spagyric, transmogrified-

 
The collective individual worlds within
ourselves; I am one of you-
a nexus, a spirit, a universe now
together within our own models.

 
This is the depth.

 
Access immediately what
we did not know; we know
the time is calescent. Time
and time has come.

 
This is a small and urgent call.
It is eternal.
The music units are the segments
of my ears.
The time for waking up has come.

 
-Jesse Haydn

Shake against thy shadow to be poisoned
I will shake no more from thee
For I have dug up all the roots
Connecting you and me.

You are the worlds’ distempered guest
When the tree began to bud, I daily made my desperate plea
That you avert your gaze away
I will shake no more from thee.

I severed all the veins inside
Although no blood was shared or spilled
You only know of hate and yet
I somehow loved you still.

Your eyes are scissors
Your touch- inflammatory disease
From my soul the fear has drained
I will shake no more from thee.

-Jesse Haydn

I exist
a vector
impossible opposites
left and right
height and depth
darkness and brightness
unitary and shattered
shadow and body
unconverging.

 
An entire universe
on a speck of dust
lingering on a ray of sunshine,
gently falls
and finds its rest among the many
(the conformed
tangled aggregate)

 
finally settling into oblivescence
out of mind
and just yesterday,
was briefly remarkable.

 
Inexorably swayed
as he murmured a breath
of oblivion-
I am now
aimless
forgotten
on the other side
of space and time.

 
-Jesse Haydn

Strange and enchanting against the wind
You enjoy huge maidens on the flowers.


Be light. The birth never ends.


Everyone is buzzing behind the wind.
I create willing women under the sky.
Can you dig it?


My children, the tranquilizer ghosts are on fire.
Ahhh! Sin never ends
Nor does the pain.
Ask his way
and find road signs.

Strange how life will run away from you sometimes.
Opaque and insecure
A lucky sin
A kind of wind that blows
Where at last
The traveler
Looks for landmarks
Before help could come.


How long do you talk to your own face in the mirror?
Forgetting who you are

moment after moment.

-Jesse Haydn

i used to have the feeling
that everything was trying to tell me
something; but everything does
if the timing is right
the right words won’t come
(i almost lost it)
the answer:
it is about you
it is both deep and
above you
in the smoke
the blooms
the tessellations
of the trees
(the sway)
once i saw the face of god
i could never look away

-Jesse Haydn

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.

Romans 1:18


Something is exposing disentombed clubmanships-
this is what the heterocysts do monadically.
The manager is gone.
Gone, corrupt and the stain on the glass shows wherein.
You are villainous.
Rising from the world another time with falsity
even to make them swear it not in disgrace-
a satire to show each of love.
Some fresher stamp of strange dependence fades
that thereby out of my blunt inventions
bear and put them
extern to the world’s eye.
Copy: Die
Take that life: mine as soon
thy blood of doom.
I told you and you laughed.
Thou hast risen
and I have set with the vilest of worms.
Blessed though I am, I suspect
I grieve at pleasure
smile at pain.
What am I to do?
I say that I showed sorrow
that then, even in this temple,
even in black night (your heart)
I could see the world as abused.
But at the lack of thee, time’s spoils
I despised every Book,
and there you are as thus-
the ****** papers,
imperfect actor.

-Jesse Haydn